The words still echoed in Ivy's ears long after Lucian Cross had walked away, leaving her trembling in the alley behind the hotel ballroom.
"Be my wife. For one year. In return, I'll erase everything you owe."
It sounded less like an offer and more like a command.
She pressed her palm to her chest, her heartbeat wild. Who did he think he was, tossing around marriage proposals like business deals? But who was she to refuse?
Her phone buzzed again. She flinched, already knowing who it was.
Unknown Number: You've got until midnight. After that, we collect in other ways. Pretty little sisters make easy targets.
Ivy nearly dropped the phone. Her younger brother, Liam—sixteen, with his whole life ahead of him. She couldn't let their debtors touch him.
Her pride and dignity warred with desperation, but by sunrise, desperation won.
---
Lucian Cross's empire loomed before her like a monument to his ruthlessness. The skyscraper cut into the sky, glass panels reflecting the cold autumn sun.
Inside, the marble lobby gleamed. Wealth whispered in every polished surface, every quiet footstep of the staff who carried themselves like soldiers serving a king.
Ivy felt like an imposter, her simple blouse and scuffed heels marking her as prey among predators.
"Mr. Cross is expecting you," the receptionist said coolly, after one sharp look at her ID.
Her legs wobbled as the elevator rose, each floor number flashing by like a countdown to her doom.
When the doors opened, the air felt thinner.
Lucian's office was a temple of steel and glass, walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books and art that screamed money. He sat behind a desk that could have been carved from a single slab of obsidian, every movement precise as he signed documents.
When his gaze finally lifted to her, it was like being pierced by ice.
"You came." His voice was smooth, but there was no mistaking the satisfaction beneath it.
Her throat closed up. "I… didn't have a choice."
"No one ever does," he said, leaning back. "Sit."
---
Ivy perched on the edge of the leather chair, her hands clasped tightly.
Lucian slid a folder toward her. The crisp sound of paper seemed deafening in the vast office.
"One year," he said. "You'll move into my penthouse. Attend events by my side. Smile when I tell you to. In return, I'll clear every debt tied to your family's name."
Her hands trembled as she opened the folder. Line after line of rules: no scandals, no secrets, no interference with his business. Clauses outlining penalties for breaking the agreement.
She swallowed hard. "This isn't marriage. It's… slavery."
A smirk tugged at his lips. "You prefer chains? I can arrange that."
Her stomach twisted.
"Why me?" she whispered. "You could buy anyone. Any woman would throw herself at your feet."
For the first time, his eyes softened, though only slightly. "Exactly. They'd throw themselves at me. You don't. That makes you different. That makes you… useful."
The word stung. Useful. Disposable.
Her phone buzzed again. Another threat. Her brother's name in the message. She clenched her jaw, lifted the pen, and signed.
Lucian's gaze darkened as her name flowed across the page. "Good girl."
---
He rose from his chair, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. She could feel the raw power radiating from him, like a storm barely restrained.
"From this moment on, you're Mrs. Cross. Don't forget it."
Her lips parted in protest, but before she could speak, his hand brushed her chin, tilting her face upward. His touch was deceptively gentle, but his gaze burned with possession.
"You're mine now. At least on paper."
Heat flared across her skin. She jerked away, her dignity screaming even as fear rooted her in place.
Lucian chuckled darkly, retreating to his desk as if her rebellion amused him. "Pack your things. You'll move into my penthouse tonight. And Ivy…"
She froze, unwillingly meeting his eyes.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking this is about love. It's business. Nothing more."
---
That night, Ivy returned to the cramped apartment she shared with her mother and brother. The walls were thin, the paint peeling, but it was home.
Liam looked up from his textbooks, eyes wide. "You're late. Did something happen?"
She forced a smile. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Her mother, frail and tired, shuffled from the kitchen. "Ivy, those men came again earlier. I told them we'd pay soon, but…" Her voice broke.
Ivy hugged her tightly. "It's taken care of. They won't bother us anymore."
"Taken care of?" Liam frowned. "How?"
She hesitated. The truth lodged like a stone in her throat. If she told them, her mother would collapse, and her brother would hate her.
"I just… found a way," she said softly.
She retreated to her room before they could press further, closing the door and pressing her forehead against the wood. Her reflection in the cracked mirror stared back: a girl who had just sold herself to the devil.
---
From the penthouse office, Lucian sipped his whiskey, watching the city lights glitter like diamonds below.
His assistant knocked once. "The girl signed?"
Lucian's lips curved. "Of course she did. Desperate people always do."
The assistant hesitated. "Why her, sir? Surely—"
Lucian's glare silenced him. But when he was alone again, his expression darkened.
Why her?
He could have chosen any heiress, any model, any woman begging for his wealth. But Ivy Lane, with her defiant eyes and trembling hands, had gotten under his skin. She wasn't dazzled by him. She wasn't afraid enough to grovel. She was… inconveniently unforgettable.
Lucian downed his drink, jaw tight.
This was business. Nothing more.
So why did he already hate the thought of her walking away when the year ended?