Ivy woke to the sharp sting of sunlight cutting through the penthouse curtains. Her phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand.
Blinking against the morning light, she reached for it—and froze.
The screen was flooded with notifications. Messages from her brother, alerts from news apps, social media trending tags.
Ivy Cross, the new Mrs. Cross, sparks gossip after board luncheon.
Who is she really? Not from high society, sources say.
Photos leak: Ivy Cross looking nervous at St. James Luncheon.
Her stomach dropped.
This was the first storm of public opinion, and she was drowning before she even understood the tide.
---
Before she could gather herself, her phone rang. Clara's voice was tight, businesslike.
"Mrs. Cross, Mr. Cross wants to see you immediately in his office."
Ivy's stomach knotted. Immediately was never a good sign when it came to Lucian.
By the time she arrived, the office was quiet. Lucian stood at the window, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring down at the city below. His back stiffened at her presence.
"You've seen the news," he said flatly.
"Yes," she whispered, unable to look him in the eye.
He turned slowly, his gaze icy. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I—I didn't do anything!" Her voice wavered. "I was just there. I… I followed your instructions!"
Lucian's hand brushed a stray lock of her hair back, sharp and deliberate, but there was no warmth in the gesture. "You're here to protect me and my image, Ivy. One slip, one sign of weakness, and this world devours you."
Her cheeks flamed. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of weapon, not a person!"
He stepped closer, voice low and dangerous. "You are a weapon. And I am the one who controls it. That's the only way you survive this year."
---
For the first time, Ivy's fear collided with anger. She squared her shoulders. "I didn't sign up to be controlled like this. I'm not just an accessory, Lucian. I'm… human!"
He studied her, expression unreadable. And then, a flicker—something almost imperceptible—crossed his features: respect, maybe even admiration.
"You have fire," he said quietly. "I expected submission. I expected fear. But not this."
Ivy's heart pounded. She didn't want admiration. She wanted freedom.
"Then don't expect me to stay quiet forever," she snapped.
Lucian's lips curved in a dark, humorless smirk. "Oh, I don't. That's why this is going to be fun."
---
Clara entered, a tablet in hand. "The press is relentless. Photos, articles, social media—it's spreading fast. If we don't act…"
Lucian cut her off. "We will act. Ivy, you'll attend the next press event with me. You'll smile, answer questions—carefully. Show the world you're the perfect wife. Make them forget last night."
Ivy felt her chest tighten. "I'm not perfect!"
"You'll act like it," Lucian said, each word a blade. "Or your family pays the price."
The room fell silent. The threat hung heavy, and Ivy felt the walls of the penthouse close in.
---
Later, Lucian pulled her into a side room—one of the smaller lounges adjoining his office. He closed the door, shutting out Clara's watchful eyes.
"You need to understand something," he said, voice low, almost dangerous. "In my world, appearances are everything. The press, the board members, the investors—they judge you the second they see you. And if they sense weakness… they exploit it."
Her stomach churned. "So I just… play along?"
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You learn. You adapt. You survive."
She swallowed, anger burning hotter than fear. "And if I don't?"
Lucian's gaze locked onto hers. "Then you won't survive, Ivy. Not here. Not anywhere near me."
---
Despite herself, Ivy shivered at the intensity of his presence. He was dangerous, yes. But more than that, he was magnetic. His control, his precision, even his ruthlessness—it drew her in even as it terrified her.
But she clenched her fists. She would not be consumed. Not entirely.
"This isn't love," she said, voice quiet but firm. "I know that."
"Good," Lucian said softly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "Because this isn't about love. Not yet. Maybe never. But make no mistake…" His gaze sharpened. "I own this year. And if you don't learn fast, it will own you too."
The words sank in like ice in her veins.
---
That night, Ivy stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of her room, the city lights stretching endlessly below. Her reflection stared back at her—strong, terrified, defiant.
The world was watching. Lucian was watching. And she had to survive.
But something had changed. Something inside her shifted.
She would not be just a pawn. She would not be just a trophy.
She would find a way to turn the contract to her advantage—even if it meant walking on the edge of fire every day.
And she would not fall.
---
Across the penthouse, Lucian stood in the shadows of his office, watching the city pulse below. He thought of Ivy's defiance, the spark in her eyes that refused to break.
Most women bent, submitted, feared him.
Ivy didn't.
And that terrified him more than any enemy, any scandal, any boardroom betrayal ever could.
Tomorrow, the world would demand more.
And so would he.