Amara woke to the kind of silence that only forty-story glass towers can produce; thick, suffocating, and utterly devoid of street noise. Her head throbbed with the dull, rhythmic beat of cheap champagne and instant regret. She blinked, the world resolving into a blur of muted gray silk sheets and stark, abstract art. This was not her tiny studio apartment or even the nice hotel suite she sometimes splurged on after a successful market haul. This was a penthouse.
She sat up abruptly, clutching the silk duvet to her chest, her eyes wide as they scanned the space. The room was aggressively masculine: floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a blinding cityscape, a dark mahogany desk held a trio of glowing monitors, and the air smelled faintly of ozone and expensive cologne. Her eyes landed on the man standing by the window.
He was Kaelen Sterling.
Even from behind, the tension in his spine was palpable, a rigid line of barely contained fury. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a custom charcoal suit that looked like it had been tailored to withstand a corporate war. Amara knew him instantly. Everyone in the city knew Kaelen Sterling, the ruthless, thirty-two-year-old CEO of Sterling Global, a man who built his empire on precision and cold, mathematical logic. She had met him briefly, disastrously, months ago at a mandatory industry mixer where she had called his investment firm "soulless vampires" before disappearing into the crowd. Last night, however, was still a terrifying, blank void after one too many toasts with a colleague.
"You're awake," Kaelen stated, turning slowly. His voice was deep, cutting through the silence like ice cracking. His jaw was tight, and his dark eyes were the coldest she had ever seen them. There was no concern in his gaze; only contempt.
Amara swallowed, her throat dry. "Mr. Sterling, I… I don't know how I got here. I need to leave. Please don't call security."
She scrambled to find her clothes, but her hand snagged on something heavy and cold. Looking down, she saw it: a massive, radiant-cut diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. It was blinding, almost vulgarly expensive, and it did not belong to her. Her heart started hammering against her ribs.
Kaelen walked over, not bothering to sit. He threw a tablet onto the bed beside her, the screen already open to a major news site. The headline screamed in bold, aggressive font: MARRIED BY MISTAKE? STERLING GLOBAL CEO CAUGHT IN SHOCK FLASH WEDDING TO UNKNOWN DESIGNER. Beneath it was a photo, clearly taken in a dimly lit, high-end bar, showing Amara, giggling idiotically in a borrowed sequined dress, signing a document while Kaelen, looking far too sober to be truly out of control, stood over her. Beside that image was a close-up of a state-issued marriage certificate.
Amara snatched the tablet, staring at the names. Kaelen Sterling and Amara Vance. Her own name. It felt like a sick, elaborate prank.
"You have twenty seconds to explain this," Kaelen said, crossing his arms. "I'm assuming you engineered this entire performance. The accidental meeting, the drinks, the public ceremony, it's a textbook gold-digger scheme. Congratulations, you bought yourself twenty-four hours before my lawyers destroy you and your reputation."
The accusation was a physical blow, momentarily eclipsing the panic of the ring. "I didn't! How dare you assume I would—" Amara stopped, pushing the hurt aside. She was tired of being underestimated, even by a corporate titan. "If this is a scheme, Mr. Sterling, then why would I pick a bar that only seats twenty people? I own a failing design house. If I were going to 'gold-dig,' I'd have staged a paparazzi event in front of City Hall, not a drunken signature swap at midnight."
Her defiance seemed to momentarily surprise him. Kaelen ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his anger shifting to cold calculation. "The 'how' is irrelevant now. The legal fact is, we are married and that fact, right now, is disastrous for me, but highly convenient."
He turned toward the window, the vastness of his empire spread out below them. "My grandfather's final amendment to his trust requires that I be legally married for six consecutive months to finalize the acquisition of the Valerius Group. I was supposed to marry Seraphina Thorne next month, but you have now complicated a multi-billion dollar deal."
Amara stared at the ring, then back at his controlled profile. "So you're saying I've ruined your takeover."
"You've accelerated my timeline," he corrected, his voice hardening again. "Since you have managed to entangle yourself in my affairs, you will now be useful. I am offering you a contract. A business transaction to rectify this absurd mistake."
He gestured to a leather briefcase on the bedside table. "This contains a pre-drafted Contract of Temporary Cohabitation and Fiduciary Partnership. Six months. You play the role of my supportive, low-profile wife. You appear at required corporate and social events, you do not interfere with my business, you do not embarrass me. At the end of six months, we sign the divorce papers, and you disappear."
He paused, letting the silence stretch. "In return, I will transfer fifty million dollars to the account of your choice."
Fifty million dollars. The number crashed into Amara's desperate reality like a wrecking ball. Fifty million dollars was not just enough to save her brand; it was enough to elevate her struggling, debt-ridden, independent label into a serious competitor. It was enough to pay off every loan, hire the ethical production teams she dreamed of, and stop working three side jobs just to keep the lights on. It was enough to give her the freedom to pursue her genius without compromise.
But it was a contract with the man who looked at her like dirt, who she had accidentally married, and who she secretly detested for everything his greedy, large corporations stood for. It was also the man whose business she had recently savaged in a scathing, anonymous online review that had already gone viral among industry insiders. The memory of her online persona, The Thread Dissenter, sent a fresh wave of panic through her. If Kaelen ever connected the dots between his new contract wife and the vicious critic who was actively trying to take down his next major acquisition, he would not just destroy her reputation; he would likely destroy her entirely.
This wasn't just a contract of marriage; it was a contract of deception.
Kaelen mistook her hesitation for greed. "The money is non-negotiable, take it or leave it but if you leave it, Amara, be aware that my legal team will paint you as a lunatic who defrauded me out of a settlement. You will walk away with nothing, and your little design house will be liquidated by the end of the week. Choose."
He stood waiting, his expression impervious. Amara felt the weight of her reality, the stack of unpaid invoices, the letter from the bank, the crushing expectation of failure from the entire industry who saw her as nothing more than a stubborn, low-tier artist. She looked at the ring, then at the tablet displaying the catastrophic headline, then at the briefcase holding the salvation of her life's work.
Amara took a deep breath, pushing down the shame. Survival required a performance. "I want the money transferred to the holding company account immediately upon signing," she stated, her voice surprisingly steady. "And I want a non-disclosure clause that extends to your personal life after the divorce. Everything that happens in this marriage stays here."
A flicker of respect, perhaps, crossed Kaelen's eyes. He nodded once. "Acceptable. Read the document now, every page, sign where indicated. Our six months starts today."
Amara picked up the thick leather binder. Her hand trembled slightly as she flipped to the first signature line. This single piece of paper, scribbled in a drunken stupor and now solidified in a predatory contract, was either the end of her dignity or the beginning of her empire. She was not a gold-digger; she was a woman trading six months of her life for the financial freedom.
She reached for the solid gold pen Kaelen provided and scrawled her name with a defiant, unsteady hand.
Kaelen took the signed document, his mouth curving into the faintest, most unsettling corporate smile. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Sterling. Now, you need to change, we have a press conference in an hour."
Amara looked around the vast, cold room, the huge ring suddenly feeling like a handcuff. She was Kaelen Sterling's wife, a public scandal and his anonymous corporate enemy. Her heart was already beating the retreat, but her pride was settling in for a six-month fight.