Elara's POV
The engine dies with a pathetic sputter, and I want to scream.
Rain hammers my windshield so hard I can't see two feet ahead. Thunder cracks overhead like the sky is breaking apart. And I'm stranded on a deserted road, twenty miles from Seattle, with a dead phone and zero options.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
The lawyer meeting was a disaster. Attorney number five who "couldn't take my case due to conflicts of interest." Translation: the Chen family got to him first, just like they got to everyone else.
"We understand your concerns, Miss Winters," he'd said, not meeting my eyes. "But murder accusations against one of Seattle's most prominent families? Without concrete evidence? That's career suicide."
I showed him the flash drives. The traffic camera footage. The security video of Marcus sabotaging my café.
He went pale, handed everything back, and told me to leave.
That was two hours ago.
Now I'm alone in a dying car during a storm that looks like the end of the world, and I'm starting to think maybe the universe really does hate me.
I try the ignition again. Nothing. Not even a click.
"Come on," I beg, slapping the steering wheel. "Please. Just get me home."
Lightning flashes, turning everything white for a split second.
That's when I see headlights behind me.
My heart jumps into my throat. The threatening note from last week flashes through my mind—"Accidents happen." What if it's them? What if the Chens decided one warning was enough?
I duck down, fumbling under the seat for the tire iron I keep there. It's not much, but it's something.
The vehicle pulls up behind me. Expensive. Sleek. A Mercedes that probably costs more than most people's houses.
The door opens.
And of course—of course—it's him.
The stranger. My mysterious guardian angel. The man who keeps appearing in my life like he's following some cosmic script.
He walks to my window through the pouring rain like he doesn't even feel it, then taps on the glass.
I roll it down an inch. "Are you stalking me?"
"Your car is dead on a deserted road during a flash flood warning." His voice is calm, but his eyes are scanning our surroundings like he's checking for threats. "Get in my car."
"This is getting ridiculous," I snap, even though relief is flooding through me. "You just happen to be here? In the middle of nowhere?"
"The universe has a sense of humor." He opens my door, rain immediately soaking the driver's seat. "We can debate cosmic coincidence after you're not drowning. Move."
Something in his tone—command mixed with genuine concern—makes me obey.
I grab my bag and run to his Mercedes. The moment I'm inside, warmth surrounds me. The seats are heated leather. Classical music plays softly from speakers. It smells like expensive cologne and rain.
He slides into the driver's seat, water dripping from his dark hair. Up close, in the car's dim lighting, I can see he looks exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes. Tension in his jaw.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
He just nods and starts driving.
We make it maybe three miles before we hit the roadblock—police cars with flashing lights, orange cones, officers in rain gear waving us to stop.
"Road's flooded ahead," the cop tells us, leaning down to the window. "You'll need to turn back or find shelter. There's a small inn about two miles east. Riverside Lodge."
My mysterious stranger—I really need to learn his name—just nods and turns the car around.
The inn is tiny, old-fashioned, with a flickering "VACANCY" sign that looks like it's from the 1950s. The parking lot has maybe three other cars.
"I can't afford—" I start.
"I'm paying," he says, already getting out.
"I don't need your—"
"Yes, you do." He looks at me over the roof of the car, rain pouring between us. "Stop being stubborn for five minutes and just let someone help you."
The way he says it—exhausted, almost pleading—makes me shut up.
Inside, the inn's owner is a sweet elderly woman who takes one look at us and immediately assumes we're a couple.
"Only one room left, dears," she says, handing over a key. "But it has two beds, so that should work fine."
I open my mouth to correct her, but the stranger just takes the key.
"Perfect. Thank you."
The room is small but clean. Two beds separated by a nightstand. A single window showing the storm raging outside. An old TV that probably only gets three channels.
I stand awkwardly by the door while he sheds his wet jacket.
"I should know your name," I finally say. "Since you keep saving my life."
He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer.
Then: "Cain. Cain Ashford."
The room spins.
Cain Ashford. THE Cain Ashford. The billionaire who destroyed the Hartley Group last year. The man they call the Ice King. The CEO everyone fears.
"Oh my God," I whisper.
"Not quite that dramatic." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Just a businessman."
"You're not 'just' anything." I sink onto one of the beds. "Marcus's family talks about you like you're the devil. They say you destroy companies for fun. That you've ruined more lives than you can count."
"Interesting." He sits on the other bed, facing me. "What else do they say?"
"That you're ruthless. Merciless. That you never forget a grudge and always get revenge."
"All true," he says calmly. "Anything else?"
I swallow hard. "That you had something to do with your parents' deaths. That you killed them for their company."
Something flickers in his eyes—pain so raw and real that I immediately regret my words.
"Also what they say," he says softly. "But not true. My parents were murdered when I was nineteen. Private plane crash that everyone called an accident. I spent thirteen years proving it was murder. Want to know who did it?"
My heart pounds. "Who?"
"The Chen family. Working with the Winters family. They wanted Ashford pharmaceutical patents. My parents wouldn't sell. So they killed them and tried to steal the patents anyway." His eyes lock on mine. "Your mother witnessed the aftermath. She found evidence. And they killed her too."
The room goes silent except for thunder rumbling outside.
"That's why you've been helping me," I whisper. "You owe her."
"I owe her everything." His voice breaks slightly. "She sent me anonymous packages for years. Evidence, warnings, information that kept me alive. I didn't know who she was until three years ago when I found her letters at an estate sale. Letters to her daughter, Elara."
Tears burn my eyes. "She never told me."
"She was protecting you. The less you knew, the safer you were." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "But now they know you're asking questions. Now you're a threat. And I can't let them kill you like they killed her."
"Why do you care?" The question comes out broken. "You don't even know me."
"I know you work eighteen-hour days to save a café your mother loved. I know you put art from unknown artists in your gallery because you believe in giving people chances. I know you're brave enough to stand on a bridge in the rain and stubborn enough to reject help even when you're drowning." His gray eyes pin me in place. "I know you're worth saving."
The intensity in his voice makes my breath catch.
"They're going to kill me," I say. It's not a question.
"Not while I'm alive." It's a promise. A vow. "But Elara, you need to understand something. This isn't just about your mother or my parents. This is about billions of dollars in stolen patents, corporate fraud, and a conspiracy that goes back decades. The Chens and Winters will do anything to protect their secrets."
"So what do I do?"
He pulls out his phone, taps something, and hands it to me.
On the screen is a contract. A marriage contract.
"You marry me," he says. "One year. You get my protection, my resources, and my name—which these families fear. I get a wife to stop my board from forcing a merger marriage. We both get revenge."
"You're insane," I breathe.
"Probably." He doesn't smile. "But it's the only way to keep you alive long enough to destroy them."
Lightning flashes outside, illuminating his face.
"There's something else," he says quietly. "Something I found yesterday that you need to see."
He pulls out a folder from his bag, hands shaking slightly.
Inside are documents. Legal papers. DNA test results.
I read them once. Twice. Three times.
"This can't be real," I whisper.
"It is. Your grandmother Eleanor left these in a safety deposit box with my lawyer. She wanted you to know the truth."
The papers say I'm not just Richard Winters' illegitimate daughter.
I'm his only legitimate child.
My parents were legally married. Patricia and Vivienne are the ones who have no legal claim.
I'm the Winters heir. The real one.
"The inheritance Eleanor left you?" Cain says softly. "It's not just the café. It's controlling interest in Winters Pharmaceuticals. Worth half a billion dollars."
My hands shake so badly I drop the papers.
"They've been stealing from me," I whisper. "All these years."
"And killing anyone who found out."
I look up at him, this dangerous stranger who knows everything about my life.
"If I marry you, we destroy them?"
"Completely."
I should think about this. Sleep on it. Consider options.
But when I open my mouth, what comes out is: "Where do I sign?"
He hands me a pen, and I sign my name on the contract with shaking hands.
The moment I finish, Cain's phone rings. He answers, listens, and his face goes deadly pale.
"When?" A pause. "How bad?" Another pause. "I'm on my way."
He hangs up and looks at me with eyes full of fear I haven't seen before.
"What?" I demand.
"My sister Lily. She's in the hospital. Someone ran her off the road thirty minutes ago." His voice is shaking. "They left a note on her windshield."
"What did it say?"
He shows me the photo on his phone.
The note, written in red ink:
"TELL YOUR NEW WIFE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE YOU LOVE. NEXT TIME, WE WON'T MISS. - M.C."
M.C. Marcus Chen.
They know about the marriage contract.
They know everything.
And they just declared war.