Ava Sinclair stood at the edge of the hospital's emergency billing window, her fingers trembling around a thin stack of faded credit cards. Her makeup, once perfectly applied, was now smudged beneath her tired eyes. A drop of cold rain slid down her temple — or was it a tear? She couldn't tell anymore.
"Miss Sinclair, if we don't receive payment by tonight, we'll be forced to transfer your brother to a public facility," the woman behind the counter said, her voice clipped and indifferent.
Ava's throat tightened. "Please. Just give me two more days. He's still unconscious. If you move him now, he won't make it."
The woman merely shrugged, stamping something with a dull thud. "Two days. No more."
Ava turned away, the sterile hallway suddenly feeling too loud, too bright. Her heels echoed as she walked past the ward doors, past the reminders of what she used to be.
Once, Ava had been envied. Heiress to Sinclair Enterprises. Daddy's princess. Fashion launches, diamond-studded galas, a future groom from an elite family.
That all vanished the day her father died — and took the truth with him.
Her family's fortune crumbled in days, swallowed by scandals and whispered betrayals. Her so-called fiancé vanished, leaving behind only headlines and shame. And now, her little brother clung to life in a private hospital she couldn't afford.
She'd tried everything.
She'd begged. She'd pawned the last of her mother's jewelry. She'd even worked double shifts as a hotel waitress where once she'd been the VIP.
But now she was out of time.
She was about to fall apart in the rain-soaked parking lot when a sleek black Maybach pulled up silently in front of her. The tinted window rolled down — and there he was.
Damien Blackwood.
CEO of Blackwood Corporation. Cold. Calculated. Cruel.
And the man who had once looked at her like she was filth on the bottom of his designer shoe.
"Get in," he said, his voice like ice wrapped in velvet.
Ava stared at him, soaking wet, her coat clinging to her soaked blouse. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer. Just opened the door from inside.
Something told her this would cost her more than she could imagine.
But when death comes for someone you love, you don't get to ask the price.
She climbed in.
---
The inside of the Maybach smelled like leather, spice, and power. Damien didn't even look at her as he typed into his phone.
"I assume you still remember how to behave in front of someone who pays your bills," he said finally.
Ava's jaw clenched. "I didn't ask for your money."
"No," he said, turning to face her with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You're here because you're desperate. I like that. Desperate people obey."
A flicker of anger sparked in her chest. "Then say it. What do you want? Another humiliation? A game? Spit it out, Damien."
He leaned in closer, and she could smell the faintest trace of expensive cologne — dark, bitter citrus with something sinful underneath.
"I want you," he said.
Her stomach twisted.
His gaze dropped to her lips for a single heartbeat, and then rose again — cold and emotionless.
"As my wife. One year. No love. No questions. No divorce."
Ava blinked. "You're insane."
"Maybe." He handed her a manila folder. Inside was a contract. At the bottom, a check with more zeroes than she'd ever seen.
Her fingers trembled.
"You'll live with me. You'll wear the ring. You'll play the part. In public, you'll be my perfect wife. In private—" He paused. "You'll stay out of my way."
"And in return?" she asked.
"Your brother lives," he said simply. "I already paid his hospital bill. You're welcome."
Her heart dropped.
He'd already done it. She was already his.
"You've hated me for years," she whispered. "Why me?"
Damien leaned back. "You'll find out soon enough. But here's a hint: this isn't about love, Ava. It never will be."
---
That night, Ava stood in front of the mirror in a borrowed penthouse suite overlooking the city. A stylist Damien sent had transformed her — curled her wet hair, dressed her in a champagne silk gown, painted her lips blood-red.
She looked like a woman who belonged to someone powerful.
But inside, she was breaking.
Her phone buzzed. One message.
Damien: Downstairs. Don't keep your husband waiting.
Ava stared at herself one last time.
This wasn't a wedding.
This was a deal with the devil.
But she would survive this.
She had no other choice.