If I had to pinpoint the moment my life spiraled into something unrecognizable, it would be that night—the night I met Maverick Ryder.
It was a rooftop party that I should never have been invited to.
The kind of event where power brokers and celebrities rubbed elbows, champagne flowed like rivers, and every whispered conversation carried the weight of deals worth millions.
I was twenty-four, a content creator with a growing audience but still struggling to break through the noise. My world was all screens and filters, a life shaped by followers and likes, but far from the glittering empire Maverick ruled.
When my friend handed me the invitation—an embossed card with his name printed in gold—I thought it was a joke.
But there I was, standing on that rooftop in a dress that made me feel exposed and vulnerable, clutching a glass I barely touched.
And then I saw him.
Maverick Ryder.
The man was impossibly confident, radiating power the way a flame radiates heat. His dark eyes swept the crowd, sharp and calculating, until they landed on me.
Before I could look away, I slipped—literally—stepping into a puddle of spilled champagne. Time slowed as I stumbled forward, heart pounding.
Then his hand was there—steady, commanding—catching me before I fell.
"Careful," he said, voice low and teasing. "This party isn't kind to women who can't keep their balance."
I looked up into his gaze, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. There was something in that look—a challenge, a spark, and something dangerous.
He introduced himself, his smirk daring me to say no to whatever twisted game he was about to propose.
It started with a question: "What's a woman like you doing here?"
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed—a reminder that behind that seductive exterior was a man who controlled empires.
Then, he made me an offer—a fake engagement, one year pretending to be his fiancée. In return, he promised to settle my debts, protect my reputation from a scandal I was desperate to keep buried, and introduce me to a world I'd only glimpsed through screens.
At first, I laughed it off. What did he want from me? What could I possibly gain from this dangerous charade?
But the truth was darker. My past had caught up with me—a reckless mistake, a viral scandal threatening to destroy everything I'd worked for. My financial struggles were mounting, and offers like this rarely came without a price.
I weighed my options.
Freedom, or security.
Fame, or anonymity.
The choice wasn't really a choice.
Signing that contract meant trading pieces of myself—my independence, my privacy—for a chance at survival.
For a year, I would live under his roof, play the perfect fiancée for the cameras and the world.
No intimacy. No real feelings.
Just a game.
But as I looked at Maverick then, standing with that dangerous smile, I knew one thing for sure—
This game was going to be far more complicated than either of us imagined.