Emma Carter sat at the edge of a polished mahogany table in Alexander Blackwood's penthouse, staring at the preliminary marriage agreement. Her mind felt like it was unraveling thread by thread, each clause of the contract tightening around her like a noose.
Alexander stood across from her, arms crossed, his cold gaze fixed on her like she was a variable in a high-stakes equation. There was no warmth in his eyes—just calculation.
"You'll move into the penthouse tonight," he said flatly. "We need to be seen together before the wedding. Appearances matter."
Emma blinked. "Tonight?"
"You signed the contract. Time is not a luxury I have. Neither do you."
She bristled but nodded. "Fine. Just—tell me exactly what you expect from me. I want it all out in the open. No surprises."
Alexander moved to the liquor cart and poured himself a scotch. "Very well. Let's start with boundaries. Our relationship will be public, but behind closed doors, we maintain our distance unless otherwise agreed. There will be no romantic expectations—on either side."
Emma exhaled slowly. "That part, at least, I can handle."
He turned back to her, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You'll be expected to attend functions. Charity events, dinners, corporate galas. You'll be briefed before each one. I'll assign a PR handler to assist you."
"A handler?" she repeated dryly.
"Think of her as your coach. She'll help you become the perfect wife—on paper."
"And if I mess up?"
Alexander's eyes darkened. "You won't. But if you do, the contract will be terminated. You'll lose everything. Including your mother's care."
Emma froze. The mention of her mother cut through the tension like a blade. "You don't have to keep reminding me what I'm doing this for."
"Then don't forget it," he said coolly. "Sentiment gets people killed in my world."
Emma's eyes narrowed. "And what world is that, exactly?"
Alexander didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the far side of the room and tapped a code into a locked drawer. He pulled out a black folder and handed it to her.
She opened it and found high-resolution photos of herself—taken over the last few days. At the hospital. At her apartment. Even one outside the café where she picked up a job application.
Her blood ran cold.
"You had me followed."
"I had you vetted," he corrected. "This isn't a game, Emma. If I'm putting my empire at risk, I need to know everything about you."
Emma stood, spine rigid. "What if I had said no?"
"You didn't."
She wanted to slap the smugness off his face. Instead, she shoved the folder back across the table. "What else do I need to know?"
"There's one final clause," Alexander said, his tone shifting to something more guarded. "You'll be prohibited from speaking about my past. To anyone."
Emma frowned. "You mean your exes? Your family?"
"All of it."
She crossed her arms. "What are you hiding, Mr. Blackwood?"
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "You don't want to know."
Before she could push, his assistant, Mara, entered the room.
"Sir, the gala committee has been informed of your engagement. They've requested a couple's photo shoot for the press. Tomorrow."
Emma nearly laughed. "You want me to play the loving bride for photographers now?"
Alexander looked at her. "You'll smile. You'll wear the ring. And you'll make them believe every moment of it. That's what five million dollars buys."
---
Hours later, Emma stood alone in the penthouse guest room—her new room—unpacking a suitcase she hadn't packed. It was already there when she arrived. Filled with designer clothes, shoes that cost more than her rent, and a white silk robe with her initials embroidered in gold. Not her initials. Her new initials.
E.B.
Emma Blackwood.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
She sat on the bed and checked her phone. One new message.
Unknown Number: He's not what he seems. Stay close, but don't trust him.
Emma's hands trembled.
Before she could reply, the message disappeared.
Deleted.
She stood quickly and went to the window. The city glittered beneath her, vibrant and alive. But up here, she felt like a prisoner in a tower.
A soft knock sounded on her door.
"Come in," she called, masking the unease in her voice.
Mara stepped in, holding a small velvet box. "Mr. Blackwood asked me to deliver this."
Emma opened the box slowly. Inside sat a flawless diamond ring, brilliant and sharp. It looked like it could cut through skin.
Mara hesitated before speaking again. "He doesn't do this often."
Emma arched a brow. "What, buy women off?"
"No," Mara said carefully. "Let them this close."
With that cryptic remark, she left.
Emma stared down at the ring, a chill settling in her bones. She didn't feel close to Alexander. If anything, she felt like she was being pulled into a storm.
And storms, she knew, could destroy everything in their path.