Chapter 2: The Proposal
"I'm here to make you my wife."
I blinked up at him, cold rain soaking through my thin nightgown as my hands gripped a trash bag filled with everything I had left in the world.
Lucian Grant stood like a shadow carved from obsidian, unbothered by the downpour, with a single black umbrella shielding him from the chaos. Even under the flickering streetlight, he looked impossibly refined — like a man who didn't belong in a world where women got kicked out of mansions in the rain.
"You must be joking," I muttered.
"I don't joke."
Of course he didn't. Everything about him said danger: the stillness in his body, the sharp set of his jaw, the way his voice didn't rise or fall, just commanded. The kind of man who made empires kneel.
"This is insane," I whispered, backing up slightly. "You show up out of nowhere and say you want to marry me?"
"You saved my life," he said. "Three years ago. You whispered a promise. I never forgot."
"I didn't mean it!" I snapped. "You were unconscious, bleeding in my arms. I was seventeen. I was panicking. People say things when they think someone's dying."
"But you said it." He took a step forward. "And I lived."
I shook my head, heart hammering. "That doesn't make me your property."
His eyes flashed, like a storm cracking through calm waters. "I'm not here to claim a debt, Ava. I'm here to give you a choice."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is this the part where I choose between a warm bed or a cold bench?"
For the first time, his lips twitched. Not quite a smile — something colder.
"No," he said. "It's the part where you choose whether you want to take back everything they stole from you."
My heart froze.
He wasn't talking about my clothes. Or the bedroom that used to be mine. He meant everything.
My name. My identity. My blood.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a cream envelope sealed with a golden insignia. He handed it to me without ceremony.
"Read it," he said. "Then we'll talk."
With stiff, frozen fingers, I tore it open and pulled out the thick paper inside. I recognized the gold ink, the embossed seal, the expensive weight of the material.
MARRIAGE CONTRACT AGREEMENT
Between: Lucian Grant
And: Ava Grant
I blinked.
"I'm not—" I started, then stopped. "That name..."
"You are Ava Grant," he said simply. "Daughter of Sophia Grant. Taken as an infant. Hidden."
I laughed — sharp, bitter, hollow. "What, so now I'm another heiress? This is getting ridiculous."
He didn't flinch.
"You think it's coincidence you were placed with the Dawsons?" he asked quietly. "They didn't just 'find' you. They were paid. Bribed. Threatened. We're still untangling the details."
My stomach churned.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He pulled out a second envelope. This time, it held a birth certificate. A hospital bracelet. DNA test results. A photo of a woman holding a baby with a smile that looked a lot like mine.
I swallowed hard.
"I've spent years tracking you," Lucian said. "You vanished from the records after your mother died. Someone erased you. Hid you. But mistakes were made. Eventually, we found you."
I tried to breathe, but it felt like trying to inhale through cotton.
"I... don't know what to believe."
"Then start by accepting what you can see," he said. "They threw you away, Ava. They replaced you. They didn't even fight for you. But I will."
"Why?" I demanded. "Why do you care? Why not send a lawyer? Or the Grant family head? Why come here personally with a marriage contract?"
He stepped forward.
"Because I was dying on that road. And your voice was the only thing I heard before I passed out. You told me to live. That if I made it, you'd be mine."
"That was a stupid promise."
"Maybe," he said. "But I don't break promises. And I never forget the person who saved my life when no one else would."
---
The inside of his car was warm — too warm.
Sitting beside Lucian Grant, I felt like a smudge on polished marble. I wrapped my arms around myself, still wet and shivering, while he sat perfectly composed.
"I don't want your pity," I said.
"This isn't pity," he replied. "This is a partnership. A contract. You become my wife, we present ourselves as a unified power. You get your name, your inheritance, and the Dawsons pay for what they did."
"A fake marriage?"
"A strategic one."
"For how long?"
"One year."
I scoffed. "Let me guess — no feelings involved?"
He didn't answer immediately. "You can set the rules."
My brows furrowed. "Why are you doing this?"
His expression didn't change, but I felt something tighten in the air.
"You have power, Ava," he said. "You just don't know how to use it yet. With me, you won't just be an abandoned girl. You'll be untouchable."
I looked away.
"I don't want to depend on anyone again," I whispered. "Not after what they did."
"Then don't depend," he said. "Build."
I turned back to him. "What if I say no?"
"Then I drop you off at the nearest shelter and walk away."
I snorted. "Wow. How romantic."
He leaned closer. His cologne — expensive, woodsy, restrained — tickled my senses.
"I don't want romance," he said. "I want retribution."
Our eyes met.
Something deep inside me twisted. Not attraction, not yet. But alignment. Like we were both jagged pieces from the same shattered mirror.
---
"Three conditions," I said finally.
Lucian nodded. "Name them."
"One: I don't answer to you. I'm your equal. In business. In decisions. In life."
"Done."
"Two: I get full access to everything involving the Dawsons. All records. All leverage."
His lips curled. "Gladly."
"And three…" I hesitated. "No lies. Not from you. Not from anyone you send."
For the first time, he hesitated — just a fraction of a second. Then:
"Agreed."
He extended his hand.
"Do we have a deal, Ava Grant?"
My eyes drifted to the window. Rain still streaked down the glass, turning streetlights into smudges of gold.
My name. My legacy. My revenge.
And maybe something else, buried in this man's unreadable eyes.
I placed my hand in his.
"Deal."
---
We drove through the city in silence.
The Maybach's soundproof interior turned the chaos of the outside world into a dream — like we were floating through another dimension.
When the car pulled up in front of a high-rise building with mirrored windows that reached into the sky, I barely registered it.
"Where are we?"
"My place," Lucian said simply. "You'll stay here until the paperwork is finalized."
"I didn't agree to live with you."
"I didn't ask."
I glared at him. "That wasn't part of the deal."
"It is now."
Before I could argue, the door opened, and a woman in a tailored suit stepped forward.
"Ms. Grant," she said with a bow. "Welcome. Your suite is ready."
"My what?"
Lucian stepped out and held the umbrella over me without looking back.
"Time to stop surviving, Ava," he said. "Start ruling."
---
The penthouse was... surreal.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. A panoramic view of the entire city glittering under the stormy sky.
But what caught me most was the portrait above the fireplace.
A woman. Strong jawline. Emerald eyes. A quiet defiance in her face.
"She's beautiful," I whispered.
Lucian's voice was low behind me. "That was your mother."
I stiffened.
"She died shortly after giving birth to you. The story was that her daughter was stillborn."
"But I wasn't."
"No," he said. "You were stolen."
I didn't realize my hands were shaking until he gently placed a glass of water into them.
"I don't know how to be her," I admitted. "I don't know how to be anyone right now."
"You don't have to be her," he said. "Just be the woman they were all so afraid you might become."
I looked at him. "And who's that?"
He tilted his head, his voice a whisper.
"Someone powerful enough to burn the Dawsons to the ground."
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The bed was softer than anything I'd ever known. The sheets were like silk clouds. But my mind ran in circles.
The contract.
The truth.
Lucian.
The way he looked at me — not like I was broken, but like I was dangerous.
And then... the memory returned.
A flash.
Blood on my hands.
Rain pouring.
A voice — mine — whispering to a man on the brink of death:
"If you live... I'll be yours."
---
[End of Chapter 2 ]