The champagne flute trembled in Emma Brooks' fingers as she stared at the marriage contract spread across Alexander Knight's mahogany desk. The legal document's pristine white pages seemed to mock her with their clinical precision—every clause designed to strip away her dignity while preserving his empire.
"One year," Alexander's voice cut through the silence of his corner office like shattered glass. "Twelve months of marriage. Public appearances as needed. No emotional entanglements."
Emma's grip tightened on the crystal stem until her knuckles went white. The city of Manhattan glittered forty floors below them, a carpet of lights that represented everything she'd never be able to afford—not without this devil's bargain. Her mother's medical bills sat like lead weights in her stomach, each unpaid invoice another reminder of how desperately she needed Alexander Knight's money.
"And after the year?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. The leather chair beneath her was worth more than her monthly rent, but it might as well have been made of thorns.
Alexander leaned back in his executive chair, his steel-gray eyes studying her with the calculated interest of a predator sizing up prey. At thirty-three, he commanded rooms with the same ruthless efficiency he used to destroy competitors. His black suit was tailored to perfection, emphasizing broad shoulders that had never known manual labor, hands that had never been stained with anything messier than ink from million-dollar contracts.
"After the year, you disappear." He picked up his Mont Blanc pen—the same one he'd used to sign the hostile takeover that had crushed her father's small gallery five years ago. "You take your settlement and vanish from my life completely. No contact. No lingering attachments. No romantic notions about what this arrangement means."
The bitterness in his tone made something twist painfully in Emma's chest. She'd heard the rumors about Alexander Knight—how his first wife had died in a car accident three years into their marriage, how he'd become even more ruthless afterward, as if he'd carved out whatever remained of his heart and fed it to his shareholders.
"Why me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "You could have any socialite in the city. Someone who understands your world."
Alexander's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "Because socialites come with expectations. They believe in fairy tales and happy endings." His gaze raked over her paint-stained fingers, her second-hand dress, the small hole near her left shoe that she'd hoped he wouldn't notice. "You, Miss Brooks, are practical. Desperate. And temporary."
The word 'desperate' hit her like a physical blow, but Emma forced herself not to flinch. He wasn't wrong. Her mother's chemotherapy treatments were bleeding her dry, her art wasn't selling, and her waitressing job at the diner barely covered groceries. She was drowning in debt, and Alexander Knight was offering her a life preserver made of gold chains.
"The settlement is generous," he continued, sliding another document across the desk. "Five million dollars. Enough to handle your mother's medical expenses and set you up comfortably for life. All you have to do is play the devoted wife in public and stay out of my way in private."
Emma's fingers traced the edge of the financial agreement. Five million dollars. It was more money than she'd ever imagined having, enough to save her mother's life and maybe—just maybe—give her the freedom to pursue her art without the constant weight of survival pressing down on her shoulders.
But the cost...
"What about love?" she asked quietly, hating herself for the question even as it left her lips.
Alexander's expression didn't change, but something cold and final settled behind his eyes. "Love is a luxury I don't indulge in anymore. This is a business transaction, nothing more. You provide me with a wife to satisfy my board of directors' concerns about my 'stability,' and I provide you with the means to solve your problems."
The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the office. Emma could smell the faint scent of his cologne—something expensive and masculine that probably cost more than her car. The air conditioning hummed quietly, but she felt suffocated by the weight of the decision pressing down on her.
"I need to think about it," she said, starting to rise from the chair.
"No." Alexander's voice stopped her cold. "You decide now, or the offer disappears. My lawyer is waiting in the conference room to witness the signing. This opportunity won't come again."
Emma sank back into the chair, her heart hammering against her ribs. Through the glass walls of his office, she could see his employees moving with efficient purpose, their lives neat and ordered in ways hers had never been. They belonged in this world of power suits and corporate intrigue. She was an intruder, a desperate artist who painted feelings she couldn't afford to have.
But her mother's face flashed in her mind—pale and drawn from the latest round of chemo, trying to smile through the pain because she didn't want Emma to worry. Clara Brooks had sacrificed everything for her daughter's dreams, working double shifts at the hospital to pay for art supplies, never complaining even when the medical bills started mounting.
"If I sign this," Emma said slowly, "what guarantees do I have that you'll honor the contract?"
Alexander's smile was razor-thin. "Miss Brooks, I'm worth twelve billion dollars. My word is my bond because my reputation is worth more than your entire existence. I don't break contracts. Ever."
The casual cruelty in his tone should have sent her running. Instead, it steeled her resolve. Alexander Knight might be ruthless, but he was also honest about his ruthlessness. There would be no false promises, no pretense of affection. Just cold, hard transaction.
Emma picked up the pen.
"One year," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Twelve months of pretending to love a man who's forgotten how to feel anything at all."
"Pretending is all that's required," Alexander replied, but something flickered across his face—too quick to interpret, gone before she could analyze it.
She signed her name with bold, decisive strokes, each letter a small rebellion against the circumstances that had brought her here. Emma Brooks, soon to be Emma Knight. The irony wasn't lost on her—she was trading her freedom for the name of a man who'd already made it clear she'd never truly have him.
Alexander signed below her signature, his movements precise and controlled. The scratch of pen against paper sounded like a death knell in the quiet office.
"Welcome to the Knight family, Mrs. Knight," he said, but his tone held no warmth, no hint of celebration. "The wedding is in three days. My assistant will coordinate everything. Don't be late."
Emma nodded, her throat too tight for words. She'd just signed away a year of her life to save her mother's, but as Alexander's cold gray eyes met hers across the desk, she wondered if she'd made the biggest mistake of her life.
Outside the windows, Manhattan glittered like a jeweled snake, beautiful and dangerous. Emma had just stepped into its coils, and she wasn't sure she'd ever find her way out.
The contract lay between them, still damp with ink, binding them together in the most unromantic union imaginable. But as Alexander Knight gathered the papers with businesslike efficiency, Emma caught something in his expression—a flicker of what might have been regret, or perhaps just indigestion from his lunch meeting.
"One more thing," he said as she moved toward the door. "My sister Sophia will be at the wedding. She has strong opinions about my choice in wives. Try not to take it personally when she attempts to destroy you."
Emma's hand froze on the door handle. "Attempts?"
Alexander's smile was all predator now, sharp and utterly without mercy. "Sophia has never met a woman she thought was good enough for me. She has a particular talent for finding pressure points." His gray eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. "But then again, Miss Brooks, you just agreed to marry a man who can't love you. I suspect you're more resilient than you appear."
The words hit Emma like a physical blow, but she forced herself to meet his gaze without flinching. "Maybe that makes two of us, Mr. Knight."
She left his office with her head held high, but her hands were shaking as she pressed the elevator button. The doors slid shut, reflecting her pale face back at her in the polished steel. In three days, she would become Mrs. Alexander Knight.
She just prayed she would survive it.
But as the elevator descended toward the lobby, Emma couldn't shake the feeling that Alexander Knight's warning about his sister was the least of her worries. The man she'd just agreed to marry was dangerous in ways she was only beginning to understand, and she'd just handed him a year of her life on a silver platter.
The elevator reached the ground floor with a soft ding, and Emma stepped into the marble lobby where Alexander's enemies were already watching, waiting for her first mistake.