The silence after the doorbell rang felt heavier than any sound.
My heart pounded so violently I was sure Lucien could hear it from the hallway. I stayed frozen on my knees, hands clenched against the floor, my thoughts colliding in panic.
No. Not yet. I'm not ready.
The bell rang again.
Once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Lucien Blackwood never rushed. He never needed to.
I forced myself to stand, smoothing my hair with trembling fingers, wiping the tears I hadn't realized were still falling. I took a deep breath, then another, trying to steady myself before walking to the door.
The moment I opened it, his presence filled the space.
Lucien stood there in a perfectly tailored black coat, broad shoulders straight, expression unreadable. His eyes—dark, sharp, calculating—fell on my face like a silent assessment.
"You look exhausted," he said calmly.
"I didn't invite you," I replied, my voice hoarse.
"You invited me the moment you didn't refuse," he said, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
It sounded final.
Lucien removed his coat with slow precision, draping it over the chair like he owned the place. Maybe he did. He walked around my apartment with casual confidence, eyes scanning every corner, every detail.
"You live modestly," he observed. "For someone with your background."
"I don't need luxury," I snapped.
"No," he agreed. "You need security."
The word hit too close to the truth.
He stopped near the window, looking out at the city lights below. From where he stood, he looked untouchable—like a king surveying his kingdom.
"I don't have all night," he continued. "Have you made a decision?"
I crossed my arms tightly, as if I could protect myself that way. "You're asking me to marry a stranger. You think that's something I can decide overnight?"
"You're not deciding to marry a stranger," Lucien corrected smoothly. "You're deciding whether your family's company survives the next quarter."
My breath caught.
"You're cruel," I whispered.
He turned slowly, meeting my gaze. "Cruelty implies pleasure. This is business."
I laughed bitterly. "You don't understand. That company—it's my father's life. My mother's sacrifice. You're using them against me."
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Because it works."
Anger surged through me, hot and sharp. "You're blackmailing me."
"I'm offering you leverage," he replied calmly. "You gain protection, status, and stability. I gain what I need."
"And what exactly do you need?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Lucien studied me for a long moment. "A wife."
The word echoed in my mind.
A wife.
Not a partner. Not a lover. A role.
"You could marry anyone," I said. "Why me?"
A pause.
His gaze sharpened. "Because you are desperate enough to accept."
The truth of it hurt more than any insult.
He pulled the folder from his briefcase and placed it on the table between us.
"Read it," he said.
I hesitated, then sat down, opening the thick stack of papers. My eyes skimmed the clauses, my heart sinking with every line.
Clause 1: The marriage shall be contractual and valid for a minimum of three years.
Clause 2: Both parties shall maintain public appearances as a married couple.
Clause 3: Emotional involvement is not required.
Clause 4: No disclosure of personal matters without consent.
Clause 5: Divorce may only be initiated by mutual agreement after the contract period.
I swallowed hard.
"This isn't a marriage," I said quietly. "It's a prison."
Lucien leaned back in his chair. "Prisons protect what's inside them."
I looked up sharply. "That's not comforting."
"It's honest."
My hand instinctively drifted to my stomach.
Lucien noticed.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"No," I lied quickly. Too quickly.
Silence stretched between us, thick with tension. I could feel sweat forming at the back of my neck.
"You should be aware," he continued, "once you sign this contract, your life will be under constant scrutiny. The media. The board. My enemies."
My pulse spiked.
What about the baby?
The thought sent fear spiraling through me. A child born into a lie. A contract. A loveless marriage.
"You're pale," Lucien said. "If you're expecting sympathy, you won't find it here."
"I don't want your sympathy," I snapped. "I want my life back."
He stood, towering over me. "Your life ended the moment your fiancé betrayed you."
The words sliced through me.
"How did you—"
"I know everything," Lucien said calmly. "Including that he was about to sell confidential information from your family's company to my competitor."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
"You were disposable to him," Lucien continued, his voice steady. "Useful until you weren't."
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
"So what?" I whispered. "You swoop in as my savior?"
"I am no savior," he replied. "I am the lesser evil."
I stared at the contract again.
Three years.
Three years of pretending. Of smiling for cameras. Of sharing a bed with a man who didn't love me.
Or… losing everything.
"I need time," I said weakly.
"You don't have it," Lucien replied, glancing at his watch. "Your father's creditors meet tomorrow morning."
My heart dropped.
"You planned this," I said.
"Yes."
Something inside me snapped.
"You think you've won," I said, standing abruptly. "You think you own me already."
Lucien didn't move. "Do I?"
I slammed the folder shut. "No. But you're close."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—interest.
"Sign," he said quietly. "And I will protect everything you love."
I hesitated.
My mind screamed run.
My heart whispered survive.
Slowly, painfully, I reached for the pen.
The moment the ink touched the paper, my hands shook violently.
I signed my name.
Amara Hayes.
Lucien took the contract, scanning it once before nodding.
"It's done," he said.
The weight hit me instantly.
I was no longer free.
Lucien stood, straightening his cuffs. "You'll move into my residence tomorrow. Your engagement will be announced as mutually ended. Our marriage will be announced within the week."
I stared at him in disbelief. "That fast?"
"The world doesn't wait for broken hearts," he replied.
He paused at the door, glancing back at me.
"Get some rest," he said. "You'll need it."
The door closed behind him.
I sank onto the couch, staring at the signed contract in my hands.
A sob escaped my chest.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the life growing inside me. "I don't know how to protect you."
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwood.
I dropped the phone.
The name echoed in my mind like a curse.
Mrs. Blackwood.
And I knew—this marriage was only the beginning of something far more dangerous.