Amara's heart pounded like a war drum as the limousine glided through the city streets, the towering skyscrapers blurring into a haze of lights and shadows. The wedding veil lay crumpled in her lap, a stark reminder of the lie she'd just sealed with a kiss. Her lips still tingled from the brief, impersonal press of Dominic Blackwood's mouth against hers—cold, calculated, like everything else about him. She stole a glance at her new husband, seated across from her in the plush leather interior. His jaw was set in a hard line, his dark eyes fixed on the tablet in his hands, scrolling through what looked like business emails. Not a word had passed between them since the ceremony ended.
The church had been a whirlwind of flashes from photographers, whispers from guests, and the suffocating weight of her sister's absence. Elena—her twin, the real bride—had vanished without a trace, leaving Amara to bear the brunt of their family's desperation. "If you don't do this, Mother dies," their father had hissed in her ear, his grip bruising her arm. The Kingsleys were drowning in debt, and this marriage to the Blackwood empire was their lifeline. Elena had been the chosen one, the beautiful, poised daughter meant for the altar. But she'd run, and Amara, the overlooked shadow, had been shoved into the spotlight.
Now, here she was, married to a man who thought she was someone else. Dominic Blackwood, the infamous CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, a conglomerate that controlled half the city's real estate and tech industries. Rumors painted him as ruthless, a shark in a suit who devoured competitors without mercy. And from the way he avoided her gaze, it seemed he viewed this marriage the same way—a necessary acquisition.
The limo pulled up to a sleek, modern mansion perched on the hills overlooking the city. It was all glass and steel, cold and impersonal, much like its owner. The driver opened the door, and Dominic exited first, not bothering to offer her a hand. Amara gathered her skirts and followed, her heels clicking uncertainly on the marble driveway. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of ocean from the distant shore, but it did little to ease the knot in her stomach.
"Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Blackwood," Dominic said flatly, his voice devoid of warmth as he punched in a code at the front door. The title stung like a slap. She wasn't Mrs. Blackwood—not really. She was Amara Kingsley, a temp secretary scraping by in a rundown apartment, not the socialite Elena pretended to be.
Inside, the foyer was cavernous, with high ceilings and minimalist decor. A grand staircase spiraled upward, and abstract art adorned the walls—pieces that probably cost more than her entire year's salary. A housekeeper, an older woman with a stern expression, nodded curtly as they entered.
"Mr. Blackwood, everything is prepared as requested," she said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hargrove. That will be all for tonight," Dominic replied, dismissing her with a wave. The woman vanished down a hallway, leaving Amara alone with him.
He turned to her then, his piercing blue eyes finally meeting hers. They were like shards of ice, cutting through her facade. "Follow me," he commanded, striding toward a door off the foyer. Amara hesitated for a split second before hurrying after him, her wedding dress swishing awkwardly.
The room he led her into was a study—dark wood panels, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, and a massive desk that screamed power. Dominic moved behind it, pulling out a thick folder from a drawer. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Amara obeyed, perching on the edge like a bird ready to flee. Her hands twisted in her lap, the diamond ring on her finger feeling like a shackle. It was Elena's ring, of course—borrowed, like everything else about this charade.
Dominic opened the folder and slid a stack of papers across the desk. "This is the marriage contract. Read it carefully. Sign where indicated."
Her breath caught. A contract? She knew this was a business arrangement, but seeing it laid out in black and white made her stomach churn. With trembling fingers, she picked up the document. The words blurred at first, but she forced herself to focus.
The contract was ironclad, a masterpiece of legal jargon designed to protect Dominic's empire. It outlined the terms: a two-year marriage for appearances' sake, merging the Kingsley family's failing company with Blackwood Enterprises. In exchange, the Kingsleys' debts would be cleared, and Elena—supposedly—would receive a generous settlement upon divorce. There were clauses about public conduct, no infidelity, and mandatory attendance at social events. But what hit Amara hardest was the intimacy clause: "No physical relations unless mutually agreed upon. This is a marriage of convenience, not passion."
She glanced up at him, searching for any sign of emotion. His face was a mask, unreadable. "Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why marry someone you don't love?"
Dominic leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Love is a liability in my world, Miss Kingsley—or should I say, Mrs. Blackwood. This union benefits both families. Your father's company gets a bailout, and I gain access to key markets. Emotions have no place in business."
"But I'm not—" She bit her tongue, the lie sticking in her throat. She couldn't reveal the truth, not yet. Not when her mother's life hung in the balance. The threats from her father echoed in her mind: hospital bills unpaid, eviction notices piling up. Elena's disappearance had forced her hand, but confessing now would unravel everything.
"You're not what?" Dominic prompted, his eyes narrowing. There was that suspicion again, the same flicker she'd seen during the kiss at the altar. As if he could sense the deception radiating from her pores.
"Nothing," Amara said quickly, forcing a weak smile. "It's just... overwhelming."
He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "Sign it. The sooner we get this over with, the better."
She picked up the pen, her hand shaking. Each stroke felt like signing away her soul. When she finished, she pushed the papers back to him. Dominic reviewed them swiftly, then added his own signature with a flourish. He stood, tucking the contract away. "Good. Now, let's discuss the rules."
"Rules?" Amara echoed, rising to her feet. She felt small in the vast room, dwarfed by his presence.
"Yes. This mansion is your home now, but it's also my sanctuary. You'll have your own suite upstairs—separate from mine. No entering my private spaces without permission. You'll accompany me to events as needed, play the doting wife in public. In private, we maintain distance. No questions about my work, no demands on my time. Understood?"
His words were like bullets, each one piercing her resolve. Amara lifted her chin, refusing to cower. She might be poor, but she had pride. "And what about me? Do I get any say in this?"
Dominic's lips curved into a humorless smile. "You already did—by saying 'I do.' This isn't a fairy tale, Amara. It's a transaction."
The use of her name—Elena's name—sent a shiver down her spine. How long could she keep this up? Her sister was the glamorous one, the one who knew how to navigate high society. Amara was the bookworm, the one who preferred quiet nights with a novel over galas and gossip.
"Fine," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "But don't expect me to be a puppet. I have my own life."
He arched an eyebrow. "Your life is mine now, for the next two years. Remember that."
The tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with unspoken challenges. Dominic moved closer, his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and authority—enveloping her. For a moment, Amara thought he might touch her, but he simply reached past her to open the door. "Mrs. Hargrove will show you to your room. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we have our first public appearance—a charity gala. Dress appropriately."
Dismissed like an employee. Amara nodded stiffly and turned to leave, but paused at the threshold. "One more thing, Dominic."
He looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes at her use of his first name.
"Why me—why the Kingsleys? You could have any alliance."
His expression hardened. "Your family has something I need. That's all you need to know."
She left the study, her mind racing. What could the Kingsleys possibly have that a man like Dominic wanted? Their company was on the brink of bankruptcy, their name tarnished by scandals. Unless... unless it was tied to Elena's secrets. Her sister had always been secretive, flitting from one lavish party to another, whispering about "big opportunities." Had she entangled herself with Blackwood in ways Amara didn't know?
Mrs. Hargrove appeared like a ghost, leading her up the staircase to a lavish suite. The room was a dream—king-sized bed with silk sheets, a walk-in closet stocked with designer clothes in Elena's size, and a balcony overlooking the city lights. But it felt like a gilded cage.
"Mr. Blackwood had this prepared for you," the housekeeper said, her tone neutral. "If you need anything, ring the bell."
Alone at last, Amara sank onto the bed, the wedding dress pooling around her like a shroud. She pulled out her phone, checking for messages from her father or Elena. Nothing. Just a cryptic text from her father earlier: "Stick to the plan. Or else."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crying wouldn't help. She had to survive this, for her mother's sake. Stripping off the dress, she changed into a simple nightgown from the drawer—soft, luxurious, but impersonal. As she lay in the unfamiliar bed, sleep evaded her. Every creak in the house made her jump, imagining Dominic lurking in the shadows.
Downstairs, in his study, Dominic poured himself a scotch, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, but something nagged at him. Elena Kingsley—or Amara, as she insisted on being called informally—seemed different from the woman he'd negotiated with months ago. The Elena in their meetings had been bold, flirtatious, eager for the power this marriage would bring. This version was quieter, more reserved, with eyes that held a storm of secrets.
He pulled up her file on his computer, scanning the photos. Twins? No, the Kingsleys had only mentioned one daughter in the deals. But the resemblance... He shook his head. Paranoia. Still, he'd have his assistant dig deeper tomorrow.
The contract was signed, the deal sealed. But if she was hiding something, he'd uncover it. And heaven help her if it threatened his empire.
Back in her room, Amara's phone buzzed suddenly. A message from an unknown number: "You think you can take my place? Watch your back, sister."
Her blood ran cold. Elena? Or someone else?
The night stretched on, filled with dread. Little did Amara know, the real storm was just beginning.