I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the contract—black ink on white paper, neat and merciless. One signature. One year of my life. A lifetime for my father.
By morning, my decision had already been made.
The lawyer's office was cold and quiet, all glass walls and polished floors. Alexander Blackwood sat at the head of the table, immaculate in a charcoal suit, as if this were just another business meeting.
The lawyer slid the documents toward me. "If you're ready, Miss Moore."
I looked at Alexander. He didn't look back—only checked his watch.
I picked up the pen.
My hand trembled as I signed my name.
The sound of the pen leaving the paper felt louder than it should have.
"It's done," the lawyer said.
Alexander finally looked at me. "Good."
Just like that, my life changed.
---
Two hours later, I stood in front of a glass skyscraper that pierced the sky.
"This is where you live now," Alexander said, stepping out of the car.
I stared up at the building, my stomach twisting. "This is… your office?"
"Penthouse," he corrected.
The elevator ride was silent. The doors opened directly into a space that looked more like a luxury hotel than a home—marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread endlessly below.
"This is temporary," I said, more to myself than him.
"One year," Alexander replied. "Nothing about this is temporary until then."
He handed me a tablet.
"What's this?"
"My rules."
I blinked. "Rules?"
"You're my wife," he said calmly. "Publicly. That requires structure."
I unlocked the tablet and scrolled.
**Rule One:** We sleep in separate bedrooms.
**Rule Two:** No unnecessary physical contact.
**Rule Three:** No questions about my work or personal life.
**Rule Four:** You will appear at all public events I require.
**Rule Five:** You will not fall in love with me.
I laughed—short and disbelieving. "That last one isn't exactly enforceable."
His gaze sharpened. "It's essential."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because emotions complicate contracts."
I looked at him, really looked at him—cold eyes, controlled posture, a man who had built walls so high nothing could get in.
"And what about you?" I asked quietly. "Any rules for yourself?"
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne—clean, expensive, dangerous.
"I don't break contracts," he said. "That's my rule."
My heartbeat betrayed me.
He turned away. "Your room is down the hall. You'll find clothes already prepared."
"Prepared?" I repeated.
"My assistant took your measurements."
Heat rushed to my face. "You had no right—"
"I have every right," he said flatly. "You signed."
I followed him down the hallway, my emotions tangled and raw.
Inside the bedroom, racks of dresses lined the wall. Elegant. Expensive. Completely not me.
"This is a prison," I muttered.
"No," Alexander said from behind me. "This is a performance."
He held up a velvet box.
"Tonight," he continued, "you'll attend a charity gala with me."
"Tonight?" I spun around. "I don't even know how to pretend to be your wife."
His eyes met mine.
"Then learn quickly," he said. "Because the world will be watching."
He opened the box.
Inside was a diamond ring—large, flawless, blinding.
My breath caught.
"This is not a gift," he said. "It's a symbol."
I hesitated, then slipped it onto my finger.
It was heavy.
Permanent.
Alexander reached for my hand, adjusting the ring with deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed mine—warm, controlled.
The contact lasted less than a second.
But my pulse spiked anyway.
He released me immediately.
"Remember the rules," he said. "Especially the last one."
As he turned to leave, his phone rang.
His expression changed—tight, irritated.
"Yes?" he answered.
A pause.
Then his jaw clenched.
"She's back?" he said quietly.
I stiffened.
Alexander glanced at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"Cancel the meeting," he continued into the phone. "I'll handle it personally."
He ended the call and looked at me again.
"Change quickly," he said. "Tonight just became complicated."