Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Man in the Suit
The only thing louder than the generic pop music at my father’s retirement party was the screaming voice in my head. Get me out of here.
At twenty-two, I was surrounded by his balding, well-meaning colleagues who still saw me as the little girl with pigtails, not Elara, the recent art school graduate drowning in student debt.
“There’s my girl!” Dad boomed, slinging an arm around me. “Having fun?”
“A blast, Dad,” I lied, forcing a smile.
“Good, good. Hey, look who finally decided to show up!” Dad’s eyes lit up as he looked over my shoulder. “The man who signs my paychecks!”
I turned, and my world tilted on its axis.
Leaning against the doorframe was Alexander Black. My father’s best friend. The billionaire founder of Black Technologies. And the man I’d been secretly, stupidly, irrevocably in love with since I was sixteen.
Time had been kind to him. Devastatingly so. At forty, he was all sharp lines and quiet intensity. His dark hair was peppered with distinguished silver at the temples, and his charcoal-grey suit looked like it cost more than my entire year’s rent. His gaze, the color of a stormy sea, swept the room and landed on me.
My breath hitched.
“Alex!” Dad clapped him on the back. “I was starting to think you’d stood me up.”
“A merger ran late. My apologies, James.” Alexander’s voice was a low baritone that vibrated right through me. He finally turned his full attention to me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Elara. You’ve… grown up.”
Understatement of the century. “Hello, Mr. Black,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly small.
“Alexander, please. ‘Mr. Black’ makes me feel as old as your father.” He winked at Dad, who laughed.
I just nodded, feeling like a flustered teenager all over again. This was why I avoided him. He made me feel things I had no business feeling. He was my father’s best friend. Off-limits. Untouchable.
Later, as I escaped to the balcony for air, I didn’t hear him follow me.
“Hiding from the crowd?” his voice came from behind, making me jump.
I turned, clutching the railing. “Something like that.”
He stood beside me, the scent of his sandalwood and mint cologne wrapping around me. “I heard about your gallery. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
The sympathy, coming from him, was a knife to the heart. My dream, my tiny art gallery, had gone under in three months. “Yeah, well. Dreams don’t pay the bills.”
We stood in silence for a moment, watching the city lights.
“Your father worries about you,” he said quietly.
“I know. But I’m an adult. I can handle my own life.” The words came out sharper than I intended.
“Can you?” he asked, his tone not unkind, but probing. “James mentioned the debt collectors are calling.”
Humiliation burned my cheeks. Of course Dad had told him. They told each other everything. “I’ll figure it out.”
Alexander turned to face me fully, his expression unreadable. “What if I proposed a way for you to ‘figure it out’?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “I have a… business proposition for you, Elara.”
I laughed, a nervous, brittle sound. “What? You need a barista at your corporate office?”
“No,” he said, his gaze intense, locking with mine. “I need a wife.”
I stared at him, sure I had misheard. The music from inside suddenly seemed miles away. “I… what?”
“It’s simple,” he continued, his voice all business, as if he were discussing a stock portfolio. “My board is… traditional. They want a stable, married man at the helm for an upcoming, very sensitive IPO. A bachelor, especially one with my… reputation, makes them nervous.”
My mind was reeling. “Your reputation? You mean the parade of models on your arm?”
A smirk touched his lips. “Precisely. A marriage, even one of convenience, would settle them. In return, I will clear all your debts and pay you a generous monthly stipend. The contract would be for one year. After that, a quiet, amicable divorce, and you walk away a free woman, financially secure.”
I was speechless. This was insane. This was the kind of plot you read in a trashy novel.
“You’re serious?” I finally whispered.
“Deadly.” He pulled a sleek, silver flash drive from his pocket and pressed it into my palm. His fingers were warm against my skin, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. “The contract. All the terms. Think about it, Elara. But don’t think too long. I need an answer in 48 hours.”
He gave me one last, lingering look before turning and walking back inside, leaving me alone on the balcony with the cool night air and the weight of his impossible proposal.
A wife. His wife. I would have to call the man I’d called “Uncle Alex” my husband. I’d have to lie to my father, to everyone.
It was madness.
But as I looked down at the flash drive, glittering in my hand, I thought of the debt, the failed dreams, the crushing weight of my failures. And I thought of him.
This was a deal with the devil. But what if the devil was the only one offering a way out?
