Trinidad's entire body went stiff.
The cold metal of the gun pressed lightly against the side of her head, but it felt heavy enough to crush her skull.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Slowly, she raised both hands.
"I—I wasn't stealing," she stammered, cursing herself the second the words left her mouth.
What kind of lie was that?
She was standing in front of a billionaire's safe.
Inside his vault room.
With gloves on.
At midnight.
The voice behind her let out a dark, mocking chuckle.
"Then what were you doing?" he asked lazily. "Admiring the decoration?"
Trinidad swallowed hard.
She turned carefully.
And forgot how to breathe.
The man standing before her looked unreal.
Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a black silk shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing a sharp collarbone and smooth skin. His face was dangerously handsome, the kind that belonged in sinful dreams. Dark eyes stared at her with cold amusement, while his lips curved into a smirk that screamed trouble.
He looked young.
Powerful.
Deadly.
And rich enough to buy the city twice.
Colt Clifford.
The devil himself.
Her knees nearly gave out.
This was the man she had tried countless times to meet for help.
The same man whose guards had thrown her out each time.
Now she had broken into his home.
Wonderful.
Colt tilted his head, studying her from head to toe.
His gaze lingered on her cheap clothes, worn shoes, trembling fingers.
Then his eyes narrowed.
"You're not one of the usual thieves."
Usual thieves?
How many people tried robbing billionaires?
"I said I wasn't stealing," Trinidad muttered weakly.
He took a slow step closer.
The room instantly felt smaller.
"And I said," he murmured, lifting the gun under her chin, "I don't like liars."
Fear shot through her, but something stronger rose with it.
Anger.
Desperation.
Pain.
She slapped the gun away.
"I'm here because my father is dying!" she snapped, tears burning her eyes. "Because no one helps poor people unless they're begging on their knees! Because I tried to meet you and your stupid guards threw me out every single time!"
Silence.
Even Trinidad was shocked by her own outburst.
Had she lost her mind?
She just yelled at the richest man in Blackwood City while standing in his vault room.
Colt stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
A low, rich sound that sent strange chills down her spine.
"You've got guts," he said.
"I've got problems."
His smile faded slightly.
For a second, something unreadable crossed his face.
Then he tucked the gun into the back of his waistband.
"How much do you need?"
Trinidad blinked.
"What?"
"For your father."
She hesitated.
This had to be a trap.
But the thought of her father lying weak and sick at home broke her pride.
She whispered the amount.
Colt didn't react.
To him, it was pocket change.
He walked past her, entered a code into the safe, and opened it.
Trinidad's jaw nearly dropped.
Stacks of cash.
Gold bars.
Jewelry glittering under the lights.
Enough wealth to save a thousand lives.
Colt pulled out a bundle of money and turned back to her.
Hope exploded inside her chest.
Then he stopped just before handing it over.
"But nothing in this world is free."
Her heart sank.
Of course.
There was always a price.
"What do you want?" she asked quietly.
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then he said the last thing she expected.
"Marry me."
The room spun.
Trinidad laughed once, a short sound full of disbelief.
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
He stepped closer, placing the money on a table beside her.
"Be my wife for one year. In return, your father gets the best treatment money can buy."
She shook her head rapidly.
"No. No way."
"You broke into my house."
"You can call the police then!"
"I could." His eyes darkened. "But prison won't help your father."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Damn him.
He knew exactly where to strike.
Trinidad looked at the money again.
Then at Colt.
There was no warmth in his face.
No softness.
Only control.
Why would a billionaire need a fake wife?
"What kind of sick game is this?" she asked.
"It's business."
"That tells me nothing."
He walked toward the window, hands in his pockets.
"The board wants me settled. Investors trust family men. My grandfather's will also requires marriage before I gain full control of certain assets."
He glanced back at her.
"You need money. I need a wife. We solve each other's problems."
Trinidad wanted to throw something at him.
She was not a business solution.
She was not a tool.
But her father…
Her father was running out of time.
"When would this start?" she asked bitterly.
A victorious smirk touched Colt's lips.
"Tonight."
Her eyes widened.
"Tonight?!"
"You'll move in. We'll sign papers tomorrow."
"I need to see my father first."
"You will."
He picked up the money and handed it to her properly this time.
His fingers brushed hers.
Heat shot through her skin so suddenly that she almost dropped the bundle.
She looked up.
He noticed.
The dangerous satisfaction in his eyes told her he noticed everything.
"I hate you," she muttered.
"That's fine," he said smoothly. "My future wife doesn't need to love me."
An hour later, a sleek black car stopped in front of the tiny apartment Trinidad called home.
The contrast was painful.
The expensive car looked like it had lost its way in a neighborhood full of broken buildings and flickering streetlights.
Colt stepped out first.
People nearby froze.
Whispers spread instantly.
"Is that Colt Clifford?"
"What is he doing here?"
"Who is the girl?"
Trinidad ignored them and rushed inside.
Her father lay on the old bed, coughing weakly.
"Dad!"
She dropped beside him, grabbing his hand.
His face brightened despite the sickness.
"Trini… you're home early."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I found help."
Colt entered behind her, his presence swallowing the tiny room.
Mr. Montana looked confused.
Trinidad wiped her face and forced the words out.
"Dad… this is Colt Clifford."
The older man nearly sat up from shock.
The billionaire gave a short nod.
"My doctors will take over your treatment immediately."
Mr. Montana looked between them.
"Why?"
Trinidad froze.
Before she could answer, Colt spoke calmly.
"Because your daughter is going to marry me."
The room went silent.
Her father stared.
Then coughed so hard Trinidad panicked.
"Dad!"
"I'm fine," he wheezed, though his eyes remained fixed on Colt. "Marry… you?"
Colt's expression didn't change.
"Yes."
Mr. Montana turned to Trinidad.
"Is this true?"
She wanted to scream no.
Wanted to say this was madness.
Wanted to run.
But instead, she nodded slowly.
His tired eyes softened with worry.
"My child… don't sacrifice yourself for me."
That shattered her.
She hugged him carefully.
"I'm not sacrificing anything," she lied. "I'll be okay."
Colt stood quietly near the door, watching.
For the first time, Trinidad wondered what kind of pain could make a man this rich look so empty.
By dawn, her father had been moved to one of the best private hospitals in the city.
By sunrise, Trinidad stood once again in the Clifford mansion.
Only this time, not as a thief.
As the future Mrs. Clifford.
A line of maids bowed as she entered.
The grand staircase glittered beneath crystal lights.
Everything was too big.
Too expensive.
Too unreal.
Then footsteps sounded behind her.
She turned.
Colt descended the stairs in a fitted black suit, looking every bit the untouchable king of Blackwood City.
He stopped in front of her.
His eyes swept over her simple dress.
Then he held out his hand.
"Ready, wife?"
Trinidad stared at his hand like it was a snake.
Then she lifted her chin.
"One year," she said coldly.
"One year," he agreed.
She placed her hand in his.
The moment their skin touched, something dangerous shifted in the air.