The Seattle rain was relentless, the kind of downpour that soaked through layers in seconds. Ava stood on the sidewalk, shivering under a thin coat that had seen better years, staring up at the Blackwood Enterprises building. It was a mountain of glass and steel, cold and untouchable.
She squeezed the damp envelope in her pocket. Inside were the eviction notice and the medical bills—the paper trail of a life falling apart.
"Just breathe," she muttered to herself. "It's just a man. He breathes oxygen like anyone else."
Except Ethan Blackwood wasn't just anyone. People called him the Ice King for a reason. He didn't just run the city's economy; he owned it. And today, he was the only person who could keep her father from dying in a prison ward.
The lobby smelled like expensive marble and silence. When she stepped off the elevator on the top floor, a secretary with a sharp bob and a sharper gaze looked her over. Her eyes drifted to Ava's water-logged shoes.
"Mr. Blackwood will give you ten minutes, Miss Montgomery. Don't waste them."
Ava pushed open the heavy doors. The office was massive, quiet, and freezing. Ethan stood by the window, his back to her. He didn't move, just stared out at the gray skyline like a king watching his subjects.
"Sit down," he said. His voice was a low, steady rumble.
Ava sank into a velvet chair, her knees shaking. "Mr. Blackwood, thank you for the time. I know things look bad, but I'm here because—"
"I'm well aware of why you're here." He turned around, and for a second, Ava forgot how to speak.
The photos didn't capture the sheer intensity of him. He had a face built for power—hard angles and eyes as cold as a frozen lake. He walked toward the desk and tossed a thick file between them.
"Your father owes my firm six million dollars," Ethan said, leaning against the mahogany wood. "The 'accounting errors' he made before the stroke... I could have the police at his hospital bed within the hour."
"Please," Ava said, her voice cracking. "He was desperate. The business was failing and he just... he wasn't thinking straight. I'll pay it back. I'll work for you, I'll do anything."
"You'll never make six million dollars in this lifetime, Ava." He paused, his gaze raking over her—taking in the damp hair, the frayed collar, and the way she refused to look away. Something shifted in his eyes, just for a heartbeat, before the ice returned. "But you do have one thing I can use."
Ava felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. "What?"
"My grandfather's will has a few... frustrating clauses," Ethan said, his tone flat. "To keep my position as CEO, I have to be married by my thirty-second birthday. That's in three weeks. I don't have time for dating, and I have no interest in a wife who thinks she's entitled to my heart."
Ava stared at him, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. "You want a contract."
"I want a ghost," Ethan corrected. "A woman who can play a part at galas, live in my home, and stay out of my way. In exchange, I wipe your father's debt. I'll move him to a private clinic with the best doctors in the country. And in two years, we divorce. You'll walk away with enough money to never worry again."
Ava's mind raced. She thought of her father's pale face in that cramped hospital room. She thought of her sister, Sophie, who was still trying to finish college while working double shifts.
Am I really doing this? she wondered. Am I selling myself to a man who doesn't even see me as a person?
"No feelings?" she asked, her voice a fragile thread.
"None," Ethan said firmly. "Separate rooms. Separate lives. In this house, we're strangers. In public, you're the woman I can't live without."
Ethan watched her. She's the one, he thought. She's desperate enough to say yes, but she has enough pride that she won't embarrass me in front of the board. Two years of acting, and then I'm free.
"I need an answer, Ava. My time is expensive."
Ava looked at the gold pen on the desk. It looked like a trap. If she signed, she was giving up her life. But if she didn't, her father would die behind bars.
"I have conditions," she said, her voice suddenly finding its edge.
Ethan looked surprised, his brow arching. "Conditions? You're barely keeping your head above water."
"First," Ava said, standing up to meet his gaze. "My family can never know. They have to think this is real. I won't let my father go to his grave thinking I traded my soul for his medical bills."
"Fine," Ethan said. "Easier for the press, anyway."
"Second, I'm not a prisoner. I keep my friends. I keep my life. You don't get to control who I talk to."
Ethan stepped closer, invading her space. He was a wall of heat and expensive cologne. "You won't have much of a 'life' left, Ava. Being my wife is a full-time job. But your friends? Fine. As long as they don't talk to the tabloids."
He held out the pen. "Do we have a deal?"
Ava looked at his hand. His fingers were long, his grip certain. She could almost feel what it would be like to have that hand on hers in front of a crowd—the heat of a lie.
"One more thing," Ava added.
Ethan waited, his eyes locked on hers.
"Don't expect me to ever actually care about you," she said.
A small, mocking tug appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Love is for people who can't control their own lives, Ava. Trust me, it's the last thing I want from you."
Ava took the pen. Her fingers were shaking, but her signature was bold. She watched the ink dry on the paper, feeling the weight of the golden handcuffs locking into place.
"Welcome to the Blackwood family," Ethan said. His voice had dropped an octave, turning silkier, more dangerous. He reached out, his thumb grazing her jaw for a fraction of a second. It felt like a spark of electricity, sharp and jarring.
He pulled back instantly, his face turning back to stone. "My driver will be at your place at eight tonight. Pack light. Anything you need, I'll buy you."
"Tonight?" Ava blinked. "I can't just—"
"You're a Blackwood now," Ethan interrupted, already turning back to his laptop. "We don't wait for things to happen. We make them happen."
Ava walked out of the office, her head spinning. She felt like she'd just survived a car wreck—alive, but totally shattered. She reached the elevator, her heart still thudding against her ribs.
The doors were about to close when a woman slipped inside. She was stunning—blonde, polished, and wearing a dress that probably cost more than Ava's entire apartment. She looked at Ava's wet coat and wrinkled clothes with a smirk.
"So, you're the new project," the woman said, her voice sharp. "I'm Cynthia. A little tip, honey: Ethan gets bored of his toys very quickly. I wouldn't bother unpacking your bags."
The elevator doors shut, and the floor dropped out from under Ava's feet.
Ava climbed the stairs to her cramped apartment, her mind a blur of Ethan's cold eyes and Cynthia's warnings. She reached for her keys, but froze.
Her front door was ajar. The wood around the lock was splintered.
She pushed it open, her breath hitching in her throat. The place hadn't been tossed, but someone had been there. Resting right in the center of her small kitchen table was a thick, black envelope.
Ava opened it with trembling fingers. There was no letter inside—just a single card with four words printed in jagged, messy ink:
I know your secret.