Morning came too early, seeping through thin curtains with a pale, washed-out light. Evelyn stirred awake on the floor, her neck stiff and her back protesting the unforgiving hardwood.
It took a second for her brain to catch up.
Wait. Why was she on the floor?
And then she heard it. The soft rustle of fabric.
Her eyes snapped open.
Damian Lu was standing by the window, the blanket she'd draped over him discarded carelessly on the couch. He was still in his ruined suit, though now his tie hung loose, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a hint of toned chest.
But it wasn't his state of undress that made her stomach twist.
It was his eyes.
Sharp, cold, and utterly awake. No trace of the drunken haze from last night. He was staring at her like she was a puzzle he didn't like the shape of.
"You're awake," Evelyn said carefully, pushing herself up.
His gaze flicked to her, then back to the window. "You live here alone?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Small," he said flatly.
"Charming. You insult people as a thank-you?"
That earned her the briefest flicker of amusement across his face. "You helped me last night."
"No kidding," she said, standing. "You were bleeding. I thought I'd wake up to a lawsuit for touching one of the city's golden boys."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Golden boy?"
"You're Damian Lu. CEO of Lu Corporation. Everyone knows you."
"Do they?" His tone was unreadable.
Evelyn crossed her arms. "Don't worry. I'm not going to sell your drunken photos to a gossip site. Frankly, I have better things to do."
Something in his expression shifted, a faint curve of his lips. "Honest."
"Practical," she corrected.
There was a pause. Rain pattered faintly outside, quieter now.
"Why didn't you call an ambulance?" he asked suddenly.
"You told me not to."
"You listened."
"Because I don't enjoy arguing with drunk men in the middle of the night." She narrowed her eyes. "Look, I don't know why you were bleeding or why you didn't want help, but whatever it is, it's not my business. You can leave whenever."
His gaze swept the room again—her tiny living area, mismatched furniture, the sketchbook peeking from her bag. "You're a student?"
"Graduate. Jewelry design."
"Freelance?"
She stiffened. "Why are you asking?"
Damian's expression gave nothing away. "I have a proposition for you."
"A what?"
"I need a wife. Temporarily."
Evelyn blinked. "…Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
She stared at him, trying to gauge if this was some kind of sick joke. But no. His face was deadly serious, voice calm, as if he were discussing the weather.
"You're insane."
"No. I'm offering you a contract marriage. One year. You get financial security. I get…" His jaw tightened slightly. "…what I need to satisfy certain conditions."
"Conditions?"
"Family expectations. Business stability. The usual."
Evelyn shook her head, backing away a step. "This is absurd. I don't even know you."
"You know my name."
"That's not the same—"
"You saved me. You kept quiet. That's enough to prove you're discreet."
"You're insane," she repeated.
His eyes darkened slightly, like a storm cloud passing overhead. "Evelyn Liang. Twenty-one. Graduate of South City University. You live alone. Family in debt. Younger brother in high school."
Her stomach dropped. "Did you—"
"I make it my business to know everything before I propose a deal."
"This isn't a deal! It's—"
"Three hundred thousand. Upfront. Enough to pay off your debts and secure your family for the year."
Evelyn's breath caught.
"Plus a monthly allowance. One year. No obligations beyond appearances."
"Appearances?" she echoed weakly.
"You'll be Mrs. Lu. Publicly."
She laughed, sharp and bitter. "And privately?"
"Privately…" He hesitated. "We'll keep boundaries."
Evelyn stared at him. She wanted to scream, to tell him he was insane, that she wasn't some commodity to be bought and paraded around.
But her brain betrayed her.
Three hundred thousand.
Her father's medical debt. Her brother's tuition. The landlord's threatening calls.
She hated herself for even thinking it.
"I'm not for sale," she said finally, voice tight.
"I'm not buying," Damian replied calmly. "I'm renting. One year. Then we both walk away."
"You're disgusting."
"I'm efficient."
Silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring.
Then Damian pulled out a sleek black card and set it on the table.
"My assistant will contact you. Take forty-eight hours. If you say no, I'll find someone else."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door.
"But you won't say no."
And then he was gone.
Evelyn sank onto the couch, hands gripping the fabric until her knuckles turned white.
Three hundred thousand.
"No," she whispered to herself. "No way."
But the thought wouldn't leave her.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her landlord: "Final notice. Pay by Friday or vacate."
Her stomach twisted.
Cliffhanger:
Two days later, when a black Bentley pulled up outside her building, Evelyn realized she had made a choice she swore she never would.