Amelia Carter hated luxury hotels.
They smelled like money she didn't have.
The marble floors of The Grand Monarch reflected the chandelier light like liquid gold, mocking her worn-out heels and the anxiety tightening in her chest. She adjusted the strap of her old handbag and stepped inside, ignoring the curious glances from the elegantly dressed guests.
She didn't belong here.
But desperation didn't care about pride.
Her father's debt had reached a number she couldn't even pronounce without feeling sick. If she didn't convince Mr. Harrington to give them more time, the house—her childhood home—would be gone by the end of the week.
She spotted him near the ballroom entrance.
Gray suit. Bald head. Cruel smile.
Amelia inhaled deeply and walked toward him.
"Mr. Harrington, please. I just need five minutes—"
He didn't even look at her.
"You shouldn't be here," he muttered, swirling his drink. "This is not a place for people who can't pay what they owe."
Her cheeks burned.
"I'm working two jobs. I'll pay it back. Just give me three more months."
He finally faced her, irritation clear in his eyes.
"Three months?" He laughed softly. "Your father owed me that courtesy. Not you."
Before she could respond, someone bumped into her from behind.
Her elbow jerked.
Red wine splashed forward.
Onto a black tailored suit.
Silence fell around her.
Her heart stopped.
Slowly, she turned.
And looked up.
Way up.
The man in front of her was tall, sharp-featured, devastatingly composed. His dark eyes were cold and calculating, his jaw tight as he glanced down at the stain spreading across his expensive suit.
He didn't look angry.
He looked… dangerous.
"I— I'm so sorry," she stammered, grabbing napkins from a passing tray.
He caught her wrist before she could touch him.
His grip wasn't painful.
But it was firm.
"Apologies," he said evenly, his voice deep and controlled, "don't remove stains."
The ballroom seemed to shrink around them.
Mr. Harrington suddenly straightened beside her.
"Mr. Knight," he greeted, almost nervously.
Knight.
The name hit her instantly.
Alexander Knight.
CEO of Knight Holdings.
Youngest self-made billionaire in the city.
Ruthless in business.
Untouchable in power.
And she had just thrown wine at him.
Alexander's eyes shifted from Harrington to Amelia again. Slowly. Assessing.
"You're trembling," he observed.
She pulled her hand back.
"I said I'm sorry."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
It wasn't curiosity.
It was interrogation.
Amelia straightened her shoulders despite the humiliation burning her insides.
"That's none of your business."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
Interesting.
Harrington cleared his throat awkwardly. "She's here about a debt issue."
She shot him a glare.
Alexander's eyes sharpened.
"Debt?"
Heat crawled up her neck.
"It's handled," she snapped. "Or it will be."
Alexander studied her for a long moment. Her cheap dress. Her determined chin. The fire behind her embarrassment.
Then he said something that made Harrington pale.
"How much?"
Silence.
Harrington hesitated. "It's… a private matter."
Alexander's tone hardened.
"I asked for a number."
Harrington swallowed. "Three hundred thousand."
The world tilted.
Amelia hated hearing it out loud.
Alexander didn't react.
To him, it was pocket change.
To her, it was her entire life collapsing.
He looked back at her.
"You're not the one who borrowed it."
"No," she said tightly. "But I'm the one paying for it."
For a second—just a second—something shifted in his expression.
Respect?
Maybe.
Then it disappeared.
"Come with me," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"If you want that debt resolved."
Harrington looked stunned.
"Mr. Knight, that won't be necessary—"
Alexander didn't even glance at him.
"It's already decided."
Amelia's instincts screamed at her not to follow a man like him.
But desperation screamed louder.
Five minutes later, she stood inside a private office suite overlooking the city skyline. The lights outside glittered like distant stars.
Alexander removed his stained jacket and set it aside calmly.
Then he faced her.
"Three hundred thousand dollars," he said. "I'll clear it tonight."
Her breath caught.
"What's the catch?"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Smart."
He walked toward the desk and opened a folder.
"I need a wife."
She stared at him.
"You need therapy."
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"For one year," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "A legal marriage. Public appearances. No emotional obligations."
She let out a disbelieving laugh.
"You're insane."
He slid the document across the desk.
"This is a contract. After one year, we divorce. You receive financial compensation. Your father's debt is erased immediately."
Her hands felt numb.
"Why me?"
"You're unknown. Clean background. No social ties that complicate things." His gaze locked onto hers. "And you're desperate."
The word hit hard.
She hated that he was right.
"I'm not selling myself."
"You're signing an agreement," he corrected coolly. "There's a difference."
Her heart pounded violently.
This was madness.
But three hundred thousand dollars…
Her house.
Her future.
Her freedom from begging men like Harrington.
"You expect me to just… marry you?" she whispered.
His eyes softened only slightly.
"I expect you to survive."
Silence filled the room.
The city glittered behind him like a kingdom.
He wasn't offering love.
He was offering power.
Security.
Escape.
But at what cost?
She stepped closer to the desk.
Picked up the pen.
Her hands trembled.
"You're heartless," she said quietly.
Alexander didn't deny it.
"Yes."
She hesitated one final second.
Then she signed.
The sound of the pen scratching against paper echoed louder than it should have.
Alexander watched her carefully.
As if something irreversible had just begun.
Because it had.
He extended his hand.
"Welcome to the contract, Mrs. Knight."
Her stomach flipped.
She ignored his hand.
"This is temporary."
His gaze darkened slightly.
"Everything is."
Outside, thunder rolled faintly in the distance.
And Amelia Carter had no idea—
She had just stepped into the most dangerous year of her life.