Kaylee dragged her injured ankle across the wet asphalt until her bare feet hit the cold sand. The sharp grains dug into the open cuts on her soles. She gasped, the pain shooting straight up her leg.

She stumbled toward the line of black Maybachs parked near the shoreline.

Two men in dark suits stepped out from the shadows instantly. They pulled tactical flashlights from their belts and aimed the blinding beams directly at her face.

Kaylee threw her hands up to shield her eyes. She was forced to stop.

"Step back," one of the bodyguards ordered. His voice was devoid of any human emotion. His right hand dropped to the holster at his waist.

The killing intent in the air made Kaylee's muscles lock up. She froze.

Through the gap between the two massive men, she saw a tall figure standing near the crashing waves. His broad back was turned to her. He held a cigar between his fingers. The tip glowed orange in the dark. The sheer dominance radiating from his posture felt terrifyingly familiar.

Hearing the commotion, the man slowly turned around. The headlights illuminated his face.

Kaylee's pupils contracted. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The sharp, sculpted jawline. The cold, predatory eyes. It was Ernest Blackwell. The Wall Street tyrant she had seen from afar while working as a catering waitress at a charity gala three months ago.

Ernest glanced at her. His expression did not change. He looked at her the way one might look at a pile of washed-up seaweed. He turned his head away and took a slow drag of his cigar.

The faint sound of dogs barking drifted from the direction of the Fletcher estate.

The sound triggered a violent spike of panic in Kaylee's chest. She pushed past the blinding lights and lunged forward.

The bodyguard grabbed her arm roughly and twisted it behind her back. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her shoulder joint. Hot tears immediately spilled over her eyelashes.

She ignored the pain. She screamed at the tall silhouette. "Mr. Blackwell! Please help me!" Her voice was ripped away by the howling wind.

Ernest's brow furrowed. The noise clearly irritated him. He raised his hand and made a tiny, dismissive flick with his fingers.

The bodyguard immediately applied more pressure to her arm, dragging her backward.

Kaylee dropped her knees into the wet sand. She dug her fingers deep into the ground, refusing to be moved. Her brain worked frantically. Begging would not work on a man like him. She needed to offer a transaction.

She sucked in a ragged breath. Her chest he heave.

"Marry me!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "You need a wife, and I need a husband right now!"

The beach went dead silent. The only sound was the crashing waves.

The bodyguards stared at her as if she had lost her mind. The grip on her arm loosened just a fraction.

Ernest stopped moving. The hand holding the cigar hovered in the air. He turned his head and finally looked directly at the girl kneeling in the mud.

He took a step forward. His long legs closed the distance between them in seconds. A massive, intimidating shadow fell over her, blocking out the headlights.

Kaylee swallowed hard. Her throat was bone dry.

Ernest looked down at her. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in her chest. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't have them throw you into the ocean." The words were ice cold.

Kaylee tilted her pale face up. She forced herself to meet his piercing gaze. Her body was trembling violently from the cold, but her eyes held a desperate stubbornness.

"I have a clean background," she rushed the words out, her teeth chattering. "I have no complicated social circles. I will obey your orders. And most importantly..." She bit her lip hard.

"Most importantly, I can disappear whenever you want! I will never cling to you!" she shouted over the wind.

Ernest stared into her eyes. They were washed clean by the rain, unnervingly bright in the darkness. Something deep inside his chest-a place he kept heavily guarded-experienced a strange, microscopic jolt.

Before he could speak, a phone vibrated in the pocket of his tailored trousers.

He pulled out the device. The screen lit up with the caller ID: Grandpa.

A heavy, dark wave of disgust flashed through Ernest's eyes. He hit the reject button without a second thought.

His executive assistant, Edson, stepped out of the lead Maybach. He walked over quickly and lowered his head. "Boss, the family elders just sent the schedule. Three more blind dates arranged for tomorrow."

Ernest pinched the bridge of his nose. The muscles in his jaw ticked. The relentless pressure to marry and Genevieve's constant hovering were pushing him to the edge of violence. His face darkened.

His gaze dropped back down to Kaylee. He looked at her the way a predator evaluates a piece of meat. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

The intensity of his stare made Kaylee's scalp prickle. But she kept her chin raised. She looked like a cornered animal baring its teeth.

A low, dark chuckle suddenly escaped Ernest's lips. He tossed the half-smoked cigar into the incoming tide. It hit the water with a sharp hiss.

He reached up and shrugged off his suit jacket.

He bent down and threw the heavy fabric over Kaylee's head. The jacket smelled of expensive cologne and was radiating his body heat. It completely enveloped her shivering frame.

Kaylee sat frozen in the wet sand, buried under the massive suit jacket.

"Get in," Ernest ordered. His voice was flat. He turned his back to her and walked toward the rear door of the Maybach.

The bodyguard immediately let go of her arm. His demeanor flipped instantly. He stepped forward and respectfully held the heavy car door open for her.

Kaylee was stunned. She dragged her muddy, bleeding feet across the sand and climbed into the luxurious leather backseat.

The moment the door closed, the roaring storm was completely cut off. Warm air blasted from the vents, wrapping around her freezing skin. She sank into the soft leather, a shaky sigh escaping her lips.

The opposite door opened. Ernest slid into the seat.

A wide center console separated them, but his physical presence was overwhelming. The sheer size of him seemed to suck the oxygen out of the cabin. Kaylee pressed her knees together and tried not to breathe too loudly.

The interior of the car was dead silent. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

In the front seat, Edson glanced at the rearview mirror. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the filthy girl ruining the pristine leather.

Ernest caught his eye in the mirror. He shot Edson a look so lethal that the assistant instantly snapped his eyes back to the windshield.

Ernest pressed a button on the door panel. A thick soundproof glass partition glided up, completely sealing off the back seat from the front.

He turned his head and locked his eyes on Kaylee. It felt like an X-ray scanning her bones.

"Explain your situation," he demanded coldly. His long fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his knee. "I have no tolerance for wasted time."

Kaylee forced her racing heart to slow down. She spoke fast. She detailed the Fletcher family's impending bankruptcy. She explained Donita's plan to sell her off to Mitch Ziegler to cover the debts.

When she mentioned Mitch's name, a sneer formed on Ernest's lips. He clearly knew of the old man's disgusting reputation.

Kaylee's voice cracked when she talked about her mother's confiscated belongings. She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek to force the tears back down. She refused to cry in front of him.

Ernest watched her jaw tighten. His tapping fingers paused for a fraction of a second. A strange glint flickered in his dark eyes.

He leaned back against the headrest and crossed his arms over his chest. "I will clear your debts and handle the old man. In exchange, you will play a role for me."

Kaylee's head snapped up. Pure relief washed over her face. She nodded frantically. "I will do anything."

"Three months," Ernest stated, his voice hard as steel. "For three months, you will act as my devoted wife. You will deal with my family."

He leaned forward. His broad shoulders invaded her space. "During this contract, you follow my orders absolutely. Do not ask questions. Do not touch things that aren't yours."

The heavy scent of his cologne and raw male pheromones hit her face. Kaylee's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively pressed her back harder against the door.

"When the three months are over, the contract terminates. I will wire you a compensation fee large enough to fund the rest of your life. We walk away clean," he finished ruthlessly.

Hearing the words "walk away clean," a tiny, irrational sting hit Kaylee's chest. But the overwhelming joy of buying her freedom crushed it instantly.

She didn't hesitate. She reached out her right hand. It was covered in dried mud, blood, and rust. "Deal, Mr. Blackwell."

Ernest looked down at her hand. His severe germaphobia kicked in immediately. His body went rigid. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows.

Kaylee realized what she had done. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She felt sick with embarrassment. She quickly tried to pull her dirty hand back, wishing the floorboards would swallow her whole.

Just as her fingers began to retreat, Ernest reached out. His jaw tight with an ingrained, visceral revulsion to dirt, his hand hovered for a fraction of a second. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away from the mud and blood. Yet, driven by a strange, inexplicable compulsion that overrode his severe germaphobia, his large, strong hand clamped down over hers.

The physical contact was an absolute violation of his own rules, a shock to his highly controlled system. His palm was warm and slightly rough. The grip was firm and undeniable. A jolt of electricity shot up Kaylee's arm. She shivered.

He held her hand for exactly one second before letting go.

He pressed the intercom button to the front seat. "Edson. City Hall."

The car swerved slightly. Edson's voice came through the speaker, stammering. "Boss? Right now? It's one in the morning."

Ernest's eyes narrowed. "Do I need to teach you how to drag the mayor out of his bed to open the doors?"

"No, sir!" Edson barked back.

The Maybach's engine roared. The car shot forward into the rainy night with brutal acceleration.

Kaylee was pushed deep into the seat by the force. She turned her head and stared out the window at the blurred streetlights. Her brain could not process reality.

She stole a glance at the man sitting next to her. He had his eyes closed. She pulled his warm suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, her fingers gripping the lapels like a lifeline.

The Maybach glided to a smooth stop outside the hidden VIP entrance of New York City Hall. Several government officials in tailored suits were already standing on the pavement, shivering under black umbrellas in the freezing rain.

Edson jumped out and pulled Ernest's door open. Ernest stepped out into the night. An official immediately lunged forward, tilting an umbrella over Ernest's head while letting the rain soak his own shoulders.

Kaylee scrambled out after him. Her injured ankle gave way the moment her foot hit the wet concrete. She stumbled forward, bracing herself to face-plant into a muddy puddle.

A strong hand clamped around her upper arm just before she hit the ground. It wasn't Ernest. He had stepped back instinctively, his severe germaphobia flaring at the sight of the muddy puddle. Instead, Edson had rushed forward at a sharp nod from his boss, hauling her upright.

"Ensure she doesn't fall on my property. It's an ugly look," Ernest said coldly, keeping a measured distance as they walked through the glass doors.

They bypassed the empty public corridors and entered a massive, brightly lit office. The clerks were standing at attention. The paperwork was already laid out on the mahogany desk.

Ernest gestured coldly toward a leather chair. She stared at the New York State marriage license in front of her. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the pen.

Ernest stood right beside her. He leaned over and signed his name on the groom's line. His handwriting was aggressive and sharp. His presence was completely suffocating.

He handed the gold pen to Kaylee. The metal was still warm from his fingers. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and signed her name.

The clerk stepped forward and stamped the documents. A loud clack echoed in the room. Two gold-embossed marriage certificates were placed on the desk.

Kaylee stared at the two names printed side by side. The absurdity of the situation made her dizzy. She was legally married to a billionaire she had spoken to exactly twice in her life.

Suddenly, the battered phone Kaylee had been clutching since her escape—now sitting on the edge of the desk—began to vibrate violently. The cracked screen lit up.

The caller ID read: Donita.

Those six letters felt like a physical blow to Kaylee's stomach. She flinched, her shoulders jerking upward.

The harsh ringing sound filled the quiet office. Ernest frowned. His cold eyes shifted to the cheap piece of plastic on the desk.

Kaylee panicked. She reached out to hit the reject button, but her shaking fingers slipped. Before she could fumble with the screen again, Ernest reached over her shoulder, his hand shielded by a silk handkerchief as he snatched the device from the desk, his expression darkening. Without asking for permission, he hit the answer button and tapped the speaker icon, placing the phone back down to force the issue into the open.

Donita's shrill, furious scream blasted through the room. "You little bitch! You actually ran away?!"

All the blood drained from Kaylee's face. She lunged to cover the speaker with her hands, feeling completely exposed and humiliated in front of everyone.

"How far do you think you can run?" Donita spat through the phone. "You have thirty minutes to drag your ass back here!"

Kaylee couldn't breathe.

"If you don't," Donita's voice turned venomous, "you will never see that crystal box your dead mother left you again. I will smash it into a million pieces!"

Kaylee's pupils dilated. Pure terror and rage exploded in her chest. "Don't touch my mother's things!" she screamed at the phone.

Donita laughed. It was a sickening sound. "Then get back here and put the dress on. Mr. Ziegler's car is pulling up right now."

Tears spilled over Kaylee's lower lashes. "Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Take anything else. Just leave the box alone..."

The clerks in the room awkwardly looked down at their shoes. No one dared to make a sound.

The temperature in the room dropped below freezing. Ernest's face darkened with a terrifying rage. The muscles in his neck corded.

He took one step forward, reached over Kaylee's shoulder, and snatched the phone again with the handkerchief.

He brought the device to his mouth. His voice was a low, demonic whisper that commanded absolute authority. "She is going nowhere."

Donita gasped on the other end. "Who the hell is this?! Put that little slut back on the phone!"

Ernest didn't even blink. He pressed the end call button. He tossed the phone back onto the desk. It landed with a sharp smack.

He looked down at Kaylee. Her face was wet with tears. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and pressed it roughly against her cheek.

"Dry your face," he commanded. "Mrs. Blackwell does not cry in front of anyone."

He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. He didn't look back as he threw an order over his shoulder.

"Edson. Get the car ready. We are going to the Fletcher estate."