CHAPTER 2

Elena POV

I woke up with my head pounding like someone was hitting it with a hammer from the inside and my mouth tasted like something had died in it, and when I opened my eyes the room was too bright and nothing looked familiar.

This wasn't my bedroom.

I sat up too fast and the room spun and nausea rolled through me, and I pressed my hand to my mouth trying not to be sick.

Where was I?

The room was massive and expensive looking with furniture that probably cost more than my entire house, and there was sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows showing a view of London I'd never seen before.

I looked down at myself and realized I was still wearing yesterday's clothes, wrinkled and stained, and that's when I saw it.

A ring on my left hand.

Gold band, simple, sitting on my ring finger like it belonged there.

I stared at it and my heart started pounding because I didn't remember putting on a ring, didn't remember buying a ring, didn't remember anything after walking into that bar last night.

The bar.

The debt.

The man who'd offered me money.

Oh God.

I tried to pull the ring off but my hands were shaking too badly and it wouldn't come over my knuckle, and panic was rising in my chest making it hard to breathe.

The door opened and a man walked in carrying coffee and I recognized him immediately even through my hangover.

Adrian Blackwell.

The man from the bar.

"You're awake," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Where am I?" My voice came out rough. "What happened?"

"You're in a hotel, the Dorchester specifically, and what happened is you got married last night." He set the coffee on the bedside table. "To me."

"That's not funny." I looked at the ring again. "This isn't funny."

"It's not a joke." He pulled out a folded paper from his jacket. "This is our marriage certificate, legally filed as of midnight last night."

I took the paper with shaking hands and unfolded it and there it was in black and white: Adrian Blackwell and Elena Hart, married, witnessed by Marcus Chen and some man whose name I couldn't read.

"No." I shook my head. "No, I didn't get married, I would remember getting married."

"You were very drunk." Adrian sat down in a chair across from the bed. "You signed the contract and then we had the ceremony and then you passed out."

"I don't remember any of that." I looked at the certificate again. "I don't remember signing anything."

"You did though, and your debt has been paid." He pulled out his phone and showed me a bank transfer. "Forty thousand pounds to your account at 12:23 AM."

I stared at the screen and the numbers were real and the transfer was real and apparently I'd sold myself to this stranger for money. "This can't be happening."

"It is happening and it's legally binding." He put his phone away. "You should read the full contract now that you're sober."

"Where is it?"

He pulled out another document, much longer than the marriage certificate, and handed it to me. "Take your time."

I started reading and the words made sense individually but together they painted a picture I didn't want to see: eighteen months of marriage, living together, attending events together, maintaining the appearance of a real relationship.

Five thousand pounds per month.

No dating other people.

Complete discretion.

I kept reading and got to Section 7 and my stomach dropped.

"Pregnancy clause?" I looked up at him. "What is this?"

"Exactly what it says." Adrian's voice was calm. "In the event of pregnancy during the marriage term, any resulting child becomes my legal responsibility and custody will be determined by me."

"You're saying if I get pregnant the baby belongs to you?" I was standing now even though my legs felt weak. "That's insane."

"It's a precaution." He didn't look bothered. "We're going to be living together, things happen, this protects both of us."

"It protects you, it doesn't protect me at all." I threw the contract at him. "This is slavery, you're buying me."

"I'm paying you for a service and you agreed to the terms." He picked up the contract. "Your signature is right here."

"I was drunk, that doesn't count."

"It counts legally and more importantly your debt is paid." He stood up. "Which means if you breach this contract now, you owe me eighty thousand pounds plus damages."

The number hit me like a slap. "What?"

"Section 12, termination clause, if you break the contract before the eighteen months are up you pay back double what I've given you plus any damages I incur." Adrian walked toward the door. "So you can leave right now if you want but you'll be leaving with even more debt than you started with."

"You can't do this." I was backing away from him. "You can't trap me like this."

"I already did and you signed the paperwork agreeing to it." He stopped at the door. "I'm not a monster, Elena, I'm just a man who needed a wife and found someone willing to be one."

"I wasn't willing, I was drunk and grieving and you took advantage of that." Tears were running down my face. "You know that's what you did."

"I know I offered you a way out of your debt and you took it." His voice got harder. "Now you can honor that agreement or you can run and make your situation worse, your choice."

I looked at the ring on my finger and the contract in his hands and the door he was blocking, and I realized I had no choice at all because eighty thousand pounds might as well have been eight million for all my ability to pay it.

"I hate you," I said.

"That's fine, you don't have to like me, you just have to play your part." Adrian's phone rang and he pulled it out. "I need to take this."

He answered and his whole posture changed, got stiffer somehow. "Father."

I watched him listen to whoever was on the other end and his jaw tightened.

"When?" he asked. Then after a pause: "How long?"

More listening and his hand gripped the phone harder.

"I understand." His eyes moved to me. "Yes, she's here, I'll bring her tonight."

He hung up and looked at me and something in his expression had shifted. "We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" I wiped my face. "Bigger than you trapping me in a fake marriage?"

"My father has a brain tumor, he's dying, and he has two months to live." Adrian put his phone back in his pocket. "He wants to meet you tonight along with my brother James and his fiancée."

"Why?"

"Because he needs to believe our marriage is real or everything I did this for becomes worthless." Adrian walked back toward me. "He said if he's not convinced the marriage is genuine after two months, everything goes to James."

"So you need me to convince your dying father we're actually in love?" I laughed but it came out bitter. "That's impossible."

"It has to be possible because if we fail I lose everything and you're still trapped in this contract for eighteen months with nothing to show for it." Adrian stopped in front of me. "So we're going to dinner tonight and we're going to convince my father and my brother that we're happily married."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you breach the contract and owe me eighty thousand pounds." His voice was flat. "Your choice."

I looked at him and hated that he was right, hated that I had no real choice, hated everything about this situation I'd drunkenly signed myself into.

"When's dinner?" I asked.

"Seven o'clock." He headed for the door again. "I'll have appropriate clothes sent up and a car will pick us up at six-thirty."

"Wait." I called after him. "Your father is dying and you need to prove our marriage is real in two months?"

"That's correct."

"And if we don't convince him?"

"Then everything goes to James including the company and the estate and everything I've spent my life building." Adrian opened the door. "So you better be a good actress."

He left and I stood there in the hotel room with a ring I didn't remember getting and a contract that enslaved me for eighteen months and the knowledge that I was now part of some dying man's test.

I looked at my phone and saw the transfer confirmation, forty thousand pounds sitting in my account, and I knew I couldn't give it back even if I wanted to because I'd already used it to pay the bank.

I was trapped.

Completely, totally trapped.

And tonight I had to pretend to be in love with a man I'd met twelve hours ago or lose everything I'd sold myself for.

Elena POV

The car pulled up to a mansion that looked like something out of a period drama and I sat in the passenger seat trying to calm my racing heart while Adrian checked his watch for the third time.

"Remember what we discussed," he said. "We met at a charity event six months ago, fell in love, got married quickly because we couldn't wait."

"Right." I looked down at the dress he'd sent to the hotel, black and expensive and not something I would ever pick for myself. "And if they ask questions I can't answer?"

"Smile and look at me like you're in love, I'll handle the rest." Adrian opened his door. "Ready?"

"No." But I got out anyway because I didn't have a choice.

The mansion was even bigger up close with columns and perfectly manicured gardens and windows that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood, and I followed Adrian up the steps feeling like I was walking toward my execution.

A butler opened the door before we could knock and led us through hallways lined with paintings and sculptures into a dining room where three people were already seated at a table that could have fit twenty.

"Adrian." The man at the head of the table stood up and I knew immediately this was Richard Blackwell because he had the same sharp features and cold eyes as his son. "You're late."

"Traffic." Adrian's hand found the small of my back. "Father, this is my wife Elena."

Richard's eyes moved to me and I saw surprise in his eyes which he immediately masked and I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. "Mrs. Blackwell, what a surprise to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

"This is my brother James," Adrian continued gesturing to a man who looked like a younger version of their father. "And his fiancée Maya."

James stood and shook my hand with a smile that didn't reach his eyes and also the surprise i saw in Richard eyes. "Welcome to the family, Elena."

Maya just nodded at me from her seat and she was beautiful in a way that made me feel inadequate, all perfect hair and flawless makeup and designer clothes.

We sat down and servants appeared with food I was too nervous to eat, and Richard started asking questions immediately like this was an interrogation instead of a dinner.

"So Elena, where did you and Adrian meet?" he asked.

"A charity event six months ago." I repeated the story we'd practiced. "At the—"

"The art museum benefit," Adrian finished. "Elena was there with friends and we started talking."

"How romantic." Richard's tone suggested he didn't believe a word. "And you decided to marry after only six months?"

"When you know you know." Adrian reached over and took my hand and I tried not to flinch at his touch. "Why wait?"

"Indeed." Richard cut his steak. "And what do you do, Elena? For work?"

"I—" I hesitated because we hadn't discussed this. "I was studying literature at university before my parents died."

"Died?" Richard looked up. "Recently?"

"Two weeks ago." My throat tightened. "Car accident."

"My condolences." But his voice was flat. "And now you're married to my son, how convenient."

"Father," Adrian said sharply.

"I'm simply making an observation." Richard went back to his food. "Young woman loses her parents, suddenly marries into money, these things happen."

I wanted to leave, wanted to walk out of this room and this mansion and never come back, but Adrian's grip on my hand tightened in warning.

"Elena and I are in love," Adrian said. "That's all that matters."

"Love." Richard smiled but it wasn't kind. "James here is also in love, aren't you James?"

"Madly." James put his arm around Maya. "Can't wait to make it official."

"Two sons, both suddenly getting married within days of each other." Richard looked between them. "Almost like there's some competition involved."

The room went silent and I could feel tension rolling off Adrian in waves.

"There's no competition," Adrian said. "I married Elena because I wanted to spend my life with her."

"How touching." Richard stood up. "Come with me, Elena, I want to show you something."

"Father—" Adrian started.

"Your wife can walk with me for five minutes." Richard was already moving toward the door. "Unless you don't trust her alone with me?"

Adrian's jaw tightened but he nodded at me and I stood up and followed Richard out of the dining room and down another hallway lined with family portraits.

"Do you know why I called this dinner?" Richard asked without looking at me.

"Adrian said you wanted to meet me." I was struggling to keep up with his pace.

"I wanted to see if you were real or if this was another one of my son's schemes." Richard stopped in front of a massive portrait. "And now I'm not sure which would be worse."

I looked at the portrait and my heart stopped.

The woman in the painting looked exactly like me, same dark hair and dark eyes and facial structure, like I was looking at a photograph of myself in someone else's clothes.

"That's Sophia," Richard said watching my face. "Adrian's first wife."

"First wife?" The words barely came out. "He was married before?"

"For two years, ended tragically." Richard's voice was casual like he was discussing the weather. "Tragic accident about a year ago."

I stared at the portrait and the woman who looked like she could be my twin. "What kind of accident?"

"The kind where a young woman dies and leaves a lot of questions unanswered." Richard started walking again. "But Adrian never talks about it."

We walked back to the dining room and I couldn't stop thinking about Sophia's face, about how much we looked alike, about how Adrian had never mentioned being married before.

Dinner continued and I barely tasted anything, just moved food around my plate while Richard asked more questions and James made comments that seemed innocent but felt like attacks.

Maya was quiet through most of it until we were leaving and she stopped me in the hallway. "Elena, can I show you where the bathroom is? This house is confusing."

"Sure." I looked at Adrian who was talking to his father.

Maya led me down a hallway and into a bathroom that was bigger than my childhood bedroom, and as soon as the door closed she turned to me.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

"What?"

"Sophia didn't die in an accident." Maya's voice was low. "She jumped off their balcony, I was there that night visiting James and I heard her scream."

My legs felt weak. "She killed herself?"

"That's what they said but I don't know, something about it felt wrong." Maya looked at the door like she was worried someone would walk in. "And you look just like her, exactly like her, down to your hair and eyes."

"I saw the portrait." My voice was shaking.

"Whatever Adrian told you about why he married you, he's lying." Maya grabbed my arm. "Run while you can, before you end up like Sophia."

Adrian POV

The car was silent except for the sound of London traffic bleeding through the windows. Elena sat as far from me as the seat would allow, pressed against the door like she wanted to melt through it and disappear into the street. Her hands were shaking. I could see them trembling in her lap even though she was trying to hide it.

I should say something. Explain. But what explanation made any of this better?

"Did your first wife kill herself?"

It wasn't a question. Her voice was flat. Dead. Like she'd used up all her emotion in the bathroom with Maya and had nothing left.

"Yes

"And you didn't think to mention that when you were making me sign a contract to marry you?"

"I told you I was married before."

"You said it ended. You didn't say she died. Her voice cracked on the last word. "And you didn't say I look exactly like her."

I kept my eyes on the road. Easier than looking at her face. "It's complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it."

The traffic light turned red. I stopped. Turned to face her. She was crying. Silent tears running down her face, and she looked about twelve years old. Nineteen. She was nineteen. What the hell was I doing?

"Her name was Sophia," I said. "We had a contract marriage. Like ours. She needed money for her mother's medical bills. I needed a wife for business reasons. It was supposed to be simple."

"What happened?"

"She fell in love with me."

Elena wiped her face with the back of her hand. "And you didn't love her back."

"No."

"Why not?"

The light turned green. I drove. Focused on the road because it was easier than this conversation. "I don't do love. I don't believe in it. My father taught me that emotions make you weak. Make you vulnerable. Sophia knew the deal when she signed."

"But she fell in love anyway."

"Yes."

"And then what? You just ignored her? Treated her like furniture?"

"I treated her with respect. I gave her everything she needed. Money. Security. Freedom to do whatever she wanted. I just couldn't give her what she wanted most."

"You."

"Yes."

Elena was quiet for a long moment. Then, "How did she die?"

"She jumped. From our balcony. Thirtieth floor." The words came out like a memorized sentence. I'd said them so many times. To police. To my father. To myself at three in the morning when I couldn't sleep. "I came home from work. Found her body on the pavement below."

"Oh God."

"The police ruled it suicide. She left a note. Said she couldn't live in a marriage where she loved someone who would never love her back. Said she was tired of being a ghost in her own life."

"That's awful."

"Yes."

"Did you feel anything? When you found her?"

I glanced at her. "What kind of question is that?"

"A real one. Did you feel anything or did you just tick it off like another business transaction gone wrong?"

"I felt guilty."

"Guilty."

"Yes. Guilty that I couldn't be what she needed. Guilty that I let her sign that contract in the first place. Guilty that I didn't see how bad it had gotten." I turned onto our street. The penthouse tower loomed ahead. "But I didn't love her. I felt terrible that she died, but I didn't love her. Is that what you want to hear? That I'm a monster?"

"I don't know what I want to hear." Her voice was small. "I just want to understand what I've gotten myself into."

"You've gotten yourself into a contract marriage with someone who can't love you back. Same as Sophia. Except you know that going in. She didn't."

"Why did you choose me?"

"You needed money. I needed a wife. The timing worked."

"That's not what I'm asking." She turned to face me fully. "Why me specifically? Out of every desperate person in London, why did you pick the girl who looks exactly like your dead wife?"

I pulled into the underground parking garage. Found my spot. Turned off the engine. Sat there in the sudden silence.

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I have."

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out. Text from Maya.

"She knows. This will be fun to watch."

I deleted it. Elena was watching me. "Who was that?"

"Maya. Being Maya."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she likes to stir things up. Make drama where there doesn't need to be any. She's probably thrilled she got to be the one to tell you about Sophia."

"She said she was there that night. That she saw everything that happened."

"She was there. James brought her over for dinner. Sophia was upset about something. They left early. An hour later, Sophia was dead."

"What was she upset about?"

"I don't remember."

"How can you not remember?"

"Because I wasn't paying attention. I was working. I was always working." I got out of the car. Slammed the door harder than necessary. Elena got out on her side. Followed me to the lift.

We rode up in silence. Thirty floors. Each one felt like a year.

When the doors opened into the penthouse, Elena stopped in the doorway. I'd forgotten she'd never actually been here. She'd been too drunk that I had to put her on our hotel

"It's big," she said.

"Yes."

"And empty."

She was right. The whole place was glass and steel and expensive furniture that nobody ever sat on. A showroom. Not a home.

"Do you want a tour?"

"Not really."

She walked in anyway. Moved through the living room like she was in a museum. Touching nothing. Looking at everything. When she got to the floor-to-ceiling windows, she stopped.

"That's the balcony."

"Yes."

"The one where she died."

"Yes."

Elena pressed her hand against the glass. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"Live here. Sleep here. Wake up every day and see where she died. I can't."

"You signed a contract."

She spun around. "I was drunk. I didn't know any of this. I didn't know about Sophia. I didn't know about the balcony. I didn't know I look exactly like a dead woman."

"You still signed."

"So void it. Tear it up. Let me go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I need you. My father is dying. I have two months to prove my marriage is real or I lose everything to James. You leave now, I lose."

"So find someone else."

"There's no time. And I've already introduced you as my wife. To my father. To James. To Maya. Everyone knows now. If you disappear, they'll know it was fake."

"It is fake."

"It has to look real."

Elena laughed. It was a terrible sound. Broken and sharp. "This is insane. This whole situation is insane. You're asking me to live in a dead woman's house, play her role, look at her balcony every single day, all so you can inherit money you don't even need."

"It's not about the money."

"Then what's it about?"

"It's about not letting James win. It's about proving to my father that I can do this. That I can be what he needs me to be."

"What about what I need?"

The question hung in the air between us. I didn't have an answer. Didn't even know what she needed beyond money and a way out of debt. Didn't know if I cared.

No. That was a lie. I did care. I just didn't want to.

"What do you need, Elena?"

"I need to not be here." But she didn't move toward the door. Just stood there, hugging herself, staring at the balcony like it might swallow her whole.

I walked past her. Unlocked the balcony door. Slid it open. Cold air rushed in. February in London was brutal, all wind and wet and gray.

"Come here."

"No."

"Elena. Come here."

She came. Slowly. Like she was walking to her own execution.

I stepped out onto the balcony. The city sprawled below us. Thirty floors of nothing but air and concrete waiting at the bottom.

"This is where Sophia jumped," I said. "Right here. She climbed over this railing and let go."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you'll see this balcony every day. From the living room. From your bedroom. From the kitchen. It's unavoidable. So you need to decide right now if you can handle that."

Elena stood in the doorway. Wouldn't come any closer. "Can you handle it?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Everyone has a choice."

"No. They don't. I chose my path years ago when I signed the first contract with Sophia. When I let my father dictate my life. When I decided business was more important than anything else. Now I'm stuck with the consequences."

"Then why am I here? Why drag me into your consequences?"

"Because I'm selfish. Because I need to win. Because you said yes when I asked."

She stepped out onto the balcony. Just one step. She was shaking. From cold or fear, I couldn't tell. Probably both.

"I hate you," she said.

"I know.

"I hate that I'm trapped."

"Are you?" I looked at her. Really looked at her. Nineteen years old. Parents dead two weeks. Drowning in debt she'd never signed up for. "Or could you walk away? Break the contract? Deal with the financial consequences? It would be hard. Brutal. But possible."

She was quiet.

"You're here because some part of you wants to be," I said. "Maybe it's the money. Maybe it's because you have nowhere else to go. Maybe it's because being here, even in a dead woman's apartment with a man who can't love you, is better than being alone with your grief. I don't know. But you're choosing to stay."

"That's not fair."

"Nothing about this is fair."

Elena walked to the railing. Looked down. I tensed, ready to grab her if she did anything stupid. But she just stood there. Looking at the place where Sophia died.

"Can I handle this?" she asked. Not to me. To herself. To the city. To the ghost that lived in this apartment whether I acknowledged it or not.