Leonardo Maddox Cross didn't waste time. That was one of his many rules. In his world, time was leverage. Every second wasted was a second handed to someone else's advantage—and Leo didn't share power.
He sat alone in the glass-walled conference room on the 63rd floor of Cross International, reviewing Ariana Blake's background file for the third time. His assistant, Cassandra Hale, stood at the far end of the room, tablet in hand, waiting for orders.
"Clean record?" he asked, eyes not leaving the file.
"Yes," she said crisply. "No debts outside student loans. No criminal history. Degree in interior architecture. Top of her class. She was set to join a major design firm in Chicago before her fiancé bailed and tanked her professional reference."
Leo's eyes narrowed. "Fiancé?"
"Name was Jeremy Lowe. They were engaged two years ago. He's now married to her former boss."
He said nothing for a beat. Then, "She didn't retaliate?"
"No."
"Didn't go to the press? Didn't try to sue?"
"No," Cassandra confirmed. "She moved out of Chicago six months later and has been freelancing here since. Modest income, late on rent, but nothing scandalous. No family alive. Parents died in a car crash when she was sixteen. No siblings."
Leo finally looked up. "So she's smart, broke, guarded, and isolated."
Cassandra nodded. "Precisely the type you asked for."
He tapped his pen once against the table, calculating. Ariana Blake was not like the women typically paraded before him at gala events and fundraisers—she wasn't polished or primped, didn't flatter him with insipid compliments, didn't stare at his watch like it had answers.
She'd called him insane to his face. That earned her more respect than she probably realized.
"Set up the contract," he said. "One year. NDA. Clauses for confidentiality, image management, and shared residence. Triple her annual freelance income as base compensation. I want her signature within the week."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to offer her time to negotiate?"
"No," he replied, flatly. "If she's smart, she'll know this is the best deal she'll ever get."
---
Across the city, Ariana was trying to keep her world from unraveling.
Her apartment was dim, the single window letting in a slice of cold gray light. Boxes lined one corner—half-packed, half-forgotten. Her laptop blinked on the coffee table with three unanswered emails from clients, all saying some variation of "budget cuts" and "maybe next quarter."
And now this.
She read the message on her phone again:
Please return to the office. Your contract will be ready by tomorrow. – Cassandra Hale, Executive Assistant to Leonardo M. Cross
She snorted and tossed the phone on the couch. "Contract. What the hell kind of billionaire casually offers marriage like it's a freelance gig?"
She stood, paced, sat again. Her thoughts were a storm. Logic said this was crazy—insane. But a tiny voice, the one that knew how low her bank account was, the one that had heard her landlord's final warning two days ago, whispered: Is it really crazier than eviction?
There was a knock at the door.
She opened it to find her best friend, Lily Tran, holding takeout and a bottle of wine.
"I bring you food and potential solutions to your emotional collapse," Lily said, brushing past her.
Ariana closed the door, half laughing. "I'm not having a collapse."
"You haven't texted in 24 hours. That's collapse behavior."
They sat on the floor, unpacking noodles and dumplings. Ariana hesitated, then handed Lily the printed message from Leo's assistant.
Lily read it twice.
Then blinked. "Okay. This is either the start of a Netflix thriller or the biggest opportunity of your life."
"It's blackmail with a bonus," Ariana muttered.
"He's not threatening you, is he?"
"No. He's… offering me a year-long fake marriage. For business reasons. It's ridiculous."
Lily chewed slowly. "Is it?"
Ariana stared at her. "You're not supposed to say that."
"I'm just saying," Lily continued, "if he's offering legal protection, payment, and you get to escape this crappy apartment… maybe it's not entirely terrible?"
"It's a contracted relationship," Ariana said. "There are no feelings. No safety net. What if I screw up and he drops me? What if the press finds out? What if—"
"What if this gets you back on your feet?" Lily interrupted gently. "You deserve a reset, Ari. Maybe this is the weird, unhinged way the universe is giving you one."
Ariana sat quietly, letting the thought settle.
She didn't need a prince.
She needed a clean slate.
---
The next morning, she wore her best blazer—navy blue, slightly frayed at the cuff—and stepped back into Cross International with a heart that was somehow both racing and numb.
Cassandra met her at reception with a nod and led her into a private office. On the desk sat a thick folder labeled: MARRIAGE CONTRACT – LEONARDO M. CROSS & ARIANA BLAKE.
Ariana picked it up slowly. "So this is really happening."
Cassandra gave a faint smile. "He doesn't make empty offers."
She flipped through the pages. There were clauses for everything—financial compensation, NDA terms, shared property, public appearance schedules, photo ops, even wardrobe allowances.
"No intimacy," she read aloud. "That's in bold."
Cassandra's smile tightened. "Mr. Cross prefers boundaries. He's not interested in anything beyond the business arrangement."
Ariana frowned, a strange twinge she didn't expect twisting in her gut.
"And if I change my mind later?"
"You walk away with the agreed compensation," Cassandra said. "But there's a penalty for breaching the public image clause."
"Right