The folder lay on Serena's kitchen counter like a live wire. She'd set it there when she came home the night before, telling herself she wouldn't touch it. Yet here she was at six in the morning, still in her pajamas, staring at it over a mug of lukewarm coffee.
The edges were sharp, the leather smooth, the weight of it far heavier than its size suggested. Half a million dollars—written in neat legal terms—was inside. She could feel it without even opening the clasp.
Her younger sister, Mia, shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.
"You're up early," she mumbled.
Serena forced a casual tone. "Couldn't sleep."
Mia plopped into a chair and reached for the toast on the table. "Is that for the bakery?" she asked, nodding toward the folder.
Serena hesitated. "Something like that."
She didn't want Mia to know. Not yet. Not until she could decide for herself if she could actually go through with marrying a stranger—especially one like Elias Moreau.
When Mia headed back to her room, Serena finally unclasped the folder. A neat stack of papers greeted her, each page crisp and cold. The contract was thorough: living arrangements, public appearances, financial terms, even clauses about confidentiality. And there, toward the end, a line in bold:
No romantic expectations or obligations.
Her chest tightened. Romantic obligations weren't the problem—her heart was. If she let herself get too close, she could lose more than her bakery.
The bakery's phone call interrupted her thoughts. It was Mrs. Carter, a longtime customer. She'd ordered a cake for her grandson's birthday but was calling to cancel—she couldn't afford it this month. Serena's polite reassurances hid the ache in her chest. Business was worse than she'd admitted to herself.
By noon, Serena found herself standing outside Moreau Enterprises, the city's tallest glass tower, folder in hand. She'd told herself she was just going to return it, to tell him "no" to his face. But the moment she stepped into the sleek marble lobby, her resolve wavered.
The receptionist greeted her warmly, as if expecting her. "Miss Blake, Mr. Moreau is waiting."
Waiting. For her.
She was escorted to the top floor, where double doors opened into an office that felt more like a private penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, and Elias stood by them, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of water.
"You came," he said simply.
"I'm here to—" She stopped. His gaze pinned her in place.
"You've read the contract."
"I have."
"And?"
"It's… insane."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Insane can be profitable."
She exhaled, clutching the folder. "Why me? Really?"
He stepped closer, his cologne warm and clean. "Because you're honest. Because you don't want me for my money, even if you need it. Because I can trust you to keep this arrangement clean."
Serena searched his face for cracks, but his expression was unreadable.
"You have until Friday," he said, his voice low. "But something tells me you've already made your choice."
Her pulse spiked. She wasn't sure if he was wrong—or dangerously right.
When she left, the city's afternoon sun was blinding. But the folder in her hands felt heavier than ever.
One week. One decision. One chance to save everything—or lose herself completely.