Aria's POV
The knife pressed against Tommy's throat, and I stopped breathing.
"Please," I whispered, my voice cracking. "He's only twelve. He didn't do anything wrong."
The loan shark—a man with yellow teeth and breath that smelled like cigarettes—smiled at me. His name was Chen, and he'd been coming to our apartment every week for three months. Each time, his threats got worse.
"Your father borrowed two hundred thousand dollars, little girl." Chen pushed the knife harder. A thin line of blood appeared on Tommy's neck. My baby brother whimpered, tears streaming down his face. "Mr. Zhang had six months to pay. It's been eight. Time's up."
I wanted to throw up. My father sat in the corner of our tiny living room, head in his hands, useless as always. He'd gambled away everything—Mom's life insurance, our college funds, even the rent money. Then he'd borrowed from the worst people in Chinatown and lost that too.
"I'll pay," I said desperately. "I'll get the money. Just give me more time—"
Chen laughed. It was a horrible sound. "You're a college dropout working at a bubble tea shop. You make maybe two thousand a month? You'd need eight years to pay us back. We don't wait eight years, sweetheart."
He looked at the other men standing around our apartment. There were four of them, all big and scary. They'd pushed past me when I opened the door thirty minutes ago, looking for my father. They'd found Tommy instead, coming home from school.
"Here's what happens," Chen said. "We take the boy. Sell him to a factory in Indonesia. Or maybe we take you instead. Pretty girls are worth good money in certain places." His eyes crawled over me, making my skin feel dirty. "Your choice."
"No!" Tommy struggled against the man holding him. "Aria, run! Get out of here!"
My heart shattered. My brave, stupid little brother, trying to protect me when he was the one with a knife at his throat.
I had no money. No options. No one to call for help. Mom died of cancer two years ago. Dad was worthless. My friends from college had disappeared when I dropped out to work full-time and take care of my family.
This was it. The end.
Then the door opened.
Everyone turned. A man walked in—no, walked was the wrong word. He moved like a predator, smooth and dangerous. He wore a suit that probably cost more than our apartment, all black except for a white shirt. His face was handsome but cold, with a scar running down his left cheek. His eyes looked like they'd seen terrible things and done worse.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly. "I believe this conversation is over."
Chen frowned. "Who the hell are you?"
"Vincent Cross. Mr. Wolfe's associate." The man—Vincent—pulled out his phone and showed Chen something. "Your debt has been purchased. You'll receive a wire transfer within the hour. Leave."
I didn't understand what was happening. Who was Mr. Wolfe? Why would anyone buy our debt?
Chen's face went pale. Whatever he saw on that phone scared him badly. He pulled the knife away from Tommy's throat so fast he almost dropped it.
"I—we didn't know—" Chen stammered. "If we'd known the Wolfe family was involved—"
"Now you know. Leave."
The loan sharks practically ran out of our apartment. Chen was sweating, looking back at Vincent like he'd seen a ghost. In thirty seconds, they were gone.
I collapsed onto the floor, gasping. Tommy ran to me, throwing his arms around my neck. We held each other while he sobbed into my shoulder.
Vincent waited patiently, checking something on his phone. My father finally looked up, his face confused and hopeful.
"You paid our debt?" Dad asked. "Why? What do you want?"
"Not you," Vincent said, his voice flat. He looked at me. "Her."
Ice flooded my veins. "What?"
Vincent walked closer, moving carefully like I was a scared animal. Maybe I was. He crouched down so we were eye level. Up close, I could see his eyes were gray—cold and empty.
"My employer, Damien Wolfe, requires a wife," Vincent said. "A temporary arrangement. One year. In exchange, your debt is forgiven, and you receive five million dollars."
I almost laughed. It sounded insane. "You want me to marry someone I've never met?"
"Yes."
"Why me? I'm nobody. I'm not pretty or special or—"
"You're exactly what he needs." Vincent pulled out a folder and set it on the floor between us. "The contract is simple. One year of marriage. You'll live in his residence. Attend required social functions. Fulfill standard marital duties."
My stomach turned. "Marital duties?"
"He requires an heir."
The words hit me like a slap. They wanted me to have a baby. To give them a child, then disappear.
"This is crazy," I whispered. "People don't do this anymore. This is—this is like selling me—"
"It's business." Vincent's face showed nothing. "You're under no obligation to accept. However, if you refuse, your debt returns to its original holders. I believe Mr. Chen mentioned selling your brother?"
Tommy clutched me tighter. I felt him shaking.
"That's blackmail," I said.
"That's reality." Vincent stood up, straightening his suit. "You have twenty-four hours to decide. Read the contract. Think carefully. Tomorrow night, I'll return for your answer."
He walked to the door, then paused.
"For what it's worth," Vincent said quietly, "Damien Wolfe is many things, but he's not a monster. He won't hurt you. This is strictly business. One year, then you're free, with enough money to start over anywhere in the world."
"What if I say no?"
Vincent looked back at Tommy, still bleeding slightly from his neck. "Then I suggest you and your brother learn to run very fast."
He left.
I sat there, holding my baby brother, staring at the folder on the floor. Inside was a contract that would either save us or destroy me.
My hands shook as I reached for it.
The first page had a photo attached. A man's face—sharp features, black hair, golden eyes that seemed to look through the camera lens and into my soul. He was beautiful in a terrifying way, like a fallen angel.
Damien Wolfe. My future husband.
If I was brave enough to say yes.
But underneath his photo, I saw something else. A handwritten note in elegant script:
"Don't trust anything they tell you. Run while you still can. —A Friend"
My blood turned to ice.
Who wrote this? How did it get in the contract?
And what exactly was I about to agree to?