He first noticed her three weeks ago.
Not because she was beautiful—though she was, in a quiet, unpolished way—but because she did not look at him the way everyone else did. She was Clara Hayes.
At the charity dinner, she had been standing behind the bar in a plain black uniform, refilling glasses while men in tailored suits discussed mergers and takeovers that could ruin lives with a single signature.
When he; Lucas Harrington stepped forward to order, she met his eyes briefly, professionally, then looked away.
No awe.
No calculation.
No interest.
That had been mistake number one.
Mistake number two came later that night, when she refused a bribe from one of his board members—politely, firmly, even when the man reminded her she was replaceable.
Lucas remembered thinking then: She understands power. She just doesn't have it.
Which made her perfect.
Now, three weeks later, he stood in her apartment, confirming what his investigators had already told him.
She was exactly as cornered as he needed her to be.
Elara felt his presence before she saw him.
The door clicked shut behind her, slow and deliberate, and something in the room shifted—like oxygen thinning.
She turned, her sight on a figure.
The man leaning casually against her doorframe did not belong here. His suit was dark, expensive. His posture relaxed, controlled. His eyes assessed her space the way people like him assessed companies before dismantling them.
"You're early," she said before she could stop herself.
One of his brows lifted slightly. "So you remember me."
"I remember the man who tipped the bartender more than my monthly rent," she replied coolly. "And walked away like it meant nothing."
"It didn't," Lucas said.
He crossed the room without asking permission.
Elara's jaw tightened. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet," he replied, glancing at the eviction notice on the counter, "you didn't call the police."
Her fingers curled at her sides.
"You've been watching me."
"Yes."
The admission was calm. Unapologetic.
"Why?" she demanded.
"Because my board of directors is attempting to remove me," Lucas said, as if discussing the weather. "And they believe a married man is easier to control."
Elara scoffed. "So marry someone from your world."
"I did," he said. "Once. She sold information to my competitors."
Silence fell.
Lucas continued, "I require a wife who is intelligent, invisible, and has nothing to gain by betraying me."
Her breath slowed. "And you think that's me?"
"I know it is."
He placed a folder on the table between them.
Elara didn't touch it.
"You were laid off six months ago," Lucas went on. "You work two jobs. You send money home. Your landlord has given you forty-eight hours."
Her chest tightened. "Stop."
"You have no loans available. No family who can help. And too much pride to beg."
Her voice came out strained. "You don't get to use my life like leverage."
"I already have," he said evenly. "What I'm offering is structure."
She finally looked at the folder.
"What's inside?" she asked.
"A marriage contract," Lucas replied. "Two years. You live with me. Appear beside me. Play the role."
"And after?"
"We divorce. Cleanly."
She shook her head. "You don't even know me."
"I know you won't love me," he said. "And that's precisely what I need."
Something in her chest twisted.
"No affection," he added. "No expectations. No emotional demands."
"And the money?"
"Enough to erase your past and secure your future."
She laughed bitterly. "You make it sound humane."
"It's not," Lucas said. "It's efficient."
Elara opened the folder despite herself.
Legal language. Precise. Unforgiving.
Then she saw it.
Clause Nine.
Her fingers trembled. "If I leave early… I owe everything back."
"Yes."
"That means I'd be trapped."
Lucas leaned closer, his voice lowering.
"Only if you forget why you agreed."
She met his gaze, anger and fear colliding. "And what if I refuse?"
He straightened, already turning away.
"Then you continue struggling," he said calmly. "And I find another solution."
He paused at the door.
"But understand this, Elara Hayes," Lucas added. "Opportunities like this are not offered twice."
The door closed behind him.
Elara stared at the contract long after the sound faded.
At the signature line.
At the choice that wasn't really a choice at all.
Two years.
A marriage built on necessity.
And a man who had entered her life not by chance—but by design.