Elle's car pulls into the Tesco car park twenty minutes later.
She finds Scarlett curled in the driver's seat, still soaking wet from the rain. Elle doesn't say anything at first. She just climbs into the passenger side, takes one look at her friend, and pulls out a thermos and two mugs from her bag.
"Hot tea," Elle says, pouring steaming liquid into a mug. "And I'm not leaving until you drink it."
Scarlett takes the mug with shaking hands. The warmth feels like a small miracle. Elle Hartley is the only person who didn't disappear. The only friend who stayed.
"You look terrible," Elle says, not unkindly.
"I feel worse," Scarlett whispers.
Elle settles back and drinks her own tea. She's quiet for a moment. Then she says, "My cousin works in corporate law. She mentioned a client. A CEO named Cameron Ashford. His company is worth billions, but his reputation just got destroyed by rumors. A woman claimed he was having an affair with her. It's not true. It was a setup by his rival to damage his business."
Scarlett listens but says nothing. She doesn't see how this matters to her.
"He needs someone," Elle continues. "Someone to be seen with him. Someone to prove the rumors are false. He needs an engagement. A real-looking engagement. And he's willing to pay whoever agrees to help him."
"A fake engagement," Scarlett says flatly.
"A fake engagement," Elle confirms. "My cousin mentioned it as a joke. Said the man was desperate enough to hire someone off the street. And then I thought of you."
Scarlett turns to stare at her friend. "Elle, no. Absolutely not."
"Hear me out," Elle says quickly. "He'd pay you. Enough to get you out of this car. Enough to get your own place. Enough to breathe."
"It's illegal," Scarlett says.
"It's not. You'd be dating him. That's not illegal. You'd appear together at events. That's not illegal. You'd tell people you're engaged. Messy, but not illegal."
"It sounds like a scam," Scarlett says, but her voice wavers.
Elle turns to face her directly. "Scarlett, you have forty-seven pounds. Your father controls your legal guardianship. Every shelter door is closed. Every job rejects you the moment they recognize your face. What exactly are you protecting yourself from by saying no?"
The words hit like a slap because they're true.
"What if something goes wrong," Scarlett asks. "What if people find out it's fake and it destroys both of us?"
"Then you'll be destroyed with money in your pocket instead of alone in a car," Elle says. "Look, this man is no prince. My cousin said he's cold as ice. Brilliant but ruthless. He doesn't have emotions, just strategies. But he's honest about what he wants, and he pays people well for their time. One fake engagement. A few months maybe. And your life gets easier."
Scarlett takes a long drink of tea. It's the best thing she's tasted in weeks.
"Meet him," Elle says. "Just one meeting. If you hate it, you walk away. But Scarlett, I think you need to at least try."
Scarlett wants to refuse. She knows this is dangerous. She knows that trusting people got her here in the first place. But Elle is right about one thing. She has absolutely nothing left to lose.
"Okay," Scarlett says finally. "I'll meet him."
Elle lights up. "Really?"
"Just a meeting," Scarlett says. "No promises."
"That's all I'm asking," Elle says. She checks her phone. "We have forty minutes. We should get you out of wet clothes."
The next two hours pass in a blur. Elle takes her to a shopping center where Scarlett buys one decent outfit with money Elle lends her. A simple gray dress. Black heels she can barely afford. Elle helps her fix her hair and apply makeup with careful hands, like she's handling something fragile.
"You're beautiful," Elle says when she's finished. "Don't let anyone make you forget that."
By the time they're driving toward the financial district, Scarlett's heart is racing so hard she can barely breathe. The buildings get taller. The streets get cleaner. The world gets colder.
Elle parks near a glass tower that seems to touch the sky. Scarlett stares up at it, her stomach twisting.
"Forty-seventh floor," Elle says. "Cameron's office is at the top."
Scarlett steps out of the car. Wind catches her hair. She sees her reflection in the glass windows of the building and barely recognizes herself. She looks like a version of her old self. Almost like the girl who belonged in places like this.
Almost.
"You're going to be fine," Elle says, squeezing her shoulder. "Just remember. You're in control here. If you don't like what he's offering, you leave."
Scarlett nods, even though they both know it's a lie. She's not in control of anything anymore.
The lobby is all marble and steel and the kind of expensive silence that makes her feel small. A security guard checks their names against a list. Her stomach drops when he finds her there. Scarlett Mitchell. Expected.
The elevator ride takes forever. Scarlett watches the numbers climb. 10. 20. 30. With each floor, her anxiety gets worse. What if she says something stupid. What if he takes one look at her and realizes she's not worth the trouble. What if this entire thing is a trap.
The elevator doors open on the forty-seventh floor.
The office is all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. The whole city spreads out below them like they're looking down at the world. A young woman at a reception desk smiles and directs them toward massive double doors.
Elle squeezes her hand. Scarlett feels like her legs might stop working.
She pushes through the doors.
Cameron Ashford is standing behind a desk that costs more than her car. He's tall. Impossibly tall. His suit is perfect. His dark hair is perfect. His entire existence is a study in controlled perfection.
He looks up at her with eyes so cold and empty that Scarlett forgets how to breathe.
"Miss Mitchell," he says, his voice smooth and detached. He doesn't stand to greet her. He doesn't smile. "I understand you're desperate enough to consider this arrangement."
It's not a question. It's a statement of fact delivered by someone who doesn't see her as a person. He sees her as a problem. A useful problem, maybe, but a problem nonetheless.
"Elle mentioned you might be interested," Scarlett says, her voice smaller than she'd like.
"I'm interested in solving a problem," Cameron says. His eyes move over her briefly, assessing. Like she's a piece on a chess board. "The question is whether you're suitable."
Suitable.
Scarlett has spent three weeks being unsuitable. Unsuitable for shelters. Unsuitable for jobs. Unsuitable for her own family. And now this beautiful, cold stranger is deciding if she's suitable enough to use.
She should walk out. She should tell him exactly what she thinks of his coldness and his indifference.
But then he speaks again.
"I can make your legal guardianship issues disappear," he says. "I can ensure your father removes the restraining order. I can restore access to your accounts. I can make sure you're never homeless again."
He pauses, letting those words sink in.
"In exchange, you'll be seen with me. You'll convince people we're in love. And you won't ask questions about my personal life."
Scarlett's breath catches. He's offering everything she needs. Everything she's been desperate for. And he's making it sound like a transaction. Cold. Simple. Emotionless.
"For how long," she asks.
"As long as it takes to fix my reputation," he says. "Three months. Maybe six."
He pulls out a folder and slides it across the desk toward her. Inside are numbers. An amount that makes her dizzy.
"That's your monthly salary," he says. "Paid weekly. You'll have a place to live. A wardrobe. A security detail. Everything you need to play the role convincingly."
Scarlett stares at the numbers. With that money, she could breathe. She could eat more than once a day. She could stop being afraid.
"There's one condition," Cameron adds.
He steps around the desk, and for the first time, he gets close enough that she can see his face clearly. He's devastatingly handsome. The kind of handsome that belongs in magazines. The kind of handsome that makes it clear he's never struggled a day in his life.
His eyes are empty of warmth.
"You don't develop feelings for me," he says flatly. "This is business. You're playing a role. Nothing more. Can you do that?"
Scarlett meets his gaze and sees a man made of steel. A man who's decided love is weakness. A man who looks at her like she's temporary.
"Yes," she lies. "I can do that."
Cameron nods once. "Then welcome to your new life, Miss Mitchell. We announce the engagement in two weeks."
He extends his hand for her to shake.
When their skin touches, Scarlett feels a spark that contradicts everything about his coldness. For just a fraction of a second, she sees something flicker in his eyes. Something that looks like recognition.
Then his walls snap back into place and he becomes stone again.
"Don't be late," he says, releasing her hand. "Next time, we'll begin your training."
As Elle drives her away from the tower, Scarlett stares out the window at the London skyline. She just made a deal with a man who's made it clear he doesn't care about her.
She agreed to fake being in love with someone incapable of love.
And somehow, impossibly, watching him disappear behind the glass building made her heart hurt.
She's in trouble. Real trouble.
And she has absolutely no idea how deep it goes.