The smell of bleach always made Ella Vance want to scream. It was the smell of bad news, of white floors that reflected too much light, and of money they didn't have.
Ella stood frozen outside Room 402, her heart trembling in fear, her forehead pressed against the cold glass of the door. Inside, her younger sister, Mia, looked smaller than usual. At seventeen, Mia should have been worrying about prom dresses or failing her math exams. Instead, she was tangled in a web of plastic tubes, her skin the color of a faded notebook page.
"She's stable for now, Ella," a voice said softly.
Ella turned to see Dr. Miller. He wasn’t looking at her; he was looking at a digital tablet. Doctors only looked you in the eye when there was good news. When they looked at their shoes or their screens, it meant the bill was due.
"The surgery was supposed to be this morning," Ella said, her voice cracking. "Why is she still in that bed? Why isn't she in the operating room?"
Dr. Miller finally looked up, and Ella saw the pity in his eyes. She hated it. Pity didn't pay the bills.
"The insurance company flagged the account, Ella. Your father’s legal... situation. They’ve frozen the assets. The hospital administration says we can’t proceed until the down payment is cleared."
"How much?" Ella asked, though she already knew the answer would be a nightmare.
"Two hundred thousand. Just for the start."
Ella’s heart did a slow, painful somersault. Two hundred thousand dollars. She had exactly forty-two dollars in her bank account and a car that made a clicking noise every time she turned left.
"My father is innocent," Ella whispered, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "He was framed. He didn't steal that money from the company."
"I’m a doctor, not a judge," Miller said, his voice actually sounding a bit sad. "But I am telling you as a friend—Mia doesn't have a week. She barely has forty-eight hours. Her heart is tired, Ella. It’s just... tired."
He walked away, his soft-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
Ella leaned her back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her head in her hands. Her father, Thomas Vance, had been the head accountant for Blackwood Industries for twenty years. He was the kind of man who rescued spiders from the sink and never missed a bedtime story. But a month ago, two million dollars had vanished from the Blackwood accounts, and the paper trail led straight to her father’s desk.
Now, he was behind bars, and the "Great Blackwood Family" had frozen every penny her father owned. They didn't care that his youngest daughter was dying. To them, the Vances were just bugs to be crushed.
Ella’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from an unknown number.
[I know you’re at the hospital. I know about the $200k. Come to the Blackwood Building in thirty minutes. There is a way out.]
Ella stared at the screen. Her blood ran cold. Was this a prank? Or was it Julian Thorne, her father’s old rival? Whoever it was, they were watching her.
She looked through the glass one last time. Mia’s chest rose and fell in a slow, jagged rhythm. Ella stood up, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and straightened her cheap blazer.
"I’ll get it, Mia," she whispered. "I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll get the money."
The Blackwood Industries building was a jagged spike of glass and steel that pierced the clouds of the city skyline. It looked like a villain’s lair from a comic book. Ella felt like an ant as she walked through the revolving glass doors.
The lobby was filled with people in suits that cost more than her entire life. She felt small in her scuffed heels, but she kept her chin up.
"I’m here to see... someone," she told the receptionist, showing the text on her phone.
The receptionist didn't even ask for her name. She just tapped a button and pointed. "Top floor. The Executive Suite. He’s expecting you." He.
There was only one "he" in this building. Damian Blackwood. The Silent CEO. The man who had put her father in jail.
The elevator ride was so fast it made Ella’s ears pop. When the doors opened, she stepped out onto a floor that was almost entirely made of glass. The view was incredible, but Ella felt like she was standing on thin air.
At the end of a long hallway sat a massive desk made of dark wood. Behind it, a man was silhouetted against the setting sun.
Damian Blackwood didn't look like a businessman. He looked like a predator. He was young—maybe twenty-eight—with hair as black as ink and eyes that seemed to see right through her skin. He didn't stand up when she entered. He just watched her.
"You're late," he said. His voice was deep, like the low rumble of a storm.
"I had to make sure my sister was still breathing," Ella snapped, her anger hiding her fear. "Why am I here? Did you bring me here to mock me? To tell me you’re going to sue us for the rest of our lives?"
Damian leaned forward, the light finally hitting his face. He was terrifyingly handsome, but his face was like a mask of stone. He pushed a thick stack of papers across the desk.
"I don't care about your father's debt, Ella. That's for the lawyers."
"Then what is this?" she asked, reaching for the papers.
"It’s a marriage contract," Damian said.
Ella froze. Her hand stayed inches away from the document. "A what?"
"My grandfather’s will is very specific," Damian said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I cannot take full control of the company until I am married. My board of directors is getting restless. They want a stable CEO. I want them to leave me alone."
"So... get a girlfriend," Ella said, her voice rising in disbelief. "Why me?"
"Because everyone knows you hate me," Damian said with a chillingly small smile. "If I marry a socialite, they’ll think it’s a fairy tale. If I marry the daughter of the man who 'robbed' me, they’ll think it’s a strategic move to keep your family silent. It looks cold. It looks professional. It looks like a Blackwood move."
Ella looked at the contract. The first page had a number highlighted in yellow.
$5,000,000.
"Five million dollars," she whispered.
"In your account the second the ink is dry," Damian said. "Enough for your sister’s surgery, a private villa for her recovery, and the best lawyers in the country for your father. All you have to do is give me two years. Two years as my wife. You live in my house. You attend my events. You play the part."
Ella looked at him. He wasn't joking. He was buying her life like he was buying a piece of real estate.
"And if I say no?"
Damian checked his gold watch. "Then in forty-seven hours, your sister dies, and your father spends the next thirty years in a maximum-security prison. I’m not a monster, Ella. I’m just a man making an offer."
Ella looked at the pen sitting on the desk. It was heavy, silver, and cold. She thought of Mia’s pale face. She thought of the smell of bleach.
She picked up the pen.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know," Damian replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sign the paper, Ella."
Her hand shook as she scrawled her name on the bottom line. She felt like she was signing a death warrant, but as she finished the last letter, she realized something.
She wasn't just his wife now. She was his prisoner.