The elevator climbed with the grace of a predator, each floor marked by a soft chime that echoed like the ticking of a bomb. Selene Monroe stood in its glass-walled belly, spine stiff, jaw tight, heart a blur. Her reflection stared back at her from all angles lipstick too red, blazer too tight, eyes far too haunted.

This wasn’t just an interview.

This was a negotiation with the devil.

When the doors opened on the twenty-fifth floor of Dominion Tower, the headquarters of Wolfe Dynamics, the silence was almost deafening. No ringing phones. No chatter. Just dark marble floors, soft ambient lighting, and a secretary with eyes like glass who barely looked up.

“Ms. Monroe?” the woman said, her voice clipped. “He’s waiting.”

Selene exhaled and walked forward, heels tapping across polished stone, each step louder than the last. Her file, slim and creased, was clutched in her hand like a shield. Not that it would help.

This meeting wasn’t about resumes or recommendations.

It was about desperation.

About survival.

And about selling the only thing she had left: herself.

The heavy oak doors to the office opened automatically, revealing a space carved from cold steel and darker intentions. At the far end, standing behind a desk the size of her childhood bedroom, was Cassian Wolfe, billionaire tech mogul, CEO, legend, and scandal.

And, perhaps soon, her husband.

He looked up.

Everything about him was sharp. Black tailored suit. Unruly jet-black hair pushed back from a sculpted face. And eyes God, those eyes obsidian, unreadable, and watching her like she was both puzzle and prey.

“Selene Monroe,” he said.

His voice was low. Polished. Dangerous.

“Yes.” She stepped forward, chin high. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You’re not the only one who’s applied.” His tone was unreadable. “But you’re the most interesting.”

She blinked. “I didn’t know this was a competition.”

“It’s always a competition,” he replied, folding his arms. “Tell me again why you’re here.”

She held his gaze. “Because you need a wife. Fast. And I need ten million dollars.”

His mouth twitched not a smile. Something colder. “And you think I’d marry a stranger for that amount?”

“I think you already planned to,” she said. “I just got to you before your PR team found someone blonder.”

Then: “Sit.”

She sat.

Cassian opened a folder on his desk and skimmed through it with surgical precision.

“Your grades are top-tier. Psychology major. Columbia graduate program. Two part-time jobs. One hospital bill.”

He looked up. “Your brother.”

Her throat tightened. “He’s seventeen. Diagnosed last year. Stage four lymphoma. Treatment costs have drained everything. The insurance company dropped us.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“I don’t do charity.”

“I’m not asking for charity,” she said. “I’m offering a transaction. You get a fake wife to quiet your board and stabilize your public image. I get the money to save my brother’s life.”

He leaned back in his chair, considering.

“You do realize what this entails?”

“Yes.”

“No dating,” he said. “No romantic walks. No sudden feelings. This will be a performance, nothing more. In public, you’re my fiancée. Eventually, my wife. In private, you stay out of my way.”

“I don’t want feelings.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I have none left.”

His eyes burned. She swallowed.

“Are there... conditions?” she asked, voice thinner than she meant.

Cassian pulled a contract from his desk drawer. “Standard terms. One year. You’ll live here. Attend all corporate and personal functions with my spouse. Access to limited funds, with the balance paid in full at the end of the contract. Any attempt to breach the agreement, press leaks, infidelity, or disappearing voids the deal and reinstates your brother’s debt.”

Selene’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for the contract.

“There’s a clause here.” Her eyes scanned the fine print. “‘No intimacy unless explicitly consented to by both parties.’”

Cassian didn’t flinch. “I don’t believe in forcing chemistry. If it happens, it’s yours to manage.”

She looked up. “Why me?”

Cassian stood and walked around the desk, stopping just a foot from her.

“You didn’t come in here wearing perfume. You didn’t flirt. You looked me in the eye and told me what you wanted. That kind of honesty is rare.” He paused. “And valuable.”

Selene swallowed, her nerves snapping like wires beneath her skin.

“What do you get out of this?” she asked.

He held her gaze. “A clean image. A distraction from the scandals. A chance to complete the Zenith merger without investors breathing down my neck about my private life.”

“And after the year is over?”

“You disappear,” he said. “Debt-free. Degree funded. Brother alive.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

Then she reached for the pen.

Signed.

Cassian picked up the pen and signed in a single fluid motion.

“Congratulations,” he said quietly. “You just sold your freedom.”

She looked down at the paper.

It didn’t feel like a victory.

It felt like drowning.

A knock at the door broke the moment. Elise Cassian’s personal assistant stepped in, holding a velvet ring box.

“She’ll need the Wolfe diamond,” Cassian said.

Selene stood as Elise crossed the room, opened the box, and slipped a ring onto her finger. The diamond was enormous. Cold. Impossibly bright.

It glinted under the lights like a warning.

Cassian stepped beside her and leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Starting tomorrow, the world will believe you’re mine,” he said. “And you will smile, and you will lie, and you will play the part perfectly.”

Selene didn’t move.

He straightened.

“But behind closed doors…” he added, stepping back, “I suggest you remember who holds the contract.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadowed hallway beyond the glass.

Leaving her alone in the most expensive lie of her life.

Selene stared down at her ring.

Not a symbol of love.

A collar.