Lucien Blackwood did not look like a man about to get married.

He looked like a man finalizing a hostile takeover.

He didn’t offer me a seat. Didn’t offer me water. He didn’t even look at me at first. His attention was fixed on the documents spread neatly across the glass table between us, his fingers steepled, his posture relaxed in the way only men with too much power ever managed.

When he finally raised his eyes to me, they were dark. Calculating. Cold.

“You’re late,” he said.

I swallowed. “Traffic—”

“Excuses are irrelevant,” he interrupted smoothly. “Sit.”

The word felt less like a suggestion and more like an order. I obeyed before I could stop myself, my knees brushing the edge of the chair as I lowered myself into it.

Lucien slid a thick folder toward me.

“Everything is outlined clearly,” he said. “Terms. Expectations. Duration.”

I stared at the folder like it might bite me.

Marriage.

One word. So simple. So incredibly devastating.

“This arrangement,” Lucien continued, “will last one year. During that time, you will act as my wife in public and remain invisible in private. You will attend events, smile for cameras, and speak only when spoken to.”

My fingers curled into fists in my lap.

“And intimacy?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

His lips twitched—not into a smile, but something sharper. Something almost amused.

“Not required,” he said. “And not desired.”

The words landed harder than I expected.

“You will not interfere in my personal life,” he added. “You will not ask questions. You will not embarrass me. In return, your brother walks free.”

There it was.

The hook buried deep in my chest.

I thought of my brother—thin, angry, bleeding the last time I’d seen him. Of the calls that came at odd hours. Of men who smiled without warmth and promised consequences.

I lifted my chin. “And if I don’t follow the rules?”

Lucien leaned back in his chair, studying me like a specimen under glass.

“You wouldn’t be here if you had a choice.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

I opened the folder with shaking hands. Page after page of legal language blurred together, but I didn’t need to read it to understand what this was.

This wasn’t a marriage.

It was a purchase.

“You’ll live in my house,” he said. “My staff will answer to you, but don’t mistake that for authority. Everything you have will be mine.”

Something inside me twisted.

“I won’t fall in love with you,” I said quietly.

His gaze sharpened. “Good. I’d consider that a breach of contract.”

I reached for the pen.

My hand shook as I signed my name, each stroke feeling like another door slamming shut behind me. When I was done, I pushed the papers back toward him.

Lucien reviewed my signature carefully, as though inspecting merchandise.

Then he stood.

Towering. Immaculate. Untouchable.

“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwood,” he said.

As he turned and walked away, the finality of it crushed my lungs.

I didn’t feel like a bride.

I didn’t even feel like a person.

I felt like something that had just been sold to the highest bidder.

And as the door closed behind him, one terrifying thought echoed in my mind—

Lucien Blackwood hadn’t just bought my name.

He’d bought my silence.