Thunder rumbled, rain poured down, and the dark clouds that filled the sky seemed to shroud the entire world.

A pair of soaking-wet high heels splatted against the puddles. The woman, her face pale as a ghost, stood beneath a flickering lamppost, consumed by fear. The dim light overhead wavered, casting eerie shadows, while the tears streaming down her cheeks blended seamlessly with the rain.

She was panting, struggling to keep her heavy body upright, tilting her face upward to embrace the downpour. In her trembling hand, she held a silver handgun. With the speed of a shooting star, she raised it to her temple. Having lost all desire to live, she had chosen this lonely, abandoned place to end it all.

A slender finger, adorned with a platinum diamond ring, moved slowly toward the trigger. She closed her eyes, committed to her final act, when—

"Bang!"

A firm hand suddenly gripped her wrist, catching her off guard. In one swift motion, the stranger pried the gun from her grasp and pocketed it.

Elena stared up in shock, her desperate eyes locking onto the man standing before her. His cold, aloof gaze burned with intensity, his deep eyes rimmed with anger. His short, wet black hair clung to his face, and his blue, glowing earrings reflected the dim streetlight. He was undeniably handsome, yet an air of danger radiated from him, sending a chill down her spine.

"Listen, Elena," his deep, rough voice cut through the storm, "you don't even qualify to die."

A cold hand gripped her chin tightly. She had endured enough—must she now seek his permission even to die?

"What use is a loveless marriage?" she whispered bitterly.

"You willingly signed the contract with me," he reminded her, his voice devoid of emotion. "The money has already been transferred into your father’s account. What now? Are you planning to go back on your word?"

If given another chance, she would have refused to sign the marriage contract with the man before her—even at the cost of death. At this moment, she finally understood—marriages without love were nothing but a waste of time and life.

---

Three Months Ago

"Elena, help me photocopy this document. Thank you."

"Elena, grab me a cup of coffee from the shop downstairs—remember, with sugar and cream. Thanks!"

"Elena, organize the files on my desk."

Her name was called repeatedly, an endless echo in her ears.

At twenty-two, Elena Thompson was a recent graduate from a prestigious business university. She was stunningly beautiful, with an unmistakable charisma. Her clear, luminous eyes, delicately arched eyebrows, and trembling lashes framed a face that seemed almost ethereal. Her flawless skin carried a slight blush, and her lips were as soft as rose petals. She was gentle, sensitive, and incredibly intelligent.

And yet…

Since joining Mason Holdings, she had never been given a chance to prove herself. It was as if she were invisible. Highly capable, yet underutilized, she was nothing more than an errand girl.

"Ms. Carter, your files." Panting with exhaustion, she handed the copied documents to her colleague, a polite smile still gracing her lips.

"Ms. Morgan, your coffee!" Another radiant smile.

"Oh, and Ms. Lane," she added, "I've organized all the files on your desk. You can work more efficiently now."

It was noon. The sun bathed the company rooftop in golden light as Elena stood, sipping a cup of milk tea, staring up at the sky with a deep sigh.

"Six months in this company, and not a single project assigned to me," she muttered.

Graduating from a highly reputable finance university had been the dream of so many. Yet, here she was, earning a meager salary, barely enough to survive—let alone pay off her father’s debts.

"Mom, if you're watching from heaven, please bless your daughter."

---

The night sky deepened. Stars shimmered like tiny teardrops against the vast darkness.

Elena, weary from the day's exhaustion, walked home, gazing up at the sky. But as she turned into the alley leading to her house, her steps faltered.

Her furniture was being carried out—one piece at a time.

Heart pounding, she grabbed one of the men by the arm. "Excuse me! This is my house! Where are you taking our things?"

The man, a burly figure, barely glanced at her. "You're no longer the owner here. Move aside, don’t get in the way."

A second man grunted as he hauled a heavy sofa into a truck. "We warned you before we loaned money to Phillip Thompson. If he couldn’t pay it back, we’d take the house and everything in it. Now that he’s disappeared, we’re repossessing what’s owed."

Elena’s blood ran cold.

So they weren’t movers.

Anger flared inside her as she stepped forward, grabbing the first man’s arm. "No! You can’t just take everything! If you take our home, where will my father and I live?"

The man scoffed. "Not my problem."

Bang!

The truck door slammed shut.

The large blue vehicle rumbled out of the alley, leaving Elena standing in the dust, devastated.

Her father had ruined her. Again.

"Why can't you hold down a stable job, Dad?" she whispered, shaking with frustration. "Why did you have to take out those loans?"

She whirled around, eyes scanning the shadows. "Dad! I know you're hiding. Come out!"

A middle-aged man hesitantly stepped out from behind a concrete pillar. The dim streetlight barely illuminated his features, but Elena could still sense his guilt.

"Elena, listen—"

"Dad!" she snapped, hands on her hips. "We are now homeless. Did you see that? Because of your reckless borrowing, we have nowhere to live!"

"Elena, you don’t understand—these loan sharks trap people like us. The interest keeps piling up—it’s a never-ending pit." Phillip Thompson, dressed in a worn black suit, stepped closer, head bowed.

"If you knew that, why did you still borrow from them?" Elena's voice cracked with frustration.

"I know I was wrong," he murmured. "That’s why I’ve decided to pay off all the debt in one go. If I do, we’ll get the house back."

Elena frowned. "In one go? That’s five million dollars, Dad! Where do you plan to get that kind of money?"

Phillip hesitated before asking, "Have you heard of Chris Mason?"

Elena blinked. "Who?"

Phillip sighed. "Chris Mason, of Mason Holdings."

She shook her head again.

Phillip groaned in exasperation. "Elena, how do you not know Chris Mason?"

"Why should I?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Because," Phillip said seriously, "Chris Mason is looking for a fiancée. If you become his wife, we’ll have a home again."

Elena recoiled.

"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed. "Are you trying to sell me off?"

"Sell you?" Phillip scoffed. "It's not selling—it's an opportunity! If Chris Mason notices you and agrees to a marriage contract, you'll become the young mistress of Mason Holdings. Isn't that a good thing?"

Elena’s jaw tightened. So, this was his plan all along.

"No, Dad. It's not a good thing at all," she said firmly. "I want to marry for love, not for money. I don’t even know this man—I’ve never seen him before, let alone love him. We’ll figure out the loan issue another way. But you will not negotiate my life behind my back."

With that, she turned, grabbed her belongings, and headed toward her aunt’s house.

But Phillip Thompson had no intention of giving up so easily.

---

Mason Holdings towered above the Central Business District, a sleek glass fortress of power. Sunlight reflected off its massive structure, making it look even more imposing.

Phillip swallowed hard and stepped inside.

"Good day, sir. Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist, dressed in a sleek red suit, smiled politely.

"No, I need to see Chris Mason," Phillip said quickly.

The woman’s expression remained professional. "I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Mason is currently on a business trip overseas. He won’t be back for a while. Also, all meetings require an appointment at least a week in advance."

Phillip clenched his fists.

He would find a way to make this happen.