“You want me to do what?”

Ivy Morgan didn’t raise her voice—she didn’t have to. Her words sliced through the silence of their tiny living room like the tip of her father’s old letter opener, the one she kept hidden under a false floorboard in her desk. She stared at her mother, who couldn’t even meet her eyes.

The envelope had arrived earlier that morning, thick with legal documents, a gold-embossed seal stamped on the corner. Ivy had skimmed them while eating dry cereal. It read more like a corporate merger than anything remotely romantic. She thought it was a mistake—until her mother confirmed it wasn’t.

“Ivy, please,” her mother whispered now, wringing her hands like she could rub away the guilt. “It’s just for a year. His family promised they’d—”

“Cain,” Ivy snapped, holding up the final page. “Did you even read the name before you sold your daughter?”

That stopped her mother cold. Her hands dropped to her lap.

“I didn’t know it was them, not at first,” she whispered. “I only wanted to protect you and your brother. The offer came through a lawyer. I didn’t know who was behind it until it was too late.”

“The Cain family buried Dad,” Ivy said, her voice low and dangerous. “They labeled him a thief. A traitor. They let him die with nothing but shame and a heart attack no one saw coming.”

“I know.”

“And now I’m supposed to marry one of them like it’s some... sick peace treaty?”

“Ivy—”

“I’m eighteen. I should be choosing colleges, not grooms.” Ivy stood up, crossing the room to the window. She shoved it open, breathing in the scent of wet asphalt and desperation. “You always said I was strong. That I didn’t need saving.”

“You don’t,” her mom said softly. “But we do.”

Ivy closed her eyes. Of course. It wasn’t about her. It never had been. She wasn’t a daughter anymore—she was a bargaining chip. A tool. A means to an end.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But I’m not doing this for them. Or you. I’m doing it to get close enough to burn the entire Cain empire to the ground.”

The wedding was cold, clinical. Ivy wore a simple white dress that itched her skin. The chapel was a private courthouse room, sterile and quiet. No flowers, no guests. Just a bored-looking judge, a lawyer with a briefcase, and her soon-to-be "husband" standing across from her with his face shadowed by designer sunglasses.

He didn’t speak a word when she entered. Didn't even glance at her.

Ivy didn’t bother pretending. She stood straight, hands at her sides, refusing to tremble. This was war, not romance.

The judge droned through the vows with all the emotion of someone reading parking regulations. Ivy signed the contract with the same pen she used to annotate chemistry notes. Then came the final instruction:

“You may now seal the agreement.”

The man removed his sunglasses.

And Ivy’s entire world slammed to a halt.

Damien Cain.

Senior class president. Debate champion. Heartthrob and devil incarnate. The boy who humiliated her in front of the entire school last fall when she accused his family of corruption in a public speech—only to have him destroy her with charm, logic, and a rehearsed smirk.

Ivy took a step back, bile rising in her throat.

“No. No way. This is some sick joke.”

Damien tilted his head. “I could say the same. I thought they were marrying me to some fragile heiress. Instead, I get the girl who tried to rip my reputation apart at the Winter Assembly.”

“You’re behind this?” she hissed.

He gave a slow shrug, his lazy smirk sharpening. “Technically, my father is. I just signed the contract. Didn't even know it was you until I saw the last name. But hey... fate, right?”

She slapped him.

Hard.

The judge gasped. The lawyer flinched. Damien just rubbed his cheek and chuckled.

“Damn,” he said, amused. “You hit like a truck.”

Ivy stepped closer, fire burning in her voice. “You destroyed my father. You destroyed my family. Don’t think for one second that this makes you safe from me.”

“Who said I want to be safe?” he murmured. “Welcome to the family, Mrs. Cain.”

She leaned in, chin high, lips inches from his. “You didn’t marry a doll, Damien. You married a fuse.”

“And you just lit it.”

When they stepped out of the courthouse, Ivy refused to take his arm.

Damien offered his in mock chivalry, eyebrow arched. “We can at least pretend to like each other. For the cameras.”

“There are no cameras.”

“There will be.”

She stared at him. “You think this is a game?”

“I think this is high-stakes chess. And I’ve never played with a queen quite like you.”

He smiled. Ivy didn’t.

In her purse, beneath her phone and wallet, was the flash drive. The one with every digital file she’d spent the last six months gathering on the Cain family’s corruption, embezzlement, and buried court cases. She hadn’t planned to use it until college. Until she was safe.

But now?

Now she was living in the lion’s den.

And it was time to set the whole cage on fire