Chapter 1: A Debt Too Heavy
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed overhead, casting pale shadows across Elara Grace's tired face. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched a crumpled medical bill in her hand—one more than she could afford. One more than she could ignore.
Room 208. She paused outside the door, drawing in a shaky breath before pushing it open.
"Elara," her mother's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Even that small effort seemed to drain her.
"Mom." Elara forced a smile and walked in, sitting beside the bed. Her mother looked thinner than ever, her once vibrant eyes dulled by pain and medication. The beeping machines beside her counted seconds Elara didn't know how to buy.
"I spoke with Dr. Levin," she said carefully, brushing her mother's hand. "They want to begin the next round of treatment immediately."
Her mother nodded slowly, though she seemed to sense the tension hiding behind Elara's calm tone. "How much?"
Elara hesitated. "Don't worry about that. I'll figure it out."
The truth was, she didn't have enough left to cover even the last round, let alone another one. Her art scholarship barely kept her enrolled in college. She'd already taken extra shifts at the café, sold off her camera and most of her paintings. What else could she give?
She stood up and kissed her mother's forehead. "I'll be back soon. Rest, okay?"
Outside, the sky was already dimming. Elara wrapped her coat tighter and made her way down the sidewalk, numb to the cold. Her phone buzzed just as she reached the station.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated.
"Hello?"
"Elara Grace?" The voice was deep, clipped, and unmistakably male.
"Yes... who's this?"
"There's a proposition waiting for you. Blackwood Tower. 9 p.m. tonight. Penthouse suite."
Her heart skipped. "What kind of—?"
"You'll want to hear it. It concerns your mother's treatment."
The line went dead.
She stared at the screen, heart racing. The Blackwood name was known all over the city—Lucien Blackwood, the elusive billionaire, CEO of Blackwood Corp. Ruthless. Untouchable. Cold as stone.
What did he want with her?
---
9:03 PM — Blackwood Tower, Penthouse
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
Elara stepped out onto polished marble floors that glistened beneath crystal lights. The room was minimalist and breathtaking, every piece of furniture reeking of money and power.
He stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his tall figure silhouetted by the city lights. A black suit clung to his frame, sharp and unforgiving. Jet-black hair, perfectly styled. His posture, calm yet dangerous.
Lucien Blackwood turned.
She froze. His eyes—ice-gray and unreadable—met hers.
"You're late," he said simply.
"I didn't know I was coming until two hours ago," she replied, chin tilted in defiance.
A flicker of amusement passed through his features before vanishing. "Sit."
She did, keeping her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Lucien leaned forward slightly. "You're in debt. Your mother's medical bills are unpayable. You're on the verge of losing your scholarship. I know everything."
Elara's stomach twisted. "Did you dig through my life for fun, or—?"
"I need a wife."
Her breath hitched.
He continued, voice calm. "For one year. Public marriage. Private separation. In return, I'll cover your mother's treatment in full, plus a monthly stipend of fifty thousand dollars."
"You're joking."
"I don't joke."
Her thoughts swirled in chaos. "Why me?"
He stared at her for a moment longer. "Because you have no ties, no history of scandals, and no reason to love me."
Elara's lips parted. His words were like frost.
"You'd sell a marriage for money?" she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow. "Would you sell your pride to save your mother?"
Silence.
Lucien pulled out a sleek contract and placed it on the glass table. "One year. No intimacy. No questions. You fulfill your role. I fulfill mine."
She stared at the paper, her heart a thunderstorm. The pen sat next to it, silver and gleaming.
"Decide by midnight."
---