Chapter 2 THE DEVIL'S PROPOSAL

Amara had been to New York exactly three times in her life.

Once for a fifth-grade field trip. Once for a job interview she didn't get. And once, five years ago, to tell her father she was never coming back.

Now here she was again. Standing outside Blackwood Tower at 8:47 in the morning, wearing the only clean outfit she had left-jeans and a wrinkled blouse-while a man in a security uniform eyed her like she might pull a knife.

"He's expecting me," she said, for the third time.

"Name?"

"Amara Chen."

The guard checked his tablet. His eyebrows went up. "ID?"

She handed it over. He scanned it, waited, then nodded toward the elevator bank.

"Forty-second floor. Don't touch anything."

Charming.

The elevator ride was silent except for the soft jazz playing overhead. Amara watched the numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to face the man who had essentially blackmailed her into flying across the country.

The doors opened.

The forty-second floor was all glass and white marble. A woman with sleek black hair sat behind a curved desk, typing furiously.

"Ms. Chen," she said without looking up. "Mr. Blackwood is in his office. Go right in."

Amara walked past her, down a hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and stopped at a set of double doors. She took a breath.

Then she pushed them open.

Dorian Blackwood sat behind a massive desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, phone pressed to his ear. He looked up when she entered, and something flickered in his eyes-surprise, maybe. Or satisfaction.

He gestured to the chair across from him.

Amara didn't sit.

"Ms. Chen," he said into the phone. "I'll have to call you back." He hung up and leaned back, studying her. "You came."

"You didn't give me much choice."

"There's always a choice." He stood, walking around the desk. "You chose to get on that plane."

"I chose not to be subpoenaed."

"Same thing."

She crossed her arms. "What do you want, Mr. Blackwood?"

He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could smell his cologne-something dark and expensive. "I want to make a deal."

"I'm listening."

"My company is under attack. Your father is leading the charge. He's filed a lawsuit claiming I stole trade secrets, which is laughable, but the court of public opinion doesn't care about facts." He paused. "The board is nervous. Investors are nervous. I need to stabilize things."

"And how exactly do I fit into that?"

He tilted his head. "You're Wei Chen's daughter. His only child. The one he's been trying to reconnect with for years."

"I don't speak to him."

"I know." His eyes were sharp. "But he still cares about you. He still wants your approval. And if you stand by my side-publicly-it sends a message."

Amara's stomach dropped. "What kind of message?"

"That I have something he wants. That he can't destroy me without destroying his relationship with you."

She stared at him. "You want me to be your... what? A shield?"

"I want you to be my wife."

The words hung in the air.

Amara laughed. She couldn't help it. "You're insane."

"Possibly." He didn't smile. "But I'm also offering you something you can't get anywhere else."

"And what's that?"

"Freedom." He walked back to his desk, picked up a folder, and held it out to her. "Open it."

She took it, wary. Inside was a contract. Her name at the top. And below it, a list of terms that made her breath catch.

One year. Public appearances. A penthouse apartment. Full protection. $500,000 deposited into her account upon signing. Another $500,000 upon completion.

"What's the catch?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"The catch is that you live with me. You attend events with me. You play the part of my devoted wife." He paused. "And you convince your father to drop the lawsuit."

She looked up. "That's not a marriage. That's a hostage situation."

"It's a business arrangement. Nothing more." He stepped closer. "You'll have your own room. Your own life. I won't touch you unless you ask."

"I won't ask."

"Then we'll have a very professional year." He held out a pen. "What do you say, Ms. Chen?"

Amara stared at the pen. At the contract. At the man who was offering her everything and nothing at the same time.

"Why me?" she asked. "Why not hire an actress? Someone who does this for a living?"

"Because you're real." His voice softened, just slightly. "Your father won't believe an actress. He'll believe you."

"And if I say no?"

He shrugged. "Then you go back to your life. Your apartment. Your second-grade students. And you watch from the sidelines while your father destroys me and anyone connected to me." He paused. "Including you, once the subpoena goes through."

Her blood ran cold. "He wouldn't."

"He already has." Dorian pulled out his phone, showed her an email. "Subpoena request filed this morning. You're listed as a material witness."

Amara's hands shook. She set the folder down on his desk.

"I need time to think."

"You have until noon."

"That's three hours."

"Then I suggest you use them wisely." He turned back to his desk. "There's a café downstairs. The coffee's terrible, but it's quiet."

She walked toward the door, then stopped. "Mr. Blackwood."

"Yes?"

"If I do this... if I sign this contract... you have to promise me something."

He looked up. "What?"

"You won't hurt him. My father. Whatever happens between you two... you won't destroy him completely."

A long silence.

Then, slowly, Dorian nodded.

"I can promise that."

Amara sat in the café for two hours.

She ordered a latte she didn't drink. She stared at the contract. She thought about her father-the way he'd looked at her five years ago when she'd told him she was done. The way he'd called her name as she walked out the door.

She thought about her students. Her quiet life. The way she'd built something small and safe and entirely her own.

And she thought about Dorian Blackwood.

The way he'd looked at her in that hotel room. Not like a threat. Like a puzzle. Like something he wanted to solve.

I won't touch you unless you ask.

She believed him.

That was the scariest part.

At 11:47, she walked back into his office.

He was on the phone again, but he hung up when he saw her.

"Well?"

She set the contract on his desk. Signed.

"I have conditions," she said.

"Name them."

"One: I keep my job. I'll teach remotely, but I'm not giving up my students. Two: I want my own bank account. Separate from yours. Three..." She hesitated. "You tell me the truth. About everything. No secrets."

Dorian studied her for a long moment. Then he stood and extended his hand.

"Deal."

She shook it.

His palm was warm. Rough. And when his fingers closed around hers, something shifted in his eyes.

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Blackwood."

The penthouse was obscene.

Amara stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the marble floors, the chandelier that probably cost more than her entire apartment building.

"This is... a lot," she said.

"It's home." Dorian walked past her, loosening his tie. "Your room is down the hall. Second door on the left. Mine is at the end."

She nodded, clutching her suitcase like a lifeline.

"Dinner is at seven. I have a chef who comes in on weekdays. If you have dietary restrictions, let Marcus know."

"Marcus. The assistant who threatened me."

"He's efficient."

"He's terrifying."

"That too." Dorian paused at the hallway. "One more thing."

"What?"

"The press will be here tomorrow morning. We'll need to make an announcement."

"An announcement?"

"About our marriage." He looked at her over his shoulder. "We need a story. How we met. How we fell in love. Something believable."

Amara's heart pounded. "And what's the story?"

He turned fully, a small smile playing on his lips.

"We met at a hotel. You walked into the wrong room. And I knew, the moment I saw you, that I couldn't let you go."

Her breath caught.

"That's... not entirely a lie," she whispered.

"No," he said softly. "It's not."

They stood there, the city lights flickering behind them, the silence stretching between them like a thread about to snap.

Then Dorian blinked, and the moment was gone.

"Get some rest, Mrs. Blackwood. Tomorrow, we go to war."

He walked down the hallway and disappeared into his room.

Amara stood alone in the massive living room, her heart racing, her mind spinning.

What have I done?

---

That night, she couldn't sleep.

She wandered into the kitchen at 2 a.m., hoping for a glass of water, and found Dorian sitting at the counter in the dark.

He was staring at his phone. His face was pale.

"Can't sleep?" she asked.

He didn't look up. "No."

She hesitated, then sat on the stool beside him. "What's wrong?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer.

Then he turned his phone toward her.

A news article. The headline made her blood freeze.

"Billionaire CEO Dorian Blackwood Accused of Murder: New Evidence Surfaces in 2019 Cold Case."

Amara looked at him.

He looked back.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. "And after I do... you might want to leave."