CONTRACT MARRIAGE

CHAPTER TWO— THE LION'S DEN

The black Maybach glided through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan like a silent predator. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive leather and Julian’s woody cologne.

I looked down at my hands. They were encased in silk gloves, resting on the lap of a vintage-style navy evening gown that cost more than my father’s entire medical wing. The stylist had transformed me into a vision of old-money elegance—my hair pinned in a soft, sophisticated chignon, my lips painted a deep, classic red.

But underneath the silk, my heart was hammering against my ribs.

"Stop fidgeting," Julian said without looking at me. He was scrolling through a tablet, the blue light catching the sharp line of his jaw. "The cameras will catch every tremor of your hands. If you look terrified, they’ll think I’m kidnapping you."

"Aren't you?" I countered, my voice tight.

Julian finally looked up. His gaze was icy, calculating. "I’m saving you, Elena. Don't forget that. Most women would kill to be in this car."

"Most women want the man, Julian. I just want the contract fulfilled."

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips—the first sign of emotion I’d seen all night. "Good. Hold onto that coldness. You’ll need it when you meet my grandfather."

The car pulled up to the curb of the Plaza Hotel. A swarm of paparazzi descended immediately, their flashes strobing against the tinted windows like lightning. My breath hitched.

"Smile," Julian commanded.

He stepped out first, the crowd erupting into shouts of his name. Then, he reached back into the car. His large hand closed over mine, firm and warm. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight up my arm, but I forced my face into a mask of serene happiness.

As I stepped out, he pulled me flush against his side. His arm wrapped around my waist, his thumb resting just above my hip bone. It felt possessive. It felt real.

"Just follow my lead," he whispered into my ear, his warm breath fanning my skin. To the cameras, it looked like a lover’s secret. To me, it was a warning.

We pushed through the gilded doors and into the ballroom. It was a sea of tuxedos, diamonds, and the quiet clink of crystal. At the far end of the room, seated in a velvet armchair like a king on a throne, was Arthur Blackwood.

The patriarch of the Blackwood empire was eighty years old, with eyes like flint and a cane topped with a silver lion’s head. He watched us approach with a terrifying stillness.

"Grandfather," Julian said, his voice dropping into a tone of practiced respect. "I believe it’s time you officially met my fiancée."

Arthur’s gaze shifted to me, raking over my face as if he could peel back my skin and see the lies beneath.

"Elena Vance," the old man rasped. "I knew your father. A man of many virtues, but very little sense. Tell me, girl—why would a Blackwood want a Vance for a wife?"

The room seemed to go silent. I felt Julian’s grip on my waist tighten, a silent cue to speak.

I looked Arthur straight in the eye. I didn't smile. "Because, Mr. Blackwood, a Vance knows exactly what it's like to lose everything. And that makes me the only person in this room who can tell Julian the truth when everyone else is busy lying to him."

The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long. Then, Arthur Blackwood let out a dry, rattling laugh that sounded like shifting gravel.

"Spirit," the old man chuckled, tapping his cane. "I suppose that’s one thing money can’t buy. Join us for dinner, then. Let’s see if your stomach is as strong as your tongue."

As we moved toward the table, Julian leaned in closer, his lips brushing my temple.

"Well played," he murmured. "But be careful, Elena. My grandfather likes a challenge. But he loves a victim even more."

I looked at the diamond ring on my finger, heavy and cold. The gala had only just begun, and I was already realizing that the hardest part of this contract wasn't the lie—it was surviving the people I was lying to.