Chapter Three
1365 Words
Elena's POV
I stood in front of the estate’s wrought-iron gates, my hands clenched into fists inside the pockets of my coat, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a brick on my chest.
What the hell had I just agreed to?
The wind cut through the countryside like a blade, whipping strands of hair across my face and biting through my jacket. But it wasn’t the cold that made me tremble—it was the realization that I was about to step into the lion’s den. Into his world.
A world of glass walls and marble lies. A world where power wore custom suits and kindness was currency no one spent.
Just one month, I reminded myself. One month of pretending this arrogant, spoiled billionaire didn’t make my skin crawl, and I’d own my restaurant outright. One month of cooking three meals a day for a man who probably thought seasoning was optional and humility was extinct.
I squared my shoulders and walked toward the massive house.
He was already outside, standing at the top of the stairs with a mug in one hand and a smug grin that made me want to toss the coffee into his face. Dark designer sunglasses shielded his eyes, but I didn’t need to see them to know they were gleaming with amusement.
“You’re late,” he said, sipping lazily.
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t aware you had a time clock for your prisoners.”
He chuckled, slow and smooth. “Spicy. Good. I get bored easily.”
“Well, I’m not here to entertain you,” I snapped. “I’m here for a deal. Let’s keep it professional.”
He tilted his head, lips twitching. “We’ll see.”
He turned on his heel and walked inside, not bothering to hold the door. Typical.
I stepped into the foyer, and immediately, the cold hit me in a new way—not from the temperature, but from the house itself. The space was sterile. Polished floors, white walls, clean lines… soulless.
No laughter. No memories. Just money, silence, and ego.
“Kitchen’s this way,” he said over his shoulder, already halfway down a hallway that probably cost more than my entire building.
I followed him into the kitchen, which looked more like an exhibit than a space for actual cooking. Stainless steel. Perfect marble. Everything spotless and untouched.
“Three meals a day,” he began, crossing his arms. “No repeats. No bland. I eat clean, I eat hot, and I don’t eat before seven a.m.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t deal with arrogant man-babies before coffee.”
He laughed. A real one this time. Deep and rich, like he didn’t expect to find humor in me but couldn’t help it.
“I can already tell this is going to be fun,” he said, leaning against the island.
I wasn’t smiling.
This wasn’t fun. This was survival.
I slipped off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and started prepping a batch of nachos—simple, bold, and unapologetically spicy, just like me. I needed to make a statement, and food was my battlefield.
As I chopped peppers and grated cheese, voices echoed from the hallway.
“I don’t have a wife, but I’m qualified! Why won’t he see me?” came a frustrated yell.
I paused mid-chop. That voice—it was him. Again.
I moved quietly toward the doorway, peeking out just enough to see him towering over a young man in a suit—his secretary, I guessed. The poor guy looked like he was seconds from passing out.
“He said you can’t apply unless you’re married,” the secretary said, flinching as Ethan paced. “The host is old-fashioned. Believes real business sense comes from knowing how to maintain a home and a partnership.”
I nearly snorted. Was this a business deal or a marriage counseling retreat?
Ethan scoffed. “Even divorcees can apply, but not me? That’s insane.”
“He said—” the secretary began, but Ethan cut him off.
“I don’t give a damn what he said! This deal could place my company among the top five internationally. And he wants me to lose it because I’m not domesticated? Get me a forged marriage certificate if that’s what it takes!”
I stopped stirring. My hands stilled. And slowly, pieces started to click together in my head.
So that’s why he was here. Not just to escape the noise of the city—but to land a deal that would redefine his entire career. An international deal. With a host who refused to work with single men.
And Ethan, arrogant as he was, was losing his grip.
I smirked.
Serves him right.
“Food is ready, jerk,” I said casually, strolling through the hallway with the tray of nachos and setting it down in the dining room.
The conversation halted.
“What did you just call me?” he barked, eyebrows raised.
“Jerk.” I turned on my heel, heading back to the kitchen.
He followed. “It’s either Ethan or Boss. Got it?”
“Sorry, Boss,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
“I swear—” he started, but the secretary jumped in, voice tentative.
“You… you could just marry her.”
Silence.
My head whipped around. “What?”
Ethan blinked. “What?”
We echoed together.
The secretary shrugged, clearly regretting his life choices. “I mean… she’s here. She’s single. You need a wife. It’s not… the worst idea.”
Ethan looked at me like I was some roach crawling up his wall. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You’re the one who can’t get a deal without a ring,” I shot back.
He opened his mouth, ready to insult me again, but I cut him off.
“I'll never end up with a man like you.” I snorted.
“It's not your fault. It's because I'm trying to prove to Dawson Enterprises that I'm better.”
“You mentioned Dawson Enterprises now. Did you mean… Lucas Dawson?”
Ethan raised a brow. “Yeah. Why?”
My blood turned to ice.
Lucas.
That bastard.
“Is he your biggest competition in this deal?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though my fingers clenched tight.
“He’s one of them,” Ethan said, suspicious now. “Why do you care?”
I took a deep breath, and said the one thing I never imagined would leave my lips.
“I’ll do it.”
Ethan frowned. “Do what?”
“I’ll be your wife.”
His face contorted with disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll be your wife. Fake, obviously. Just for the contract. We sign whatever papers you need, put on the show, get the deal… and we walk away.”
He studied me for a long moment, like he couldn’t decide if I was crazy or brilliant.
“What’s in it for you?” he finally asked.
My smile was razor-sharp.
“Crush Dawson Enterprises. For me.”
His eyes widened slightly. “That’s dark.”
“I’m not your fairy-tale princess,” I said softly. “I’m the woman who’s going to help you win. And in return, I get a front-row seat to the destruction of a man who ruined everything I loved.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, then looked away, muttering under his breath. Finally, he said, “Four months. That’s it. Then we burn the contract and move on.”
“Agreed,” I said.
He turned to leave but paused. “Why do you hate Dawson so much?”
I stared past him, into a memory I didn’t want to relive. “That’s none of your concern. Let’s just say… he taught me what betrayal tastes like. And I’m ready to return the favor.”
For a brief moment
, Ethan nodded—not in understanding, but in respect.
We had no love. No trust. No friendship.
But we had a common enemy.
And that was enough to start a war.
- Writer
