The Lies we Keep

Chapter 2

-Damien’s POV-

It’s 10:03, and security hasn’t called. I lean back, watching the city crawl below. People usually know better than to show up late. Elena Navarro apparently doesn't know that yet.

My phone buzzes. Security: Ms. Navarro has arrived, sir.

10:03. I glance at the clock on my desk and note the time. Punctuality matters. It shows respect, discipline, and an understanding of hierarchy. She's already behind.

"Send her up," I say. "And Claire—make her wait."

"How long, Mr. Cross?"

"Forty-five minutes."

There's a pause on the other end. Claire knows better than to question me. "Yes, sir."

I go back to the contracts on my desk. The merger with Hartley Corporation is stalling and Victor's people keep adding conditions that weren't in the original terms. James sent me three emails this morning about board members getting nervous. They want stability. A wife would give them that.

Not a real wife. Just the appearance of one.

I pull up Elena Navarro’s file again, even though I’ve already memorized every line: twenty-eight years old, an immigration lawyer at Rivera and Associates, making a nonprofit salary of thirty-eight thousand a year. Student loan debt of one hundred ninety-two thousand. Credit card debt of fourteen thousand. Two months behind on rent. Electricity is about to be shut off. Brother Miguel is facing deportation in twenty-eight days.

Desperate. That's what I need.

She takes the cases nobody else wants and works 60-hour weeks, and when she loses, it’s rarely for lack of effort; it’s because the rules were never written for someone like her to come out on top. I close the file and check the time. 10:15. She's been sitting in my lobby for twelve minutes. I wonder if she'll walk out. Proud people sometimes do. They'd rather lose everything than admit they need help.

At exactly 10:45, I hit the button. "Claire. Send her in."

The door opens, but I don’t turn. Let her get a look at the view. Let it sink in. I count to five, then spin my chair around.

She looks rougher than in the photo. Suit doesn’t fit. Sweat under the arms. Hair all over the place. Her eyes are brown with gold in them, trying not to give anything away. Trying and failing.

"Sit."

She hesitates for half a second—good, she has some spine—then sits in the chair I had positioned lower than mine. She has to look up at me, and I watch her neck tense from the angle.

I don't speak. I learned years ago that silence is a weapon most people can't withstand. They fill it with nervous chatter, with explanations, with weakness. I wait to see what she'll do.

Ten seconds drag by. Her hands clamp the armrests. Knuckles go white.

"You made me wait forty-five minutes," she says.

Direct. I like that. "I did."

"Why?"

"To see if you'd stay." I lean back and watch her process that. "Pride makes people do stupid things. Like walking out of meetings they can't afford to miss."

Color rises in her cheeks. Anger, probably. Good. Anger makes people predictable.

I open the drawer, and pull out the contract I had drafted a few days back. Paper feels smooth between my fingers. She tracks my hand while I drop it on the table and slide it over.

“Open it.”

Her eyes flick up to me, then drop back. First page flies by, no reaction. The second stops her cold. Her eyes widen, pupils tightening on the number. Seven hundred and fifty thousand. Her fingers tremble against the paper. She tries to steady them, but they keep shaking.

“I need a wife,” I say. "Six months. You'll live in my home, attend events at my side, and play the role in public. In private, you'll have your own space. No physical relationship required."

She looks up and I see the exact moment she understands what I'm offering. "You want to buy a wife."

"I want to hire one. There's a difference." I keep my voice flat, emotionless. "This is a business transaction, Ms. Navarro. Nothing more."

“Why me?”

“Because you’re desperate enough to say yes and smart enough not to expect anything real.” I lean forward to see her pupils dilate. Fear response. “You won’t fall in love with me because you’ll hate me for making this offer. That’s exactly what I need.”

She flinches like I hit her. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m practical.” She immediately tenses as I stand. I walk around the desk slowly, watching her track my movement like prey watching a predator. “Your brother has twenty-eight days. Your electricity will be shut off next week. Your landlord is filing eviction papers. You can walk out of here with your pride intact and lose everything, or you can sign the contract and save him. Simple choice.”

She’s on her feet in an instant, the chair skidding backward across the floor. “You think you can just buy people? Sit up here in your glass tower and push us around like we don’t matter?”

“I don’t think I can.” I close in slow, step by step, so she feels it coming. The air tightens. She goes rigid, eyes fixed on mine. Her hair smells faintly clean, a drugstore floral, and beneath it her skin carries the sharp, warm scent of nerves. “I know I can.”

“I’d rather lose everything.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” I let a small smile touch my mouth. Not warm. Not kind. Just the barest acknowledgment that we both know she’s lying. “You’d give anything to save your brother.”

Her throat bobs hard. She swallows, fighting back tears that won’t come. Tougher than I figured.

“Forty-eight hours.” I pull a card from my pocket—my personal cell number that fewer than five people have—and hold it out. “When you’re ready to sign, call. Not if. When.”

She grabs it from my hand like it scorches her fingers.

“Ms. Navarro.”

She stops at the door without turning. “Don’t make me wait longer than forty-eight hours. I don’t like waiting.”

She leaves without answering. When the door closes behind her, the quiet in the office turns sharp, almost alive. I sit back down and pull up the security feed. On the screen, she’s already rushing past Claire’s desk toward the elevator, her shoulders starting to shake.

She’ll break the moment those doors close. They usually do.

My phone is already in my hand. I text James: She'll sign. Give it thirty-six hours.

His response comes immediately: You sure?

I check the security feed. Elena Navarro's out there on the sidewalk, staring down at the card like it burns her hand. Yeah. Desperation's easy to read.

I close the feed and go back to work. The merger documents need to be reviewed, and I have another meeting in 20 minutes. Elena Navarro will call. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. But she'll call.

They always do.