The Lies we Keep

Chapter 3

-Elena’s POV-

Miguel's call hits while the contract sits spread out on my kitchen table like some kind of trap waiting to spring.

His name glows on the screen. I fumble the phone to my ear. "Hey."

"Any updates?" The words come out small, frayed at the edges. "On my case?"

The contract has my full legal name typed at the bottom. Elena Maria Navarro. All I have to do is sign, and Miguel gets to stay. Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars. Every debt is gone. Six months of my life in exchange for his entire future.

"Elena?"

"I'm working on it." The lie tastes like metal. "I promise, Miggy. You don't have to worry."

"How? We don't have money for the lawyers I need, and you said yourself the system is—"

"I've got it handled. Trust me."

Silence. Then: "What did you do?"

"Nothing. I just—I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow."

I hang up before he can ask anything else and let the phone hit the table, screen facedown. The apartment feels smaller after the call. Every sound finds me. The TV upstairs thumps through the ceiling, a fake studio audience laughing at nothing while sirens wail in the background. Next door, they start up again, voices snapping over how short the rent money came in this month.

The electricity bill lies beside the contract, edges curled, with a red FINAL NOTICE stamped across the top, like it’s shouting.

Twenty-seven days until Miguel is deported. Six days until the power goes out. Three days until the landlord files for eviction.

I pick up the pen.

My phone vibrates, Izzy's name lighting up the screen as my thumb hovers right over decline since I know her speech word for word, but she's my best friend and picks up lies from blocks away every time.

"You met with him." Not a question.

"How did you—"

"David told me some billionaire hired you. Elena, what's going on?"

My eyes snag on the contract splayed out there. Damien Cross's signature hogging half the bottom, black ink dripping with cash I'd never chase. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

The words stick in my throat but Izzy waits. She's always been better at silence than I am. Finally, I break. "He offered me a job. Six months. Good pay."

"What kind of job requires a contract that makes you look like someone killed your dog?"

I close my eyes. "The kind where I have to pretend to be his wife."

Silence again. Then: "I'm sorry, what?"

"Contract marriage. Six months. Public appearances, living in his home, playing the part for business reasons. Nothing physical. Just acting." The words come out faster now as though if I say them quick enough they won't sound as bad. "He's paying three-quarters of a million dollars plus Miguel's legal fees plus all my debt and—"

"Elena, stop!" Izzy’s voice cuts in so sharp, my grip jumps on the phone. "You’re talking about marrying a stranger for money."

"I’m talking about saving my brother."

"By selling yourself off to some billionaire who thinks a wife is something he can buy?" Her voice climbs, hot and tight, and I hold the phone a few inches from my ear. "What happens when you fall for him? Because you will, Elena, you always do. You see some broken man who needs fixing and you dive in headfirst and—"

"I won't fall for him." The pen digs into my palm where my fingers crush it tight. "I hate that bastard, Izzy. Forty-five minutes he left me twisting in that chair, pure power trip. His gaze scraped me head to toe like roadkill stuck to his sole. He threw it in my face, said he picked me because desperation clings to me like cheap perfume. Guy's got nothing I'd ever want."

"That's your line now."

"Damn right it's mine forever." I pull the contract closer. "Miguel gets deported in twenty-seven days. I can't save him. I'm an immigration lawyer, and I can't save my own brother because I don't have the money, or the connections, or the power. But Damien Cross does."

Izzy lets the silence stretch, heavy as wet concrete on the line. Finally: "When this crashes and burns, like it sure as hell will, count on me to glue your shattered ass back together."

"It stays clean. Business, nothing else."

She barks a laugh, all jagged edges and zero joy. "Sure. Whisper that lie till you believe it."

After we hang up, I sit at the table with the pen in my hand and Damien Cross's business card staring at me. His personal number. Like he knew I'd need it.

I sign my name on the bottom line. My signature sits tiny and shaky right next to his big bold scrawl.

My phone is in my hand before I can change my mind. I dial his number.

He answers on the first ring. "I was expecting you to wait longer."

Not hello. Not Ms. Navarro. Just that cold observation that he's already two steps ahead.

"I'll sign."

"I know." Satisfaction coats his voice thick, and my arm c***s back like I'll hurl the phone clear across the room.

"Wedding's in two weeks, City hall. You'll receive the details tomorrow. After the ceremony, you move into my penthouse. Until then, stay out of trouble."

"Wait, I need to—"

"Your brother's lawyers were contacted an hour ago. Your debts will be cleared by morning. "Your lease paid through year's end." He recites it flat, like checking off groceries. "You belong to me now, Ms. Navarro. Get used to it."

The line goes dead.

I sit in my kitchen holding my phone and staring at my signature on the contract, and the first cold finger of real fear touches my spine.

My phone buzzes. Unknown number. Text message.

The photo loads and my blood turns to ice.

It's me. Leaving the courthouse yesterday after losing Maria's case. High quality, zoomed in, taken from across the street. I'm wiping my eyes, and I look broken.

Another photo. Me on the subway this morning heading to Damien's office.

Another. Me standing outside Cross Industries, looking up at the building.

Another. Me in my apartment. Through my window. At my kitchen table. Tonight.

The message underneath makes my hands shake so hard I almost drop the phone:

Does your brother know you're marrying for money?

I race to the window, scan four floors down. People hustle by on the sidewalk, and cars creep along. It could be any of them locked on me.

Phone buzzes hard.

I'll be in touch.

Someone's been tailing me. Snapping pictures. Staring straight through the glass while I scribbled my life onto that damn paper. My breath snags, all ragged and tight in my throat. I stumble backward. Shoulder hits the wall with a thud. Knees start to give. The room's spinning like hell.

And they know about the contract.