Chapter 1
To raise enough money to pay my brother’s medical bills, I became, in everyone’s eyes—
“Evil.” “A liar.” “A scheming bitch.”
That night at the charity gala, I was wearing a borrowed gown.
Pinned to my chest was the name badge of a big multinational PR firm.
—Of course, it was fake.
“Miss Lane?”
Someone called me softly from behind.
I turned around and saw his handsome face, and my heart skipped a beat.
Adrian Grant—heir to the Grant family, future master of the financial empire, a man born at the very top.
He wore a perfectly tailored black tux. In person, he looked younger—and far more dangerous—than in the photos.
He held out a hand to me, voice gentlemanly yet casual:
“May I have this dance?”
I had been waiting the entire night for this chance—but not for him.
I smiled and placed my hand in his palm.
“What an honor.”
Music swelled around us as we stepped into the ballroom.
I controlled my breathing and my steps with practiced ease.
I had rehearsed this moment tens of thousands of times; my body moved almost on instinct now.
But when he lowered his head to look at me, his pale blue eyes were clear and deep, as if they pierced right through every calculation and layer of disguise I had.
“You’re not the usual type of woman around here,” he murmured, as if stating a fact, not a question.
“What type?” I tilted my face up to him.
“The kind that practically writes a billionaire’s name across her forehead, desperate to marry up.”
His eyes carried a warm, polite smile, but I felt like I’d been dropped into an ice bath. My fingers trembled.
“When you look at them, your gaze is… ice-cold.”
I bit the tip of my tongue. The faint taste of blood snapped me back to myself.
I smiled carelessly. “Watching people is better than being watched.”
For a second, he couldn’t find his words, like I’d actually amused him.
We spun under the lights. My skirt brushed across the marble floor, the rest of the ballroom blurring at the edges.
Only his clear outline and my pounding heartbeat remained.
Too dangerous, I reminded myself over and over in my head.
Because the man standing on the second-floor balcony rail was my real target.
Richard Grant—Adrian’s father, the man who controlled the flow of unimaginable capital.
He watched us in the ballroom below, his eyes deep, as if measuring the value of a brand new chip on the table.
—A chip I had to win.
When the music stopped, Adrian was still holding my hand, not letting go.
“Ivy Lane,” he said, “lunch tomorrow? I’m very curious about what exactly you were looking at.”,
I gently pulled my hand back, forcing down the tremor in my chest.
“Sorry, Mr. Grant. Tomorrow… maybe I’ll meet your father.”
The light in his eyes dimmed instantly.
“You’re joking.”
“Enjoy your evening.”
I didn’t bother explaining. I turned and walked toward the VIP lounge on the second floor.
My heart was racing so hard, it felt like it would burst out of my chest at any moment. I took a slow, deep breath.
But I didn’t have the luxury of hesitating. My brother didn’t have much time left.
I pushed open the door. Richard was already waiting inside.
“Miss Lane, I’ve looked into your background.”
His eyes held blatant scrutiny.
My heart sank for a moment.
But then he added, almost lazily:
“You’re very clean. So clean… you don’t seem like someone from this circle.”
My lashes lowered. My palms were slick with cold sweat.
Fake degrees, polished résumé, fabricated work history—
They had almost fallen apart under layer after layer of vetting.
But I was betting on one thing:
that he needed a woman by his side who was pretty and smart enough, but whose background wouldn’t be too complicated.
Someone who looked good standing next to him.
“I need a fiancée,” Richard said, straight to the point. “This is a deal. Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”
He was matter-of-fact, fully confident in this deal.
