Ara Reed learned the price of silence the day her father stopped meeting her eyes.
The study smelled of old leather and expensive whiskey—things he had always loved more than he ever loved her. Papers lay spread across the mahogany desk, crisp and unforgiving, waiting for a signature that would end her life as she knew it.
“Sign it,” he said quietly.
Not please. Not I’m sorry. Just a command.
Ara stared at the document, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Marriage contract. Confidentiality clauses. Non-disclosure agreements. A life neatly folded into legal language.
“You’re selling me,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm ripping through her chest.
Her father sighed, rubbing his temples as though she were the inconvenience. “You’re being dramatic.”
She laughed—a sharp, broken sound. “Dramatic would be throwing this in your face. This is just honesty.”
He finally looked at her then. His eyes were tired. Guilty. Afraid.
And that was when she knew.
“This isn’t optional,” she whispered.
“No,” he admitted. “It’s necessary.”
Necessary. That word had ruined everything.
Ara scanned the name printed neatly near the bottom of the page.
Lucien Blackwood.
The devil himself.
A man whose name made boardrooms fall silent. A man whispered about in scandals that never quite made the news. Ruthless. Untouchable. Dangerous.
A man who had asked for her.
Her stomach twisted. “Why him?”
Her father’s jaw tightened. “Because he’s the only one willing to erase my debt.”
There it was. The truth, laid bare and ugly.
“And what do I get?” she asked.
“You survive,” he replied.
Ara picked up the pen.
Her hand shook—not from fear, but from rage.
“I hate you,” she said softly, as the ink met the page.
The moment she signed, the door behind her opened.
She felt him before she saw him.
The air shifted. Heavy. Charged.
Footsteps—slow, deliberate—crossed the room.
Ara didn’t turn around. She refused to give him that satisfaction.
“Miss Reed,” a deep voice said behind her. Calm. Controlled. “Or should I say… my wife.”
Her blood went cold.
She stood slowly, heart pounding, and turned to face the man she had just married.
Lucien Blackwood was worse than the rumors.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black like it was stitched into his skin. His expression was unreadable, carved from ice and arrogance. Dark eyes swept over her with clinical interest, not desire—like she was an acquisition, not a person.
His gaze lingered on her face.
Assessing.
Claiming.
“You look disappointed,” he said.
“I was hoping you’d be uglier,” Ara shot back.
One corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile. “You’ll learn not to provoke me.”
“I don’t plan on learning anything from you.”
Lucien stepped closer. Too close.
She had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, refusing to back away even as her pulse betrayed her.
“You belong to me now,” he said quietly. “Whether you hate me or not.”
Ara lifted her chin. “Then enjoy it while it lasts.”
He studied her for a long moment. Then—
“Good,” he murmured. “I prefer my enemies honest.”
Her heart sank.
Because somehow, she knew—
This marriage wouldn’t destroy him.
It would test how much of her could survive.
