The elevator ride to the fortieth floor felt like a slow march to the gallows. I gripped the handle of my leather portfolio so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Beside me, my assistant, Tunde, was sweating through his cheap suit and dabbing his forehead with a crumpled tissue. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Maya?" Tunde whispered, his voice trembling. "This is Vance Ventures. They're ruthless. If we don't secure this contract, the bank will take the studio by Friday. I can't afford to lose this job. My wife is pregnant." "I know, Tunde," I said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just follow my lead. We pitch the eco-friendly design, we show them the numbers, and we get out. No mistakes." The elevator doors opened with a soft, expensive chime. A stern-looking receptionist with a tight bun escorted us into a massive, glass-walled boardroom that smelled of expensive leather and old money. Ten executives in sharp, tailored suits sat around a sprawling mahogany table, staring at their laptops or whispering to one another. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, but I couldn't appreciate it. I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I took a deep breath, ready to deliver the pitch of my life. I had rehearsed it a hundred times in the mirror. I was going to save my company. I was going to save my father's legacy. I couldn't fail. "Miss Okafor, the board is ready for you," the lead executive said, gesturing to the front of the room. I stepped forward, my heels clicking on the polished hardwood floor. I opened my mouth to begin. Then the double doors at the far end of the room swung open. The air left my lungs in a violent rush. He walked in like he owned the place, because he did. He was taller than I remembered, broader in the shoulders. His dark hair was styled perfectly, and his three-piece navy suit probably cost more than my entire year's rent. He moved with the quiet, lethal grace of a predator. Lucas Vance. My ex-fiancé. The man whose heart I had shattered five years ago. The man I hadn't seen since the day I left him standing at the altar, humiliated in front of three hundred guests. He didn't look at me. Not yet. He walked to the head of the table, and his presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The other executives straightened up at once and fell silent. He sat, unbuttoned his jacket slowly, and finally lifted his gaze. His eyes, those piercing hazel eyes that used to look at me with so much love, locked onto mine. For a second, the world stopped. I saw a flash of raw shock in his eyes, followed quickly by a cold, unreadable mask. He didn't smile. He didn't flinch. He just stared at me like I was a ghost he had long buried, and he was deciding whether to exorcise me or walk right through me. "Mr. Vance," the lead executive stammered, clearly sensing the sudden drop in temperature. "This is Maya Okafor from Vertex Designs. They're here for the eco-housing proposal." Lucas leaned back slowly in his leather chair and tapped his fingers on the table. The rhythmic thumping was the only sound in the room. "Everyone out," he said. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. The executives looked at one another, confused. "Sir? We have the presentation ready-" "I said, get out. I want to hear her pitch alone." Chairs scraped against the floor. Papers were hastily gathered. Within seconds, the room was empty. Tunde shot me a look of pure terror as he scrambled out, practically running down the hall. The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind him. It was just the two of us. The silence was deafening. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear into the floor. But I couldn't move. "You have exactly five minutes," Lucas said, his eyes never leaving my face. "Start pitching." I cleared my throat, trying to steady my trembling hands. I opened my portfolio, my fingers fumbling with the pages. "Vance Ventures has an opportunity to lead the market in sustainable urban housing. Our designs-" "Stop," he interrupted. I froze. He stood up, slowly, and walked around the table. His footsteps echoed like gunshots in the silent room. He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of me, so close that I could smell his cologne, the same sandalwood and cedar scent he used to wear five years ago. My stomach flipped violently. "Look at me," he said softly. I looked up. His jaw was clenched tight, and a tiny muscle ticked in his cheek. He was trying so hard to look cold, but I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. "I sit through a hundred pitches a year, Maya. I don't care about your eco-friendly designs. I don't care about the numbers," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I will approve this deal. I will write a check that clears whatever debt your little firm is drowning in. I can make your problems disappear by lunchtime." My breath caught in my throat. "You will?" "Yes," he said, stepping even closer, trapping me between his body and the edge of the table. "On one condition." "What condition?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. His touch burned my skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "You have to explain to me exactly why you ran," he said, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something that looked terrifyingly like longing. "Why you left me standing at that altar five years ago. Why you disappeared without a single word. Why you broke me." I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The truth was a heavy stone lodged in my throat, a secret so dark that it would ruin him if he ever found out. "You have five minutes, Maya," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Start talking."

The truth was a heavy stone lodged in my throat, a secret so dark that it would ruin him if he ever found out. "You have five minutes, Maya," Lucas whispered, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips. "Start talking." I forced myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I couldn't let him see me break. I couldn't let him see the sheer, unadulterated panic clawing at my chest. "I was young," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I was twenty-three, Lucas. I was terrified." "Terrified of what?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing. "Terrified of a man who worshipped the ground you walked on? Terrified of the million-dollar wedding I had planned for you? Terrified of a life where you would never have to worry about money again?" "It wasn't about the money," I snapped, the old fire flaring up inside me. "It was never about the money." "Then what was it?" he yelled, and the volume of his voice made me flinch. He slammed his hand against the mahogany table, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the empty boardroom. "Five years, Maya. For five years I have wondered what I did wrong. Did I smother you? Was I too busy? Did I not love you enough?" "No!" I cried, the word ripping from my throat. "You were perfect. You were always perfect. That was the problem." Lucas stared at me, his chest heaving, the cold mask completely shattered. He looked raw, vulnerable, and so incredibly angry. "Explain," he demanded. "Explain to me how being perfect made you run." I couldn't. I couldn't tell him that my father, the man whose legacy I was trying so desperately to save, was the reason I had to disappear. My father had gambling debts so massive and so dangerous that his creditors had threatened to kill Lucas if I didn't leave him. They wanted me to marry someone else, a man connected to the underworld who would clear the debt in exchange for my hand. But I had run from that man, too. I had run from everyone, burying myself in design school, changing my number, and hiding in plain sight. Now I was drowning in the remnants of my father's mistakes. "I can't," I whispered, looking down at the floor. "I can't tell you." "You can't," Lucas repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, chilling calm. "Or you won't?" "Both," I said, looking up at him, my eyes pleading. "Please, Lucas. Just give me the contract. Let me save my company. I will pay you back every single cent with interest. I swear." Lucas studied me for a long, agonizing moment. He walked back to his chair, sat down, and pulled a file out of his leather briefcase. He slid it across the table toward me. "I don't want your money, Maya," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion now. "I have more money than I know what to do with. I want your compliance." I looked down at the file. It wasn't a business contract. The title at the top read: *Personal Services Agreement.* "What is this?" I asked, my stomach dropping. "That," Lucas said, leaning back in his chair, "is the only way I will sign the contract for Vertex Designs. The board is looking for stability. They want to see that the CEO of Vance Ventures has settled down. They are old-fashioned, and they are threatening to vote me out if I don't clean up my image." "Your image?" I asked, completely confused. "Your image is spotless. You're a billionaire philanthropist." "According to the tabloids, I'm a cold, heartless playboy who drove his fiancée away," he said sharply. "The board wants a wife. They want a family man. They want a ring on my finger." My eyes widened. "No." "Oh, yes," Lucas said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You are going to be my fiancée. Again." "Absolutely not," I said, pushing the file back toward him. "I am not doing this. I will find another investor." "Who?" Lucas laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Who else is going to touch a failing design firm with a mountain of debt? I'm your last option, Maya. And we both know it." I felt tears prick my eyes. I hated crying in front of him. I hated feeling this weak. "The rules are simple," Lucas continued, ignoring my distress. "For the next thirty days, you will live in my penthouse. You will attend every event on my calendar. You will smile, you will hold my hand, and you will convince the world that we are madly in love." "And what happens in thirty days?" I asked, my voice trembling. "In thirty days, the merger will be finalized. I will sign the contract for your company, I will pay off the bank, and you will walk away, free and clear." "And if I say no?" Lucas leaned forward, his hazel eyes piercing mine. "Then you walk out that door, and you watch your father's legacy burn to the ground." The room spun around me. I gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling. I had no choice. He had me exactly where he wanted me. "Fine," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'll do it." "Good," Lucas said flatly. He pushed a gold-plated pen toward me. "Sign the contract." I picked up the pen. My hand was shaking so badly that I could barely write my name. I signed on the dotted line, feeling as if I were signing away my soul to the devil. Lucas took the contract, folded it, and placed it back in his briefcase. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it, revealing a massive, flawless diamond ring. "Give me your hand," he commanded. I hesitated for a second, then slowly extended my left hand. He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, just as it had five years ago. The cold metal felt like a shackle. "Rule number one," Lucas said, standing up and towering over me. "No kissing on the lips. I don't want any confusion between business and pleasure." "Trust me," I said, pulling my hand away, the sting of his words igniting my own anger. "The feeling is entirely mutual." "Rule number two," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "You sleep in the guest bedroom. It's down the hall. Don't come into my room at night. I don't care how scared you are of the dark." "I'm not a child, Lucas." "Rule number three," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. He stepped closer, his eyes searching mine. "You don't lie to me again. If I ask you a question, you answer it honestly. About anything. About us. About why you left. If I catch you in one lie, the deal is off, and you are out on the street." I swallowed hard, the secret burning a hole in my chest. "Fine." "Good," he said, stepping back. "My driver is waiting downstairs. He has your new keys and the address of the penthouse. Be there by seven. We have dinner with the board tomorrow night, and you need to look the part." He turned and walked toward the doors, his long strides confident and powerful. "Lucas?" I called. He stopped with his hand on the door handle, but he didn't turn around. "What happens if I fall in love with you again?" I asked, the words escaping before I could stop them. It was a stupid thing to say. A vulnerable, desperate thing to say. Lucas finally turned his head, his profile lit by the harsh lighting of the boardroom. A cold, unreadable smile played on his lips. "Then you had better pray I don't break your heart the way you broke mine," he said. And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving me alone in the cavernous boardroom, wearing a diamond ring and wondering what kind of hell I had just signed up for.

I spent the next three hours in a state of absolute denial. I went back to my tiny, cramped office at Vertex Designs, told Tunde the good news (leaving out the part where I had basically sold myself into indentured servitude to my ex-fiancé), and packed a small duffel bag of essentials. By 6:45 p.m., I was standing in the marble lobby of The Vantage, the most exclusive, obscenely expensive high-rise in the city. The elevator required a fingerprint scan just to reach the top floor. When the doors opened, I was staring directly into Lucas's penthouse. It was a monument to modern luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a 360-degree view of the glittering city skyline. The floors were polished dark oak that reflected the dim, ambient lighting. The furniture was sleek, minimalist, and completely devoid of warmth. It looked like a museum. A very expensive, very lonely museum. "Miss Okafor," a voice said from the shadows. I jumped, clutching my bag to my chest. Lucas stepped out of the kitchen, holding a glass of amber liquid, whiskey, no doubt. He had changed out of his three-piece suit and was now wearing a simple black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. It was unnerving. He looked younger, softer. But the cold, calculating look in his eyes was exactly the same. "Your room is the second door on the left," he said, not bothering with a greeting. "The bathroom is attached. There are fresh towels in the closet. Don't touch anything in the kitchen unless you know how to use it." "I know how to use a kitchen, Lucas," I said, my voice tight. "I'm not completely useless." "Could have fooled me," he muttered, taking a sip of his whiskey. I ignored the sting and walked down the hall to the guest room. It was huge. The bed was a massive four-poster with crisp white sheets, and the walk-in closet was larger than my entire apartment. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. *Thirty days,* I told myself. *Just thirty days.* I took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the stress of the day. When I came out, wrapped in a plush robe, I realized I had made a critical error. I had forgotten to bring my hair dryer. I padded out into the hallway, my wet hair dripping onto the hardwood floor, and headed toward the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat. Lucas was sitting on the massive leather sectional with his laptop open, the blue light illuminating his sharp features. He didn't look up when I walked in. "The takeout menus are in the top drawer next to the fridge," he said, typing furiously. "I ordered Thai food. There's some left on the counter if you want it." I blinked, surprised. "You ordered food for me?" "Don't read into it," he said, his eyes still on the screen. "I don't want you passing out from hunger during the board dinner tomorrow. It would look bad for me." Right. Of course. I walked over to the kitchen island and found a container of Pad Thai. I was starving, so I grabbed a fork and started eating it standing up. "Are you going to hover at the kitchen island like a stray cat, or are you going to sit down?" Lucas asked, finally looking up from his laptop. I paused, a noodle halfway to my mouth. "I didn't think you wanted me near your expensive furniture." "I don't want you near my furniture with wet hair," he corrected. "Go get a towel." I sighed and set the container down. "I forgot my hair dryer. I was actually coming out here to see if you had one." Lucas stared at me. He closed his laptop with a definitive snap, stood up, and walked past me into his master bedroom. A moment later, he returned holding a sleek black hair dryer. "Here," he said, holding it out. I reached for it. My fingers brushed against his, and a spark of static electricity, or maybe something much more dangerous, shot up my arm. I yanked my hand back, clutching the hair dryer to my chest. "Thanks," I mumbled. "You're dripping on my floor," he said, his voice low. I looked down. Sure enough, a small puddle was forming at my feet. "I'll clean it up." "Leave it," he said. "I have a housekeeper." He was standing so close. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with that intoxicating sandalwood scent. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips and lingered there for a fraction of a second too long. My breath hitched. "Lucas..." "We have a problem," he said suddenly, stepping back, the cold mask slamming into place. "What kind of problem?" I asked, my heart racing. "Vanessa," he said. I frowned. "Who is Vanessa?" "An... associate of mine," he said, his jaw tightening. "A very persistent associate who believes she has a claim on me. She saw your name on the guest list for the board dinner tomorrow. She's going to be there." "Okay," I said slowly. "So? We're pretending to be engaged. I can handle a jealous ex." "Vanessa isn't just a jealous ex, Maya," Lucas said, his eyes dark. "She's the daughter of my biggest investor. If she gets upset, she can sway her father to pull the funding for the merger. If that happens, everything I've built, and your precious contract, goes up in smoke." I crossed my arms over my chest, a spark of defiance igniting inside me. "So what do you suggest we do?" Lucas looked at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "We don't just convince her. We convince everyone. Tomorrow night, we need to be the most sickeningly in-love couple in that room. We need to make them believe that I am so obsessed with you that I would burn the world down for you." "And how am I supposed to do that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Lucas stepped into my personal space again, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb stroked my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. "Simple," he said, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "You let me touch you. You look at me like I hung the moon. And when I tell you to do something... you obey." He dropped his hand and walked away, leaving me standing in the kitchen, clutching a hair dryer, my heart hammering against my ribs. Thirty days. If I survived thirty days in this house, it would be a miracle. I went back to my room, dried my hair, and climbed into the massive bed. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the taste of the Pad Thai still on my tongue. And despite the hundred reasons why I hated him, despite the fear of the secrets threatening to tear us apart, I couldn't stop thinking about the way his thumb had felt against my skin. I was playing with fire. And I was terrified that I was going to get burned.