By noon, Elena was seated in a smaller, private meeting room just off Damien's main office. The walls were lined with bookshelves and abstract art pieces she couldn't even pretend to understand. A woman in a gray pantsuit entered with a crisp folder in hand and eyes that missed nothing.
"This is Rebecca Moore," Damien said. "My legal counsel. She'll walk you through the terms."
Elena stiffened. The contract was real.
Rebecca slid the folder across the polished table toward her. "Standard nondisclosure agreement on page one. Breach of privacy or public slander results in a fine of half a million dollars. Pages two through five outline your compensation and expectations."
Elena's eyes widened. "Half a million?"
"For talking to the press," Damien said coolly. "You'll be a public figure. And I don't tolerate loose lips."
Rebecca continued without flinching. "You will be provided with a wardrobe allowance, housing, private transportation, and security detail. Your responsibilities include accompanying Mr. Cross to events, dinners, and public appearances as his fiancée. You must be presentable, well-spoken, and affectionate in front of cameras. No physical intimacy is required. Public hand-holding and occasional kissing may be necessary for appearances."
Elena nearly choked on her breath. "K-kissing?"
Rebecca didn't blink. "Only when deemed necessary."
Damien leaned back in his chair, watching her squirm like it amused him. "Don't worry, Miss Carter. I won't bite. Unless the press asks nicely."
She shot him a glare. "You think this is funny?"
"I think desperation makes people interesting," he replied.
She turned back to the contract. "And if I say no?"
"You walk out with nothing. Your brother stays sick. Your life continues exactly as it is."
The bluntness hit her like a punch.
"And if I say yes?"
"Three months of lies," Damien said. "And enough money to rewrite your future."
She closed her eyes for a moment. Her pride screamed at her to run. But Liam's medicine... their rent... her exhausted body... her hopelessness.
She picked up the pen and signed.
Rebecca nodded once. "Excellent. We'll begin immediately. You're to move into the penthouse this evening."
"I—what?" Elena gasped. "Tonight?"
Damien stood, smoothing his jacket. "Yes. We have a gala tomorrow. You need training—how to walk, speak, and carry yourself like someone who belongs beside me. Your apartment is too small, and frankly, your fashion sense needs an upgrade."
She flushed, standing too. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're under contract." His smirk returned. "Pack light. My driver will pick you up at six."
---
Back at her apartment, Elena sat on her mattress, staring at the bare walls and peeling paint. Her hands trembled as she packed her only decent dress and a pair of shoes that hadn't completely fallen apart.
Liam was asleep on the couch, pale and thin. She kissed his forehead and whispered, "I'm doing this for you."
The driver arrived at exactly six. The car was sleek black with tinted windows. She felt like a prisoner being escorted to a golden cage.
The penthouse was in the tallest building downtown—so high up the clouds kissed the windows. The suite had an open layout with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and a view that stole her breath.
A woman in a pencil skirt greeted her.
"Miss Carter, I'm Ava. Mr. Cross's personal assistant. I'll be helping you prepare for the gala tomorrow."
Elena looked around. "This place is... insane."
"Mr. Cross has impeccable taste. Follow me—your room is this way."
A room. Not a closet, not a shared bunk bed. A room bigger than her entire apartment.
"Dinner is at seven," Ava said. "And tomorrow morning, your transformation begins."
Elena nodded, numb. As the door closed behind her, she sat on the edge of the giant bed and stared at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror.
She didn't recognize the woman staring back.
A poor girl in a rich man's world.
A liar wrapped in silk.
And this was only day one.