BENEATH BLACKWOOD

The room smelled like wealth. Polished mahogany. Old money. Power bottled into every corner of Lucien Blackwood's penthouse office. Ivy Sinclair sat ramrod straight in the stiff leather chair, her heart jackhammering beneath her silk blouse.

She didn't belong here, and she knew it. But her father had begged-no, bartered-her into this meeting. Into this man's world.

Lucien sat across from her, tailored to brutal perfection. All cheekbones and cold blue eyes, his stillness made her feel like prey. He hadn't spoken in nearly three minutes.

Finally, he moved, folding his hands on the table. "You understand what this marriage means."

It wasn't a question.

Ivy nodded. "You save Sinclair Tech from collapsing. I marry you. You get access to our patents and a respectable image. We both benefit."

Lucien's eyes flicked toward the window as if bored already. But Ivy didn't miss the way his jaw flexed.

"You're not afraid," he said.

She lifted her chin. "Of course I am. But fear doesn't change the facts."

He looked back at her, and this time his gaze lingered. Piercing. Assessing. "You're not what I expected."

She allowed herself a humorless smile. "Neither are you. I thought the devil would smile more."

Something flickered behind his eyes-amusement? Annoyance? She couldn't tell. But then he stood.

"Your father signed the contract. The wedding is in three weeks. You'll move into my home tomorrow."

He didn't wait for a response. The meeting was over.

As Ivy walked out of the room, her heels echoing against polished stone, one truth burned into her mind:

She'd just sold herself to the coldest man in Manhattan.

The car ride from Sinclair Tower to Blackwood Enterprises had been a blur of motion and dread. Ivy stared out the tinted window, her thoughts spiraling through everything she was leaving behind. Her mother's voice on the phone earlier still echoed in her mind, strained and hollow.

"It's the only way, sweetheart. Your father... he's desperate. And this man, Lucien... he can protect us."

Protect. Control. Possess. The lines were already blurring.

The driver didn't speak a word as he pulled into the underground garage. Everything about this building screamed Lucien. Cold. Clean. Immaculate. She was ushered into a private elevator, the kind that only required a fingerprint. His fingerprint.

When the doors opened again, it was into an office that felt like the inside of a high-end watch. Elegant. Precise. Ticking with quiet menace.

Lucien stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the city. He didn't turn when she entered.

"You're early."

"You didn't give me a time."

"You're learning already."

The silence stretched between them like a tightrope. Ivy crossed the room slowly, heels clicking like defiance against marble.

"Why me?" she asked. "There are hundreds of heiresses who would gladly climb into your bed for a piece of your empire."

He turned now, slowly, his face unreadable. "Because you don't want it. That makes you... incorruptible."

She laughed, dry and sharp. "You think not wanting your money makes me noble?"

"No. It makes you dangerous. And I don't like surprises."

She was still reeling from that when he added, "You'll attend my mother's memorial next week. It's a requirement. Wear something black."

"I didn't know she passed."

"She didn't. But the world thinks she did."

Ivy stared at him. "You faked your mother's death?"

Lucien smiled thinly. "No. She did."