Emma

Everything in my life has always revolved around appearances.

From the diamond-studded dinner parties my mother hosted to the elaborate charity galas my father attended, the Whitmore name carried weight. But as I stand in the cavernous silence of my once-proud family's Manhattan penthouse, it's clear that burden is squeezing us now.

I lean against the cold marble counter, clutching the letter I've read more than ten times. "Final Notice." The words burn brightly across the page, mocking me, daring me, wanting me to fix what I didn't break. My father, James Whitmore, sits slumped on the sleek leather sofa, his once-pristine suit became marked with wrinkles and stained. His eyes, dulled with exhaustion, barely lift when I speak.

"Dad, how bad is it?" My voice trembles despite my best effort to sound composed.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he reaches for a tumbler of scotch,as he brings it to his lips his hand was shaking. When he finally looks at me, his expression is a mixture of defeat and surrendering to despair.

"It's worse than bad, Emma. It's over. The company, the money, the reputation—gone." He makes a gesture to the stack of papers on the coffee table, each one detailing debts, lawsuits, and the charges of embezzlement that have made him someone that's rejected in the financial world.

"How?" How did it come to this?"

I whisper, my fingers tightening around the counter. "

He avoids my intent look, staring into the amber liquid in his glass as if it holds the answers. "Risky investments. Partners I shouldn't have trusted. And when things started to break down completely, I…I made some mistakes trying to hold it all together."

Mistakes. The word feels like a slap. "Mistakes like stealing?" My voice rises, the accusation hanging heavy between us.

He flinches, and for a brief moment, I see the man he used to be—the formidable businessman, the untouchable Whitmore patriarch. Now, he's just a broken man drowning in regret.

"I didn't steal," he says quietly. "But I covered up what others did. And now I'm the one paying the price."

The room is choking,the scent of scotch and despair thicken the air. My mind revolve too fast, searching for solutions, for a way out of this nightmare. But every idea breakdown under the weight of reality. We have nothing. No allies, no resources, no escape.

Except…one name moving slowly in the back of my mind, a name I swore I'd never utter.

"Ethan Grayson," I say, my voice barely capable of being heard.

My father's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. "No."

I straighten, defiance bubbling to the surface. "Why not? He has the power, the connections. He could help."

"He's a vulture," my father spits, his tone laced with venom. "A man who preys on the weak. He'd sooner see us destroyed than lift a finger to save us."

"Maybe," I admit, swallowingy words in my throat. "But we don't have a choice, do we?"

Ethan

The city never rest in a state of sleep, and neither do I.

The rhythmic hum of New York exhibit a pulse through the glass walls of my penthouse office, an unchanging reminder of the empire I've built. Below me, the streets become filled with life—deals being made, dreams being crushed, and somewhere in a state of utter confusion, James Whitmore is begging for salvation.

"Mr. Grayson, they're here," my assistant, Olivia, announces, her voice becomes crisp and professional.

"Send them in."

I stand, buttoning my jacket as the office doors swing open to reveal James Whitmore and his daughter. He looks older, worn down by the scandal that's engulfed him. But it's Emma who captures my attention.

She's not the princess treated with excessive care and attention I expected. Her hazel eyes burn with defiance, her shoulders squared despite the obvious strain weighing her down. She looks at me like I'm the devil invested with bodily human nature—and maybe I am.

"Ethan," James starts, his voice cracking. "Thank you for seeing us."

I step forward, my expression carefully neutral. "I'm curious, James. What makes you think I'd be interested in helping the man who spent years trying to secretly weaken me?"

James walks unsteadily, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Before he can respond, Emma steps forward, her voice cutting through the inner striving like a blade.

"He didn't come here to grovel," she says, her tone sharp. "We came because you're the only one with the means to help. And whether you hate my father or not, you know this is an opportunity you won't pass up."

A slow smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. "An opportunity, huh? Tell me, Miss Whitmore, what exactly are you offering?"

Her cheeks glow brightly, but she doesn't back down. "What do you want?"

The audacity of this woman is almost amusing. Almost.As I study her I walk to my desk, leaning against the edge. "Let's start with the truth. Why should I save your father from the consequences of his actions?"

"Because it's not just him who will suffer," she snaps. "My family, my mother—everything we've built will be destroyed. Isn't that enough for you?"

Her words hit their mark, but not for the reasons she thinks. My gaze flickers to James, who remains silent, his shoulders sagging with defeat. The man has no fight left in him. But Emma? She's a different story.

"You're correct," I finally say. "I don't pass up opportunities. But my help comes with conditions."

"What conditions?" she asks warily.

I let the silence extend in length, giving flavour to the tension in the room. Then, I deliver the ultimatum that's been forming in my mind since the moment they walked in.

"Marriage," I say, my voice steady.

Emma blinks, confusion flickering across her face. "Excuse me?"

"To me," I clarify, my gaze locking with hers. "One year. Publicly, you'll be my wife. Privately, you'll follow my rules. In exchange, I'll keep your father out of prison and save his company."

The color draw off from her face, and for the first time, I see a narrow break in her armor. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious,""Take it or leave it. I reply, crossing my arms. But make no mistake, this is your only option."

Emma

His words hang in the air, each one a stone sinking into the pit of my stomach. Marriage. To him. The man my father looks down on, the man whose icy gaze makes my skin moves laboriously. The man who holds all the power.

"Emma, no," my father croaks, his voice barely audible.

But I can't look at him. My attention is locked on the predator circling his prey, Ethan Grayson. There's no kindness in his eyes, no hint of mercy. Just cold and calculated control.

"You're insane," I manage, my voice shaking.

"Perhaps," he admits with a shrug. "But I'm also your best chance."

I turn to my father, who looks minor in power than I've ever seen him. "Dad, what do we do?"

He shakes his head, tears shining with reflected light in his eyes. "We can't do this, Emma. I won't let you."

But it's not his decision, is it? The decision is mine. And as much as I have a strong aversion to it, as much as it tears me apart, I know the truth.

Without Ethan Grayson, we're finished.

I swallow the lump that insists on staying in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest. Slowly, I turn back to Ethan, meeting his inflexible intent look.

"One year," I say, my voice hardly above a whisper. "I'll do it."

A slow, notably successful smile spreads across his face, and I know I've just made a deal with the devil.