Luna Aldridge tapped the pen against the cold, polished surface of the mahogany table. The sound echoed in the empty silence of the lavish conference room, each tap fueling the war inside her head. In front of her lay the marriage contract—a lifeline and a trap rolled into one.

"Miss Aldridge," a crisp voice broke through her thoughts. "Time is of the essence. We need your decision now."

She looked up to meet the sharp gaze of a man in a tailored gray suit. James Whitmore, the family lawyer of the Blackwell empire. His expression was unreadable, but Luna could sense the urgency beneath his professional demeanor.

She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the pen. This wasn't just a business deal. It was a one-year marriage contract with Killian Blackwell—the ruthless billionaire who had once shattered her heart.

A man who had loved her. And then left without a word.

Her stomach twisted at the memory, but she forced herself to focus. The contract's terms were clear: ✔ One year as Mrs. Killian Blackwell. ✔ Appear at public events as his devoted wife. ✔ No romantic entanglements with others. ✔ Five million dollars upon contract completion.

Money that would wipe away her family's debts. Money that would mean her mother's lifesaving surgery.

"I need more time," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

"Time isn't a luxury you can afford," James countered. "Mr. Blackwell does not wait. Either you sign now, or the offer is off the table."

Luna exhaled sharply. Why her? Why did it have to be Killian? There were millions of women in this city—why did he need her to play the perfect wife?

She didn't have the answer. But what she did have was a father fighting for their company and a brother working alongside with their father and studying at the same time to keep them afloat.

She hesitated, glancing at her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen before unlocking it. A new message glared at her from an unknown number:

"Sign the contract, Luna. You don't have a choice."

Her breath caught in her throat. Killian.

It had been five years since she had last seen him, but even now, his presence was suffocating. How had he gotten her number? Why was he pushing for this marriage? He wasn't the type to reach out, not after the way he had walked away from her so effortlessly.

Memories flooded her mind. The late-night drives, the whispered promises, the way he had held her like she was his entire world—until she wasn't. She still remembered the morning she had woken up, expecting to see his usual smirk, only to find his side of the bed cold and empty.

She had waited for a call, an explanation. None had ever come.

And now, he was forcing her into his life again?

James cleared his throat, snapping her back to the present. "Miss Aldridge, your decision?"

She closed her eyes briefly before opening them, her resolve hardening. She could do this. She had to do this.

With a trembling hand, she picked up the pen. Her heart pounded as she signed her name in bold ink, sealing her fate.

The moment her signature met the paper, James slid the contract away, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Welcome to the Blackwell family, Mrs. Blackwell. Your husband will see you tonight."

Luna barely heard him. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out every sound except one thought:

Killian Blackwell is back in my life. And this time, I'm the one walking into the lion's den.

That night, as she stood in front of the towering Killian's estate, she felt the weight of her decision settle deep in her bones. The mansion loomed above her, an architectural masterpiece that screamed power and wealth. She had visited this place once before, back when she had been just a naive girl in love, believing in fairy tales.

The grand double doors swung open before she could knock. A butler, dressed in pristine black and white, motioned her inside. "Mr. Blackwell is expecting you."

Her pulse quickened. This is it.

As she stepped inside, the air felt thick, charged with unspoken words and unresolved pasts, a suffocating blanket of history. The soft click of her heels against the polished marble floor echoed in the vast, echoing hallway, a lonely counterpoint to the silence. She followed the stoic butler, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every step she took felt like a descent, a slow walk straight into a meticulously crafted trap.

And then, she saw him.

Killian Blackwell stood near the fireplace, a glass of whiskey warming his palm, the amber liquid mirroring the fire's restless dance. The flames flickered, casting a dramatic, almost theatrical, light across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his chiseled jaw and the unyielding intensity of his piercing gray eyes. A shadow, a ghost of a memory, seemed to linger in their depths. His expression remained an impenetrable mask, a carefully constructed facade that echoed the same distant, unreadable look he had worn the day he had turned his back and walked away, leaving her standing in the dust. The crackling fire did little to soften the chill that emanated from him. He looked every inch the titan of industry, the powerful businessman he had meticulously crafted himself to be—a man of steel and strategy, cold and untouchable, a fortress against any intrusion of emotion. The room felt heavy with unspoken words, a silent testament to the years that had stretched between them, each one a brick in the wall he had built.

But beneath the tailored suit and the composed demeanor, his gaze burned into her, unreadable yet intense.

"Luna," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something darker. "Welcome home."

Her breath caught. The way he said it—like a warning, like a challenge—made her stomach churn.

Home?

No. This was far from home. This was enemy territory.

And she had just walked straight into his domain.