If Lena Walker had crossed the road five seconds earlier, her life would have ended.
Or maybe, she wouldn't have met him.
She was running late. Again. The sky hung low with storm clouds as she hurried down 6th Avenue, her thoughts tangled in worry: her mother's worsening condition in the hospital, her sister's tuition deadline, and her stepmother's unending threats.
The screech of tires yanked her out of her spiral.
A luxury SUV skidded into the pedestrian lane. Lena froze. The world blurred as she thought she was dead for a second then arms, firm and unrelenting, yanked her back to safety. To reality.
"Do you have a death wish?"
The voice was low but sharp as ice breaking under pressure. She looked up, trying to catch her breath and steady her breathing.
The man towering over her was dressed immaculately in a black coat, his chiseled face unreadable, his eyes a dark storm. He didn't look concerned but he looked irritated. Droplets of the rain trickled down his coat as he let go of her arm as though she stink.
"I—thank you," Lena stammered.
"Don't thank me. Watch where you're going." He stepped back, brushing imaginary dirt off his coat.
Before she could say another word, he turned. A man in a fitting black suit opened the door to the car as he got into the waiting SUV, and was gone.
She didn't know who he was. Not then.
But two hours later, she saw him again; in the hospital. The same man, this time in a tailored charcoal suit, speaking sharply to a team of doctors outside the VIP wing.
She avoided looking at their direction and made for the stairs, to regular ward 204. Mr Walker could afford putting her mother in the VIP ward but Mrs Eve Walker was in charge of the finances now and her father seemed too weak to struggle for it.
She entered the ward and closed the door gently behind her. The scent of eucalyptus oil and menthol hit her immediately. Her mother was asleep, thin and curled under two faded blankets. The oxygen machine wheezed softly beside the bed. In the corner, twelve-year-old Rachael snored lightly on a mattress, her school uniform still on.
Lena sat down on the floor, head in her hands.
Her own mother didn't even know the full extent of their financial situation. She couldn't understand how her father could change over night and turn his back on them.
Lena had been surviving on scraps, lies, and promises from them.
As if on cue, Rachael stirred. "Lena?"
"I'm here," she whispered as though Mrs Nora would be disturbed if she spoke louder.
The girl rubbed her eyes. "Why are you crying?"
Lena hadn't noticed the tears. She wiped them quickly. "It's nothing, baby. Go back to sleep."
"Are we being thrown out again?" Rachael asked. Her voice was too calm for a child.
Lena hesitated. "Not if I can help it."
She didn't know how. She had no savings, no job stable enough to rent even the smallest flat. And the shelters in Astoria were already stretched thin.
She didn't even have time to think.
"What did the doctor say?" Lena changed the subject.
"They said she had gone back into Coma and will be needing the surgery immediately she gets out of it." Rachael choked on her words as she began to cry. "Will mummy die?"
"No, Rachael. I'll find the money. You stay here and watch her. I'll be back."
Lena didn't know what she was thinking telling Rachael she would find the money. How? Where?
Maybe she should approach Mrs Walker for a loan. That was already an impossible attempt. As she made her way to the hallway, lost in thought, she didn't see the figure in her way as her face crashed into his chest.
"Oh my God." She gasped, watching the content of the cup splash on his expensive coat.
The man stepped back and a guard stepped forward immediately, seizing her arm roughly.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't see..."
"Enough!" The coffee drenched man said coldly.
Lena froze. It couldn't be.
It was the man from the road earlier on.
"She's the same lady who ran into the car. She should be held for this." The guard said, still seizing her arms.
The man raised a hand.
"She's not worth the paper work." And gave her one last look before he disappeared into the elevator with his guards.
And an hour after that, she was summoned to an executive floor she didn't even know existed in the hospital.
The nurse only said, "Someone wants to see you."
That someone was Damien Blackwood , CEO of Blackwood Innovations, billionaire tech tycoon, and apparently, the man whose coffee she spilled all over at the hospital hallway, the same man who would have ran her over with his car. A man she had bumped into twice in a day.
And now, he was staring at her like she was nothing more than a problem to be solved.
"You're reckless, clumsy, and inconvenient," he said coldly. "But I need a wife."
Lena blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"A fiancée, technically. For the press. The board. A few months of headlines. My father left a clause in his will tying my final stake in the company to a marriage." He stood and walked to the window. "It's archaic, but I don't care enough to challenge it. I care enough to finish it."
Lena's throat dried. "Why me?"
Damien turned, his gaze sharp. "Because you're forgettable. No one will dig into your life. And because you need the money."
Her chest tightened. "I'm not a gold digger."
"No. You're desperate." He placed a black folder on the desk. "Read it. Six months. Twenty million dollars. No intimacy, no public scandals, and you vanish quietly after the contract ends."
She stared at the document like it was on fire. "This is insane."
"No," he said. "This is business. You walked into my life twice this week. I'm giving it meaning."
She flinched.
"Take it or leave it, Lena Walker. But if you leave, don't expect another offer. Or help with your mother's bills."
Her breath caught.
He knew.
He knew everything. How did he know?
He seemed so powerful. The way he spoke. His cold stares and the aura he carried.
"Six months." She repeated.
Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen.
"I want an advance," she whispered. "For my mum's surgery."
"You'll get it before the end of the day," Damien said without flinching, his hands in his pocket.
She didn't need to read through the contract. Her mother needed this money to survive.
Her signature dragged across the page like a knife. When she was done, he didn't smile. Didn't shake her hand.
"You belong to me now," he said, closing the folder. "At least on paper."
Lena rose slowly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders.
She had just sold herself to a stranger.
"I'll give you a call to meet me at the magistrate's. He was already turning away. "We need the paperwork, for the press." He walked out before her, with his guards trailing behind in silent formation.
He was always walking away from her.