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."
That night, Ivy lay in her apartment, surrounded by boxes and contracts and silence. Her father's name signed across a hundred documents. Her future spelled out in cold, legal terms. Marriage. Partnership. Asset sharing. Non-disclosure.
No mention of love. Or happiness. Or choice.
The stars outside blinked like distant witnesses. Ivy thought of her childhood, of growing up in the modest brownstone where laughter used to echo through the halls. Before the company debts. Before her mother's illness. Before everything fractured into desperation.
She wasn't marrying Lucien for money.
She was marrying him to save what was left of her family.
But as she closed her eyes, one thought haunted her:
What if saving them meant losing herself?
The morning she moved into Blackwood Estate, the sky was a leaden gray. Storms threatening on the horizon. The driver barely acknowledged her as he loaded her bags into the back of the car. Ivy clutched her mother's locket at her throat-a final piece of home.
The estate rose out of the hills like a villain's fortress. Black stone. Gothic arches. Metal gates that groaned like warning bells. The butler, a man named Charles who looked like he was carved from granite, welcomed her with a stiff nod.
"Mr. Blackwood is in the library."
Of course he was.
The halls stretched wide and echoing, lined with mirrors that reflected her hesitation back at her. Ivy clutched her bag closer and stepped through the threshold into what would be her life.
Lucien was waiting, firelight casting his sharp features into shadows. He stood when she entered, and for a moment, Ivy saw something flicker in his gaze-hesitation? Regret? It vanished.
"You're here."
"Obviously."
"Then let's begin."
He handed her a file. Schedules. Public appearances. A list of names and faces she'd be expected to impress.
"Our engagement will be announced tomorrow. After that, we'll move fast. The wedding, the press, the handshakes. You'll smile. You'll play the part."
"And you?"
He looked down at her. "I never stop playing."
She opened her mouth to respond-but the fire cracked louder, like a warning, and she saw it.
A photo tucked into the stack. Torn. Faded. A woman with Ivy's eyes. Older. Wiser. Wearing a wedding ring identical to the one in Lucien's desk drawer.
"Who is this?" she asked.
Lucien's jaw tightened. He reached for the photo, but she pulled it back.
"She's not in the file by accident, is she?"
"Leave it alone, Ivy."
"Is she dead?"
"She was the last woman who thought she could change me."
The room went still.
Lucien's voice dropped to a whisper.
"She failed."
The chapter ends not with closure, but with a beginning forged in secrets.
Ivy stood at the threshold of a life that promised power and pain in equal measure.
And Lucien?
He'd just opened the door to his past... and dared her to step inside.
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