Elena Hayes had imagined many ways she might one day face Dominic Vale again. None of them involved standing in his glass-walled penthouse office at nine in the morning, wearing her only decent blazer, while he looked at her like she was a particularly irritating spreadsheet error.

“Sit,” he said, not looking up from the tablet in his hand.

She remained standing. “You summoned me. The least you can do is pretend this isn’t a power play.”

Dominic’s dark eyes finally lifted. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one that had died years ago. “Still dramatic, Elena. Some things never change.”

“And some people never learn basic manners.”

He set the tablet down with deliberate care. The city stretched behind him in a glittering haze of steel and sky, the kind of view that reminded everyone who held the power in this room. Dominic Vale, thirty-four, CEO of Vale Industries, looked exactly as she remembered from their last disastrous encounter two years ago: sharp jaw, colder eyes, and the kind of quiet authority that made people forget how to breathe.

Elena had not forgotten how to breathe. She had simply decided not to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

“I have a proposition,” he said.

“I already know I’m going to hate it.”

“You will. And then you’ll accept it anyway.”

She crossed her arms. “Try me.”

Dominic leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. “My grandfather’s will contains a marriage clause. In order to retain full control of Vale Industries after my thirtieth birthday—which was last month—I am required to be legally married for a minimum of twelve consecutive months. The board is already circling. If I don’t produce a wife by the end of this quarter, they can force a vote of no confidence.”

Elena stared at him. “And this involves me… how?”

“I need a wife. You need money.” His voice was calm, almost bored. “Your father’s medical debts are public knowledge. The hospital is preparing to transfer him to a long-term facility that your family cannot afford. I am prepared to clear every outstanding bill, cover his care for the next five years, and deposit an additional two million into an account in your name once the marriage is finalized.”

The words landed like stones in her stomach.

Her father had been in and out of the hospital for eighteen months. The bills had become a living thing that followed her into every quiet moment. She had sold her car, taken a second job, and still watched the numbers climb.

Dominic knew. Of course he knew. He always knew the exact pressure point.

“You want me to marry you,” she said slowly, “for money.”

“I want a temporary arrangement. One year. We live under the same roof for appearances, attend required events, and keep our private lives private. At the end of the term, we divorce quietly. You walk away with financial security. I keep my company.”

Elena’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “You hate me.”

“I don’t trust you,” he corrected. “Hate requires more emotional investment than I’m willing to give.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

Something flickered behind his eyes—quick, dangerous. Two years ago they had nearly destroyed each other over a failed merger, accusations of sabotage, and one night that neither of them ever spoke about. The air between them still carried the ghost of that night: the argument that had turned into something else, the way his hands had felt on her skin, the way she had left before morning without a word.

She had never forgiven herself for wanting him. He had never forgiven her for walking away.

“This is business,” Dominic said, voice cooler now. “Nothing more.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then your father loses the only specialist keeping him stable, and you continue drowning in debt while I find someone more agreeable.” He tilted his head. “But we both know you won’t say no.”

Elena’s hands curled into fists at her sides. The urge to throw something at his perfectly tailored chest was almost overwhelming. Instead she forced herself to breathe.

“I have conditions.”

One dark brow rose. “Of course you do.”

“Separate bedrooms. No physical expectations. No public displays beyond what’s required for the press. And if you ever try to control where I go or who I speak to outside of scheduled events, the contract is void.”

Dominic considered her for a long moment. Then he opened a slim folder on his desk and slid a thick document toward her.

“I anticipated most of those. The contract already includes separate suites on opposite wings of the estate. Physical intimacy is not required—though the board will expect a certain level of… convincing affection at public functions. You’ll be compensated for your time and inconvenience. Everything else is negotiable within reason.”

Elena stepped forward and picked up the contract. The paper was heavy, the language dense. Her name was already printed on the first page beside his.

She looked up. “You were that sure I’d agree?”

“I was sure you loved your father more than you hated me.”

The words should have made her angry. Instead they settled somewhere deep and aching. He wasn’t wrong.

She flipped through the pages, scanning clauses about duration, finances, confidentiality, and the ironclad non-disclosure agreement that would keep both of them silent after the divorce. When she reached the signature line, her hand hesitated.

Dominic walked around the desk until he was only a few feet away. Up close he smelled like clean cedar and something darker. The height difference forced her to tilt her chin up, and for a second the old tension crackled between them—sharp, familiar, unwanted.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said quietly.

“It means exactly what it says on paper.” His voice had dropped. “A year of my name. A year of your cooperation. Nothing else.”

Elena signed her name in clean, deliberate strokes.

When she set the pen down, Dominic’s fingers brushed hers as he took the contract back. The contract was brief, but it sent a low current up her arm. She pulled her hand away as if burned.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“The wedding is in three days,” he said. “Private ceremony. My legal team will handle the license. You’ll move into the estate the same evening. A stylist will arrive tomorrow to prepare you for the photographs.”

“Three days?”

“The board meets next week. Timing is not optional.”

Elena swallowed. “I need to tell my father something that won’t break his heart.”

Dominic’s expression softened by the smallest degree—so small she almost missed it. “Tell him whatever you need to. I’ll ensure the hospital receives the first payment this afternoon.”

She nodded once, then turned toward the door. Her legs felt unsteady.

“Elena.”

She paused with her hand on the handle.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice quieter, “I am not doing this to punish you.”

She looked back over her shoulder. The morning light caught the sharp lines of his face, and for a fleeting second she saw the man she had once almost trusted—before everything fell apart.

“That,” she said, “is the only part I don’t believe.”

Then she walked out, the weight of his name already settling around her like a chain she had chosen to wear.

Behind her, Dominic Vale watched the door close and exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.

One year.

He had survived worse.

He only hoped she would not make him regret underestimating how dangerous it still felt to want her.