The hallway outside the hospital billing office smelled faintly of antiseptic and despair. Lana Brooks stood motionless, one trembling hand wrapped around a crumpled invoice. The amount printed at the bottom—$172,000—felt like a death sentence.
Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to cry.
"Ms. Brooks?" the clerk said gently from behind the glass. "Your brother's next round of treatment can't proceed without payment."
Lana nodded, barely hearing. "I understand."
She walked away without another word. Her sneakers echoed softly down the tiled corridor. With every step, the walls of her life closed in—faster, tighter, crueler.
There were no more options.
Her savings were gone. The insurance had capped out. She'd already borrowed from everyone who still spoke to her. And now—
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen and froze.
Dante Vieri.
Her hand tightened reflexively around the phone. His name alone sent a cold current through her veins. It had been four years since she'd seen him—since he'd shattered her world with the same precision he used to build his billion-dollar tech empire.
And yet here he was, calling her, as if time had never passed.
She answered.
"Lana," came his voice—smooth, deep, emotionless. "Meet me. Thirty minutes. The Bentley Hotel, rooftop bar."
She hesitated. "Why?"
"I'm offering you a solution," he said, "to a problem I know you're drowning in."
Her blood ran cold.
"How do you—?"
"I keep track of things that matter," Dante cut in. "You've got twenty-nine minutes."
The line went dead.
The rooftop bar was empty, save for the man seated at the corner table with a view of the city skyline. His dark suit was tailored to ruthless perfection. Dante Vieri hadn't changed.
He didn't need to stand to command the room. Power clung to him like a second skin. Sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, obsidian eyes—he looked like a man carved from frost and iron.
Lana approached slowly, bracing herself.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"You're the one who disappeared four years ago," she replied coolly, taking the seat across from him.
His gaze finally met hers.
"I'm not here to talk about the past."
"No," she said, voice sharp. "You're here to dangle a mysterious 'solution' in front of me. Why, Dante?"
He reached into his jacket and slid a document across the table.
Lana stared.
A contract. Thick, official-looking. Her name printed in bold type.
Lana Elise Brooks.
She looked up, startled. "What is this?"
"A proposal," he said smoothly. "You become my wife. For one year. No emotional entanglements. No obligations beyond public appearances. In exchange, I'll cover your brother's full medical expenses. And you'll receive five hundred thousand dollars at the end of the term."
Lana blinked. For a moment, she genuinely believed she'd misheard him.
"Are you insane?"
He gave a single, cold smile. "No. Just efficient."
She stood abruptly. "You want me to marry you—after what you did?"
His jaw tightened slightly. "This has nothing to do with what happened before. This is business. A mutually beneficial arrangement."
"You destroyed my reputation, Dante. You left me jobless, humiliated, and blacklisted in half the industry."
"I gave you a clean break," he said. "You're the one who took it personally."
Lana laughed bitterly. "I lost everything."
"And now I'm offering a way to get some of it back. You need the money. I need a wife."
She stared at him, baffled. "Why on earth would you need a wife?"
Dante's eyes darkened. "My mother's estate includes voting shares that are locked under a clause—if I'm unmarried by the time I turn thirty-one, control passes to the board."
Lana blinked. "You want to fake a marriage for… corporate control?"
"Not fake," he said coolly. "Legal. Just temporary."
"And I'm supposed to trust that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"
"I'm offering it in writing. Signed, notarized. With a clause for early release if you change your mind. And payment upfront for your brother's next round of treatment."
Lana hesitated. The world blurred around her. All she could see was her brother's face—pale, smiling weakly from his hospital bed. Nineteen years old. A heart too big for the life he'd been given.
She sat back down.
"I need time to think."
"You have twenty-four hours," Dante said. "After that, the offer disappears."
He stood and walked away, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne and the weight of a decision she never wanted to make.
That night, Lana didn't sleep.
She lay curled on the worn couch in her studio apartment, staring at the ceiling as the contract sat on the coffee table like a loaded gun.
Marry Dante Vieri.
The man who once called her the only person he could trust—and then shattered that trust without blinking.
But her brother needed the treatment. Needed it now. And Dante, for all his cruelty, had never lied.
She reached for the pen.
Her hand trembled as she signed.
The next morning, she stood at the base of a marble staircase inside one of Manhattan's most exclusive private legal offices. Dante waited at the top, his expression unreadable.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Lana nodded silently.
A notary stood beside them with a clipboard. Dante signed first, his hand moving with calm precision. Then he turned the document toward her.
Her fingers closed around the pen again.
One signature.
That was all it took to sell her soul.
She signed.
The notary stamped the paper.
Dante extended his hand. "Welcome to the empire, Mrs. Vieri."
Lana shook it. His grip was firm, warm, and completely impersonal.
She'd just married the devil.
And she had no idea what it would cost her.