Hailey stared at him, the shock of his words momentarily eclipsing her despair. Then a harsh, brittle laugh escaped her lips. "Are you insane?"

This had to be it—the real play. Not a simple one-night setup, but a far more ambitious shakedown. He wanted to marry her and get access to the Lawson name, the Lawson money.

"Save your ridiculous act," she said, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs felt like jelly. "I'm not falling for it."

She grabbed her purse, not bothering to pick up the scattered contents, and walked towards the door without a backward glance.

Julian didn't try to stop her. He simply watched her go, a thoughtful expression on his face. For years, women had thrown themselves at him, and he'd felt nothing. The one woman he felt a flicker of responsibility for wanted nothing to do with him. It was... interesting.

The cool air of the hotel hallway was a relief. Hailey didn't stop until she was in her car in the parking garage, the engine rumbling to life. Her hands trembled so violently she could barely grip the steering wheel.

The drive to the Lawson family estate on Long Island was a blur of manicured hedges and sprawling mansions. Each mile brought her closer to the gilded cage she called home, and her stomach twisted with a mixture of rebellion and helplessness.

She parked near the service entrance and slipped in through a side door, hoping to make it to her room unnoticed. But as she passed the formal living room, she heard voices—her stepmother, Judith Lawson, and Isabelle.

She froze, pressing herself into the shadows behind a large carved screen.

"I made sure she drank the whole glass, Mom," Isabelle said, her voice laced with smug satisfaction. "She's probably still passed out in some gutter. There's no way she'll make it to lunch with Mr. Knight. Dad will be furious with her."

Judith's voice was as smooth and calm. "You’ve done an amazing job, dear. Lawson Corp. is bleeding money, and Mr. Knight has promised an infusion of capital. Your father has already given the order. For the sake of the company, he’ll make sure Hailey obeys."

Isabelle giggled, a sound like splintering glass. "And once she's married to that old creep, everything that's left of the Lawson fortune will be ours."

"Of course, my darling," Judith said, her tone dripping with affection. "You deserve the very best."

Behind the screen, a chill seeped into Hailey's bones, extinguishing the last embers of hope for familial love.

Her eyes drifted to a portrait on the wall—her mother, Eleanor Lawson, painted years ago, expression serene and kind. Her mother had built the company from the ground up and once told her this house would always be her safe harbor.

But when Lawson Corp. was profitable, the daughter from a first marriage was an afterthought. Now that it was failing, she was being sacrificed. The injustice of it hit her hard.

Hailey backed away silently, her heart a block of ice, and slipped out of the house to her car, mind racing. There had to be a way out.

One name surfaced through the panic: Carter Vance.

She remembered that half a year ago, her boyfriend Carter had been in a car accident. After waking up, he forgot about her and fell in love with Isabelle. It was ridiculous that she had taken care of him for half a year, while Isabelle originally intended to mock her, but instead, she easily took credit and steal her man.

She tried every possible way to make him remember her, but to no avail.

He didn't remember her, but he wasn't a monster. He was the man who had once loved her. Maybe some part of him still existed beneath the blank slate of his amnesia. He was the only person left in her world who might help her.

She knew her thoughts were ridiculous, but she really had no other choice. No matter what the outcome, she had to give it a try.

This was also her last chance for them. If he still couldn’t remember her, then she would take back her love for him.

Hailey drove to the private hospital, her heart pounding with desperate, fragile hope.

She found his room, just as she was about to go in, she noticed that Isabelle had arrived earlier than her.

The door was slightly ajar. Through the opening, she saw Isabelle perched on the edge of his bed, peeling an apple for him with a small knife, laughing, her head tilted just so.

Hailey pushed the door open. Isabelle's head snapped up, her eyes widening in feigned surprise, immediately looking like a startled fawn.

Carter's gaze followed, and when he saw Hailey, his face hardened. His eyes were cold, unfamiliar, filled with a clear sharp dislike.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice flat—the voice of someone addressing an unwelcome intruder.

The question hit like a punch to the gut. Hailey struggled to breathe. "Carter, I... I need your help. My father, he's trying to force me..."

"Carter," Isabelle interrupted, her voice breaking as she instantly produced tears. "She's doing it again. She's just jealous that you love me now, so she keeps harassing us."

Carter's amnesia made him a blank canvas, and Isabelle had painted her masterpiece. He wrapped a protective arm around her, pulling her closer.

"Hailey, please leave," he said, his voice laced with protective anger. "Stop bothering Isabelle. And stop bothering me."

Hailey stared at them—at the man who had once promised her forever, now looking at her as if she were dirt on his shoe. He thought she was a stalker, a liar, a pathetic creature trying to steal her sister's new love. She had been a fool to come here.

The last of her hope died in that sterile white room.

She turned without another word, back straight, chin high. She didn't let the tears fall until she was back in the solitude of her car, silence pressing in on her. She was utterly alone. Abandoned by everyone.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her father's secretary. “The car will be arriving in one hour.”

One hour.

Hailey’s fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone, her mind grasping for any lifeline, no matter how insane. She opened a social media app, navigating to an anonymous classifieds-style section. Her thumbs moved, typing out words that felt like a desperate attempt.

Seeking a contract husband. Legal registration, generous payment. Immediate. Serious inquiries only.

She hit post, her heart hammering against her ribs. It was a shot in the dark.

Julian Oneal stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the entirety of Manhattan sprawling beneath him like a conquered map. His expression was as hard and unyielding as the steel and glass of the skyscraper he commanded.

A soft knock on the door broke his concentration. "Mr. Oneal."

His executive assistant, Miles Hayes, entered holding a tablet. Miles was impeccably dressed, his demeanor a perfect blend of deference and efficiency.

"We have the preliminary file on the young woman you asked about, Hailey Lawson," Miles said. "And... something else. I've been monitoring the digital footprint from Miss Lawson’s device as you hinted. I found this on an anonymous board—the IP matches her current coordinates."

He handed the tablet to Julian. Displayed on the screen was a screenshot: Seeking a contract husband.

A slow smile—the first genuine one in days—spread across Julian's face. He had offered her a lifeline that morning, and she had spat on it. Now here she was, casting a net into the digital ocean, hoping to catch a savior. The irony was delicious.

"Find her current location," Julian said, his voice calm.

Miles tapped on his own device. A few seconds passed. "She's at a café. La Reine. Fifth Avenue."

Julian loosened his tie and reached for the tailored jacket hanging on the back of his chair. "Cancel my afternoon."

"The Henderson merger..." Miles began, then stopped himself when he saw the look in Julian's eyes. "Of course. Canceled."

Julian walked out of the office and into his private elevator, the polished steel doors sealing him off from the world of Apex Consolidated.

Meanwhile, at La Reine, Hailey stared at her phone, her coffee growing cold. The post had been up for twenty minutes. The only replies were crude messages and obvious scams.

A wave of dizziness washed over her—the after-effects of whatever Isabelle had made her go through still lingering, making the world feel unsteady. She was about to give up, to delete the post and resign herself to her fate, when a shadow fell over her table.

A figure sat down in the chair opposite her.

Hailey looked up, and her heart leaped into her throat. It was him. The man from the hotel.

A hot flush of anger and fear shot through her. "How did you find me? Are you following me?" This was Isabelle's doing. It had to be. The post was used as a trap, and this man was the bait, sent to complete Isabelle’s order.

Julian ignored her accusation. He calmly signaled a waiter. "Black coffee, please." Then he turned his unnervingly steady gaze back to her. "Miss Lawson," he said, his voice even and direct. "I'm here to apply for the position you advertised."

Hailey was so taken aback by his bluntness that for a moment she was speechless. Then a cold, bitter laugh escaped her. "Should I commend Isabelle for her generosity, or you for your dedication to the role?" She was certain this was a new, cruel twist in Isabelle’s game.

Julian didn't bother to deny it. He simply looked at her, his expression serious. "Do you have any other options?"

The question was a shard of ice in her heart. Because she didn't. Her father would use the phone’s GPS to track her whereabouts. The family car would be here any minute. Sterling Knight was waiting.

The walls were closing in, and this man—this stranger, this potential enemy—was the only one offering a door.

The color drained from her face. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"I'm not working for Isabelle, because I don’t even know her at all," Julian said, as if reading her mind. His voice was low, persuasive. "I'm just a man who happens to need money. And you happen to need a husband. It's a simple transaction."

He presented it so logically—a desperate man seizing an opportunity. It was a story that made perfect, terrible sense. She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but found nothing but calm, unnerving sincerity.

Her phone vibrated on the table. A text from her father’s secretary. “Mr. Arthur Lawson is impatient. The car has been redirected to your current location. It's downstairs.” Time was bleeding away.

Hailey closed her eyes, taking one last shuddering breath of her old life. She was stepping off a cliff into the abyss. She opened them, her gaze clear and resolved. "Fine," she said, her voice steady. "We're going to City Hall. Right now."