"You're Elena." Damian's voice dropped to a lethal whisper.

I swallowed hard. "Damian, I—"

"Turn around," he ordered. His fingers dug into my waist, a brutal warning. "Smile. Or I will bury your father's company before the reception ends."

"They drugged me," I tried again.

"Quiet."

The priest cleared his throat, looking between us. "I pronounce you husband and wife."

I pasted a grin on my face as the photographer's flash blinded us. He didn't kiss me. He merely pressed his cold cheek against mine. The cameras clicked furiously.

"A brilliant scam," he murmured into my ear. "The Carters and the Blakes, teaming up to make a fool out of me."

"I had no part in this."

He pulled back. His dark eyes offered no mercy. "We will finish this charade. Then we talk."

He grabbed my hand. His grip felt like a steel vise. We marched back down the aisle. My father nodded approvingly from the front row. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to rip the veil off and announce the fraud to every reporter in the room. But Damian's grip kept me anchored.

***

The master suite felt like a mausoleum. Gray walls, black furniture, zero warmth.

Damian stripped off his suit jacket and tossed it onto a velvet chair.

"Explain," he demanded, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.

"My sister got pregnant with my fiancé," I said. I crossed my arms to stop my hands from shaking. "My father drugged me, shoved me in a car, and forced me to take her place."

Damian took a sip of his drink. He let out a harsh laugh. "A tragic tale. And you expect me to believe you didn't want the billionaire upgrade?"

"I wanted my own life! I was supposed to get married to Adrian today."

"You got a better deal." He stepped into my space, towering over me. The scent of expensive cologne and scotch hit my nose. "Listen closely. This marriage is a transaction. Nothing more. I will never love you. I will never touch you."

"Good. I don't want you to."

His jaw tightened. "Play the part of Mrs. Blake in public. Stay out of my way in private. Do that, and you get to keep the title and the privileges."

"I don't want your money, Damian. I don't want your privileges."

"You Carter women are all the same," he sneered. He turned his back on me. "Liars and leeches. Pick a guest room. I don't share a bed."

"Gladly," I shot back. I grabbed my heels from the floor and marched down the hallway.

***

Three days passed. We existed as strangers under the same massive roof. I woke up at six every morning, applied for jobs, and avoided the west wing where Damian worked.

I sat at the kitchen island, circling job listings on my laptop.

Footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Mr. Graves, the estate manager, slid a sleek black credit card across the counter.

"Mr. Blake requested you use this for your personal needs, Mrs. Blake."

I pushed the card back. "Tell Mr. Blake I don't need his money."

"It is standard protocol for his wife to have an allowance."

"I am not a standard wife," I interrupted. "I have my own resume. I will earn my own paycheck."

"Ma'am, Mr. Blake insists."

"And I refuse." I kept my eyes on the screen. "I will pay for my own gas. I will buy my own groceries."

Mr. Graves frowned but took the card away. I closed my laptop. I needed a job before my father froze my remaining checking account. I refused to be trapped again.

***

The invitation to the Global Trade Gala wasn't optional. Damian texted me the address and told me to show up. He didn't offer a ride.

I arrived alone, wearing a simple black evening gown I bought three years ago.

Damian stood across the ballroom, surrounded by tech investors. He wore a sharp navy suit. He didn't even glance my way when I entered.

I grabbed a glass of sparkling water and retreated to a quiet corner near the terrace doors. I planned to stay for exactly one hour, take a photo for the press, and leave.

"Elena."

The shrill voice scraped against my eardrums.

Sophia strolled toward me, clinging to Adrian's arm. She wore a glittering diamond necklace. The one Adrian bought with my commission bonus. Her baby bump wasn't showing yet, but she rubbed her stomach anyway.

"Sophia," I stated. "Adrian."

Adrian refused to meet my gaze. He studied the floor, adjusting his tie.

Sophia smirked. She raised her champagne flute. "Look at you. Standing all by yourself. Where is your terrifying new husband?"

"Working," I replied flatly. "Something you know nothing about."

Sophia's face flushed. She stepped closer, raising her voice so the nearby guests could hear. "Don't act superior. You're just a placeholder. A fake bride nobody wanted."

Whispers erupted around us. Several women in designer gowns turned to gawk.

"Is it true?" a woman murmured nearby. "I heard Damian didn't even want her."

"Adrian dumped her for the younger sister," another whispered. "She had to settle for an arranged marriage."

Sophia soaked up the attention. "You only married Damian because Adrian threw you away. You couldn't handle being a spinster, so you begged our father to let you take my leftovers."

I looked at Adrian. "Are you going to let her lie?"

Adrian shifted his weight. "Just walk away, Elena. Don't make a scene."

"I'm not making a scene. She is."

Sophia laughed, a high, grating sound. "You're pathetic. Damian won't even stand next to you in public. He knows you're just a cheap replacement."

My chest tightened. I kept my spine rigid. I refused to cry. I refused to shrink. I had built a career in boardrooms full of ruthless men. I wouldn't let my spoiled sister break me.

"A replacement?" I asked. My voice rang out, deadly calm. "I spent four years building the Carter logistics network. I secured the London deal that paid for your engagement ring. You are wearing my dress, sleeping with my ex, and spending my money. The only cheap thing in this room is you, Sophia."

Gasps rippled through the small crowd. Sophia's mouth fell open.

Through the crowd, my eyes locked with Damian's.

He stood on the mezzanine steps, a crystal glass in his hand. He was watching me. He had been watching the whole time.

I expected him to look disgusted. I expected him to walk away and let the press tear me apart.

Instead, his dark eyes held a strange, intense focus. He didn't intervene. He just studied me, like a puzzle he couldn't solve. He saw me taking the hits. He saw me refusing to bow.

Sophia scoffed, her face turning crimson. "You're just jealous because Adrian loves me!"

She raised her glass, tilting the red wine toward my black dress.

I didn't flinch. I held my ground.

Before the liquid could spill, a large hand clamped around Sophia's wrist.

The harsh fluorescent lights forced my eyes open. A sharp smell of rubbing alcohol assaulted my nose.

"Has she been abused all these years?" a man asked.

I turned my head toward the voice. A doctor in a white coat stood at the foot of my hospital bed, holding a metal clipboard.

Damian leaned against the doorframe. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his arms crossed over his chest. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows. He actually frowned.

"Malnutrition," the doctor continued, tapping his pen against the metal. "Severe vitamin deficiencies. She has old micro-fractures in her ribs that didn't heal properly. Plus, she was wearing a threadbare blazer in forty-degree weather. Mr. Blake, your wife is starving."

Damian pushed off the doorframe. "Leave us."

The doctor scurried out of the room, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him.

I tried to sit up. The IV line taped to my hand tugged painfully. "What happened?"

"My security detail watched you collapse at the subway station," Damian said. He walked over and tossed a thick manila folder onto my lap. "They brought you here."

"I just skipped lunch," I muttered, avoiding his intense gaze.

"You skipped a decade of lunches, Elena." He pulled a plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down. "I had Graves run a full background check on you this morning."

I stared at the heavy folder. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"You didn't have to. I don't like unsolved puzzles." He pointed at the papers scattered across my blanket. "You built the Carter logistics network from the ground up. You worked eighty-hour weeks. Your parents paid you a minimum-wage salary and funneled every cent of the profits to Sophia."

"It was a family business," I defended, my voice raspy. "I did what I had to do."

"It was exploitation." His tone lost its usual icy edge, replaced by a quiet, dangerous intensity. "Your father forced you into my car because Sophia got pregnant with your fiancé. You didn't orchestrate this marriage. You weren't after my money."

"I told you that on our wedding night."

"I didn't believe you then." He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning closer. "I do now."

I gripped the thin hospital blanket. "So what happens now? You file for divorce? You throw me back to them?"

"No." Damian stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over the bed. "You are coming back to the Blake estate. You will eat three meals a day. And you will stop wearing rags."

"I don't want your charity, Damian."

"It isn't charity. It's a business transaction." He checked his gold watch. "Cancel your job interviews tomorrow."

I glared at him. "Why?"

"You work for me now."

"Doing what?"

"Logistics consultant for Blake Industries," he stated smoothly. "You know the Carter supply chain better than anyone. I need that knowledge to finalize the merger."

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't." He turned toward the door. "Paid, of course. I don't exploit my employees the way your father did."

Before I could argue, he walked out.

***

Two days later, the atmosphere at the Blake estate shifted entirely. The staff stopped glaring at me. Graves actually smiled when he served my breakfast, offering me an extra plate of toast.

I sat in the sunroom, reviewing the logistics files Damian had emailed me. The front doors banged open, the sound echoing down the long marble hallway.

"Where is she?" Sophia's shrill voice pierced the quiet morning.

I closed my laptop and stood up.

Sophia marched into the sunroom, Adrian trailing closely behind her. She wore a designer maternity dress, though her stomach remained perfectly flat. Her eyes widened when she saw me standing by the fireplace.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded, pointing a manicured finger at my face.

"I live here," I replied.

"In the main house?" Sophia scoffed. She looked around at the silk drapes and crystal chandeliers, her face twisting with envy. "He didn't kick you out?"

"Why would he?"

Her face turned a mottled red. "You're supposed to be in the gutter! He was supposed to throw you to the press!"

Adrian stepped forward, grabbing her elbow. "Sophia, let's just go. We dropped off the Carter merger documents. We don't need to do this."

She yanked her arm away. "Shut up, Adrian. Damian is a billionaire. He should be mine. If I hadn't gotten pregnant, I would be the one living in this mansion."

"But you are pregnant," I reminded her. "With his child." I gestured to Adrian.

Adrian looked at the floor. He shoved his hands into his pockets, unable to meet my eyes.

Sophia stepped into my personal space. Her perfume smelled overpowering, like rotting flowers. "You think you've won? You think Damian actually wants a used-up workhorse like you?"

"Get out of my house, Sophia."

"It's not your house!" she shrieked. "Damian belongs with me. He only kept you around out of pity. Once he gets bored, he will toss you aside."

"Graves," I called out.

The estate manager appeared instantly in the doorway. "Yes, Mrs. Blake?"

"Escort my sister and her fiancé off the property."

Sophia sneered. "Enjoy your fake marriage, Elena. It won't last."

She spun on her heel and stormed out. Adrian shot me a pathetic, apologetic look before following her retreat.

I waited until the heavy oak doors clicked shut. Then, I walked toward the foyer to retrieve my phone from the entryway table.

As I approached the open window near the driveway, their voices drifted through the glass. They hadn't reached their car yet.

"She can't stay here," Sophia hissed. "Damian belongs to me."

"You're marrying me, Sophia," Adrian argued, sounding exhausted.

"Only until I secure the Blake fortune." Gravel crunched under her shoes. "We need to frame her. Make Damian think she's a thief."

"A thief? Sophia, that's insane."

"Do it, Adrian," she ordered. "You still have access to the old servers. Use her old Carter login credentials. Transfer the funds from the Blake merger accounts into her personal offshore trust."

My stomach plummeted.

"That's a federal crime," Adrian whispered. "If we get caught—"

"We won't get caught! She's the one who handles the logistics spreadsheets now. It will trace right back to her IP address." Sophia's voice turned lethal. "I stole her backup drive before the wedding. I have all her passwords. I want Damian to hate her. I want him to destroy her."

"Sophia, she's your sister."

"She is a placeholder!" Sophia snapped. "Do it tonight."

A car door slammed shut. The engine roared to life and faded down the long driveway.

I stood frozen by the window. My own sister was plotting to send me to federal prison. She wanted to ruin the only stable ground I had left.

"Did you hear all of that?" a deep voice asked from the shadows.

I spun around.

Damian stepped out from the adjacent study. He held a crystal glass of whiskey. His dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a dangerous fire.

"They are going to frame me," I said, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

Damian took a sip of his drink. "I know."

"We have to stop them. If they use my passwords, the board will think I embezzled the merger funds."

He set the glass down on the mahogany table. The crystal clinked sharply in the silent room.

"No," Damian replied, a ruthless smirk playing on his lips. "We are going to let them try."