Chapter 1: The Bargain
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Across our kitchen table, my stepmother Vivienne didn't even bother looking up from filing her blood-red nails. "Marry Thorne Blackwood. It's a simple transaction, Lyra. You marry him, your father gets the medical treatment he desperately needs."
I stared at her, wondering if this was some cruel joke. The morning sunlight illuminated the stack of medical bills on the counter—the numbers so large they made my eyes hurt. Dad's medical bills had been piling up for months, and our once-comfortable life had crumbled under Vivienne's "management" of the family finances.
"So I'm basically being sold to save Dad?" I couldn't keep my voice from cracking.
"Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement. Mr. Blackwood needs a wife for... appearances. You need money for your father's treatment. Everyone wins."
"Why me?" I gripped my mug tighter, trying to steady my trembling hands. "Surely a billionaire could find someone willing?"
"He's... particular." Her eyes flicked up, cold and calculating. "And damaged goods don't attract willing participants."
"Damaged goods?"
"He's in a wheelchair. Some skiing accident in Switzerland. Apparently, he's been a recluse since. The 'Ice Man of Boston,' they call him."
My stomach twisted into knots. A reclusive, wheelchair-bound billionaire needed a wife for appearances, and my stepmother was offering me up like a sacrificial lamb.
"And if I refuse?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Vivienne shrugged, the gesture elegant and threatening all at once. "Then I'll have to inform the hospital we can no longer afford your father's care."
"Can I at least meet him first?"
"The papers are already drawn up." She slid a folder across the table. "The wedding is next week."
"Next week?" I stood abruptly, coffee sloshing over the rim of my mug. "This is insane!"
"This is survival," Vivienne snapped, her composure cracking for a moment. "Something your father never understood. Dreams don't pay bills, Lyra."
Later that night, I curled up on my windowsill, phone pressed to my ear. The cool glass against my forehead offered little comfort as I tried to imagine my future with a stranger.
"She can't do this!" Mia, my best friend since childhood, practically screamed. "This isn't the Middle Ages!"
"She can if I agree," I said softly. "And I'm going to."
"Lyra, no—"
"It's Dad, Mia." I swallowed hard. "What would you do if it was your mom?"
The silence on the other end said everything.
"Maybe it won't be so bad," I said, trying to convince myself more than her. "Maybe he's nice."
"A nice billionaire who has to buy a wife? Sure."
"I've been googling him," I admitted. "I found an old interview where he talked about climbing Everest. He said, 'The mountain doesn't care who you are. It only respects determination.' He sounded... passionate."
"And now?"
"Now he's a ghost. No public appearances for three years. No interviews. Nothing."
After hanging up, I opened the folder Vivienne had given me. Inside was a prenuptial agreement, a marriage license application, and a single photo of Thorne Blackwood from a business magazine cover from three years ago.
Before the accident.
I traced my finger over his face. He was devastatingly handsome, with sharp features and piercing blue eyes. His expression was confident, almost arrogant. But there was something else—a spark of intensity that made my heart beat faster.
"Well, Thorne Blackwood," I whispered to the photo, "I guess we're getting married. Hope you're not as cold as you look."
But deep down, I knew better. Men like him didn't get to where they were by being warm.
