Chapter 2

The Blackwood penthouse occupied the top three floors of the tallest building in the city. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a sea of lights below, and the interior screamed money—cold, precise, impersonal money.

Kael hadn't spoken since the car. He'd walked ahead of me into the elevator, pressed the button for the 40th floor, and stood with his back to me the entire ride up. Now he stood at a massive desk in what appeared to be his home office, pouring whiskey into a crystal glass without offering me one.

"Sit," he said.

I sat. Not because he commanded it—though his Alpha presence was suffocating in its intensity—but because my legs were shaking and my torn dress was still damp from sitting on the road.

He placed the leather folder in front of me again. "Read it. All of it."

The contract was twelve pages long. My eyes—trained by three years of managing pack finances—scanned the clauses with professional efficiency despite my exhaustion.

Duration: Six months.

Compensation: Five million dollars upon completion.

Requirements: Public appearances as Mrs. Blackwood. Attendance at all corporate and pack functions. Convincing performance as a bonded mate.

Restrictions: No disclosure of the arrangement. No romantic involvement with other parties. No questions about Kael Blackwood's personal affairs.

Termination clause: Either party may dissolve the agreement, but early termination by the wife forfeits all compensation.

"You need a fake wife," I said flatly. "Why?"

Kael swirled his whiskey, studying me over the rim. "My grandfather's will states I must be mated by my thirtieth birthday to inherit controlling shares of Blackwood Corporation. My birthday is in six months."

"So find a real mate."

"I don't want a real mate." The words came out like a door slamming. Final. Non-negotiable. "I want a transaction. Clean. Temporary. No emotional complications."

I almost laughed. Almost. "And you think I'm incapable of emotional complications?"

"I think you just got thrown away by your husband in front of two hundred people and you're still reading contract clauses instead of crying." His gaze was uncomfortably perceptive. "You're practical. That's what I need."

He wasn't wrong. The tears on the road had been my allowance for grief. Now my survival brain had taken over—the same brain that had kept me alive as a wolfless Luna in a world that despised weakness.

"There's a problem," I said. "The bonded mate requirement. Any wolf will be able to smell that we haven't actually bonded."

Something shifted in his expression. "I have a solution for that. A temporary scent-bonding ritual—ancient, obscure, but effective. It mimics a true mate bond for approximately seven months. Long enough."

"And after six months?"

"You walk away rich. I keep my company. We never speak again." He set down his glass. "Unless you'd prefer I drive you back to that road."

The silence stretched between us. Through the window, the city glittered like a field of cold stars.

I thought about Damien's face. You're useless, Aria. I thought about Vanessa in my chair, wearing my dress, carrying the heir I couldn't provide. I thought about two hundred pack members who'd watched me get dragged out and said nothing.

Five million dollars. Enough to disappear. Enough to start over. Enough to become someone who never needed a pack—or a mate—again.

"I have conditions," I said.

Kael's eyebrow rose fractionally. "You're in no position to negotiate."

"And yet here I am, negotiating." I met his eyes directly, something most wolves couldn't do. "Condition one: I get my own room with a lock. Condition two: the scent-bonding ritual and nothing more—you don't touch me without my explicit consent. Condition three: I want access to your corporate files."

The third condition made his eyes narrow. "Why?"

"Because if I'm going to pretend to be your wife at business functions, I need to understand your business. I won't be caught off guard." I paused. "I spent three years running the Silver Fang Pack's finances. I'm not just a pretty face to hang on your arm."

For the first time, something other than cold calculation crossed his features. Interest. Reluctant, cautious, but real.

"Fine," he said. "All three conditions."

I picked up the pen. My hand was steady—steadier than it had been all night.

"One more thing," I said, pen hovering over the signature line. "When this is over, Damien and his pack will know about the five million. They'll know I thrived. Non-negotiable."

The corner of Kael's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.

"Sign the contract, Aria."

I signed.

And somewhere deep inside me—in that hollow space where a wolf should have lived—something stirred. Faint. Unfamiliar.

I ignored it.

That was my first mistake.