The champagne felt ice-cold through the thin fabric of Ava Knox’s off-the-rack black gown. By the time the expensive liquid reached her shoes, nearly forty people were laughing.

The Maybach pulled up to the private underground entrance of the Vance Tower, a soaring glass skyscraper in the heart of Midtown Manhattan.

Ava sat in silence as the private elevator sped up to the 80th floor. When the double doors slid open, she stepped into a penthouse that looked like it belonged in an architectural magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the sparkling New York skyline. Floorboards of dark hardwood, modern artwork, and minimalist furniture created an atmosphere of quiet, terrifying wealth.

"Welcome home," Alexander said, handing his coat to a waiting butler. "This is Marcus. He oversees the household. Anything you need, you ask him."

"Good evening, Ms. Knox," Marcus bowed respectfully, without a hint of judgment regarding her wet, ruined dress. "Your suite has been prepared."

Ava felt out of depth. "Alexander... are you really serious about this? Ten million dollars? A fake engagement?"

"I am a businessman, Ava. I never make proposals I don't intend to execute," Alexander said, walking over to a wet bar and pouring two glasses of sparkling water. He handed one to her. "Tomorrow morning, news of our engagement will leak to the press. Damian Cross and his elite friends will lose their minds."

"Why are you doing this for me?" Ava asked, staring into her glass. "Saving your life with a glass of orange juice six months ago doesn't warrant ten million dollars and a fake ring."

Alexander looked at her for a long moment. His gaze was intense, analytical, yet surprisingly warm. "Because I despise men who take advantage of good women. Damian Cross built his career on your sacrifices, and then humiliated you to boost his own ego. I find that repulsive. Plus... I need a fiancée."

Ava raised an eyebrow. "You need a fiancée?"

"My board of directors believes I am too detached, too cold, and too focused on work," Alexander explained dryly. "They want to see a softer side before they approve my upcoming acquisition of the European Union Bank. A stable, loving relationship humanizes me. So, you see... you are doing me a favor as well."

"So it's a transaction," Ava said, feeling a strange sense of relief. Business she could understand. Love, she had learned, was dangerous.

"Purely business," Alexander agreed. "Rule number one: We act completely devoted in public. Hand-holding, soft looks, pet names if necessary. Rule number two: In private, we maintain clear boundaries. You have your own wing of the penthouse. Rule number three: Absolute honesty between us. No secrets."

"And rule number four?" Ava asked.

Alexander stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "Rule number four: You let me protect you. When Damian comes crawling back—and he will—you let me handle him."

Before Ava could answer, her phone buzzed loudly in her purse.

She pulled it out and looked at the screen. Her blood ran cold.

It was a text message from Damian.

Ava, what the hell was that tonight?! Is this a joke? Call me right now. We need to talk.

Ava stared at the screen, her thumbs trembling over the glass keyboard. Six months ago, a text from Damian would have sent her into a panic, desperately trying to apologize or fix whatever was wrong.

Alexander reached out, gently sliding the phone from her hands. He read the text, a small, cold smile appearing on his face.

He didn't reply. Instead, he simply blocked Damian’s number and turned the phone off.

"Rule number five," Alexander murmured, handing the phone back to her. "We don't waste time on trash."

Ava looked at Alexander, feeling a sudden surge of strength she hadn't felt in months. For four years, she had played the quiet, submissive girlfriend who supported a man who didn't care about her.