The night the flower shop closed for good, I signed a contract. By the end of it, I had a new identity. Ethan Gray’s wife. He was waiting for me in a wheelchair, deep inside the Gray estate. Rain hammered against the roof of the black Maybach, dull and relentless, like war drums. I wore a white dress. The fabric was cheap, damp against my skin, and thin enough to make me shiver. It wasn’t a wedding dress. It looked more like something you buried people in. The air conditioner blasted cold through the car. My fingertips were numb, but the chill inside me cut deeper. Three hours ago, I was still wondering how I was going to make next month’s rent. Now my parents had stuffed me into this car and sent me to the Gray estate. “Ava Blake, don’t blame us for being cruel.” Before I got in, my mother, Susan Blake, forced a few tears into her eyes. Her voice sounded staged. “Blake Holdings is out of cash. Mrs. Gray made it clear. If we send someone with the right background to marry Ethan Gray and keep the family image intact, she’ll inject five million dollars into the company.” My father, Richard Blake, stood beside her with a dark face. “Your sister Isabella is supposed to marry into real power. Her future can’t be ruined by a dying man. You’ve done nothing with your life. You’ve eaten off this family for years. It’s time you paid the Blakes back.” Everyone in the city knew Ethan Gray’s name. He had once run Gray Group. Two weeks ago, he had been in a brutal car crash. The rumor was that his spine and brain had both been badly injured. That he was lying in intensive care, alive only because machines kept him breathing. Mrs. Gray, desperate and terrified of another scandal, had even listened to a private family adviser who claimed the estate needed a proper marriage to steady the Gray name. That woman was me. They put a price on my life. Five million dollars. Paid in full. The car rolled through the gates of the Gray estate. Behind me, the iron gates closed with a harsh metallic groan, like the last escape route locking shut. A middle-aged butler with no expression held a black umbrella and led me through a dim hallway. It seemed endless. At last, he stopped in front of a heavy redwood door. “Mrs. Gray. Mr. Gray is waiting inside.” The title sounded almost mocking. He stepped away. His footsteps faded into the dark. I took a breath. My palms were slick with sweat. I had already prepared myself for the worst. The stench of disinfectant. The beeping of monitors. A shriveled half-dead man. I pushed the door open. And froze. There was no glaring white light. No medical equipment. The room smelled faintly of cedar and bitter medicine. The main lights were off. Lightning flashed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, briefly illuminating the wide bedroom. In that sickly white light, I saw a man. He wasn’t in bed. He sat in a wheelchair with his back to me, facing the storm outside. “Do people from the Blake family not know how to knock?” The voice was low and cold, edged with absolute authority. There was no weakness in it. It sounded like a blade at my throat. My whole body went rigid. A vegetable? Dying? The rumors. My parents’ certainty. In that instant, they turned into a joke. The wheelchair slowly turned. Another flash of lightning cut across the sky, and I finally saw his face. He was devastatingly handsome, and just as terrifying. A sharp jaw. A high nose. But what you couldn’t ignore were his eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses. Dark. Deep. Cruel. Amused. He looked at me as if he had already seen every desperate thought in my head. Ethan Gray. He wasn’t just awake. He was terrifyingly alert. “You were forced to come here. I can tell.” He leaned back in the wheelchair and folded his long fingers over his knee. His tone was calm, almost casual. I stood three yards away, cold from head to toe, unable to speak. “Did the Blakes send you here to test whether I’m dead yet? Or do they really think offering up a woman will get them five million from the Gray family?” His mouth curved in a merciless smile. “Either way, you’re a discarded piece now.” He said it too clearly. Too brutally. Like he had ripped the last shred of dignity off me with one hand. Humiliation. Fear. Rage. They slammed into my chest at once. “If you want to run, the door is behind you.” He watched me, almost lazily. “I’ll have someone take you out. We can pretend the Blakes never sent anyone tonight.” Run? To where? Back to the house that sold me like trash? Back to my parents’ fury when they realized they weren’t getting paid? Or onto the street, broke and alone, to freeze in the middle of a storm? I stared at my soaked canvas sneakers. All the despair I had swallowed down all day hit bottom at once and came back up as something meaner. To hell with the Blakes. I looked up and met his eyes. I gritted out the most ridiculous question I had ever asked in my life. “If I don’t run. If I stay…” My voice shook with the force it took to say it. “How much will you pay me?” The room went still. Even the thunder seemed to pause. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I was done for. He would think I was insane. A gold-digger. He’d have the butler drag me out like garbage. One second. Two. Three. Then he laughed. Low and real, from deep in his chest. He leaned forward slightly, and something dangerous lit up behind his glasses. “Interesting.” For the first time, there was a trace of amusement in his voice. “If you dare stay, name your price.”
The next morning, I sat at the far end of a dining table big enough for twenty. Actually, “morning” wasn’t accurate. I had never fallen asleep. After that absurd transaction, the butler had taken me to a guest room three times the size of my old apartment. I had sat on the bed all night, staring into space until dawn. Breakfast covered the table, but my stomach felt like stone. The staff at the Gray estate moved like flawless machinery, silent and efficient. Still, every time one of them passed with a tray, I could feel their eyes slide over me. Like they were looking at something cheap that had been shoved into an expensive display window. “So that’s the Blake girl they sent to curry favor with the Grays? I expected someone prettier.” “Keep your voice down. Mr. Gray hasn’t said anything yet. Looking at her, she’ll be gone in a week.” The whispers drifted out from the kitchen. My fingers whitened around the fork, but I sat up straighter. Don’t flinch, Ava Blake. You’re here to work. They’re just coworkers. Then I heard the soft hum of a motor at the dining room entrance. The servants instantly fell silent and stepped aside. Ethan Gray was wheeled in. He wore a dark gray cashmere lounge set. His face was pale, but the pressure he carried filled the entire room. He didn’t even look at me. He was pushed to the head of the table. The butler laid his napkin in place. Ethan began to eat with elegant precision, knife and fork barely making a sound. The whole room stopped breathing. My spoon suddenly felt impossibly heavy. “There aren’t many rules in this house,” he said after touching a napkin to his lips. His voice was as cold as a sentence being handed down. “Actually, there are none. Do as you like.” I looked up, startled. His eyes settled on me from across the long table. “Your movements, your spending, your social life. I won’t interfere. As long as you don’t use the title Mrs. Gray to drag me into some public scandal, you’re free to do whatever you want.” The butler stepped forward and held out a black card edged in gold. “Your advance,” Ethan said flatly. “And your salary.” Salary. The word felt unreal. “Starting today,” he went on, “your job is to play Mrs. Gray well. Attend the family events that matter. Help me deal with the business rivals waiting to laugh at me. Keep this marriage looking normal. Until the performance ends. Or until I no longer need you.” At last, I understood. I wasn’t really his wife. I wasn’t even a decorative tool. I was a highly paid actress. He had hired me to hold the outside world in place and distract his enemies. Strangely, the realization calmed me. Being an employee was safer than being a disposable wife. As long as I had value, I could survive. I tightened my grip on the card and gave him a polite, professional smile. “Understood, Mr. Gray.” The change in title came naturally. Something approving flickered in his eyes. He set down the napkin and signaled the butler to wheel him out. Just before he reached the door, he tossed one last bomb over his shoulder. “Nine tomorrow morning. Be at Gray Group headquarters. Human Resources will process your onboarding.” My hand jerked so hard I nearly dropped the spoon. “For what position?” The wheelchair stopped. His answer came from the doorway, cool and final. “My personal assistant.”
At 8:50 the next morning, I stood in front of the revolving doors of Gray Group’s headquarters. The glass tower rose eighty-eight stories into the financial district skyline like a blade. It was the kind of building that didn’t just show power. It enforced it. I stepped inside. And instantly became the rare animal everyone wanted to stare at. Executives in custom suits. Security guards with radios. Junior staff with coffee cups in their hands. Every single one of them looked me up and down with the same feverish curiosity. Pity. Disdain. Glee. And above all, gossip. “That’s her. The Blake girl they sent to please the Gray family.” “She looks so cheap. The whole outfit probably costs less than two hundred bucks.” “Didn’t you hear? After the accident, Mr. Gray couldn’t walk and got violent. The Blakes sent her in as a sacrifice.” “Why is she even here? To fight for inheritance?” “Who knows? Maybe she’s here to show off. She’s technically Mrs. Gray, after all.” Their voices swarmed around me like flies. I lowered my head and gripped the worn strap of my canvas bag so tightly my nails dug into my palm. I regretted coming. I’d rather deal with the icy servants at the estate than stand here and get stared at like a sideshow. “Excuse me. Are you Miss Ava Blake?” A bright voice cut through the whispers. I looked up and saw a young receptionist with a round face, big eyes, and a neat little bun. Her name tag read Maya Riley. She was the only person in the lobby who wasn’t looking at me for entertainment. “I am.” “Mr. Gray left instructions. Please wait in the VIP lounge. Serena Holt will be down shortly to get you.” She pointed toward a quiet, luxurious seating area half hidden by tall plants. I nodded and hurried over, grateful for the chance to disappear. A few minutes later, Maya brought me a steaming cup of tea and set it on the table in front of me. She glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to hear, then leaned closer. “Miss Blake…” she whispered. “Were you really forced into this? Everyone says you’re the family’s scapegoat.” My fingers tightened around the tea cup. Something in me softened at the concern in her eyes. In this steel-and-glass jungle, she was the first warm thing I had seen. I didn’t answer directly. I only smiled at her in thanks. But from that moment on, I filed Maya Riley away under one category in my head. Safe. Then the private elevator chimed. The first thing to step out was a pair of custom high heels covered in crystals and easily four inches tall. Their sharp clicks on marble were elegant and aggressive at once. Then came the woman wearing them. Tall. Stunning. Flawlessly made up. Wrapped in a perfectly fitted Armani suit that looked less like clothing and more like armor. I recognized her immediately. Serena Holt. Ethan Gray’s chief secretary. The real power behind his executive office. I had searched the core leadership team the night before. Serena Holt was widely known as Ethan’s right hand. She walked toward me in a cloud of expensive perfume and stopped just in front of my chair. “Mrs. Gray,” she said with a polished smile that held no warmth at all. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She put deliberate pressure on the title. I rose to my feet and met her gaze. “Not long, Ms. Holt.” “No need to be formal.” Her smile only sharpened. Her eyes skimmed over my cheap clothes like a knife. “Mr. Gray has decided you’ll be joining the executive office. That makes us coworkers now. Come on. I’ll take you upstairs. And along the way…” She paused. “I’ll teach you the rules.” I followed her into the private elevator. In that tight space, the perfume almost suffocated me. As the elevator climbed, Serena looked at my reflection in the mirrored doors. “That position as Mrs. Gray was never really meant for you.” My stomach dropped. She turned to look at me directly. “When your sister Isabella Blake used to come to the office, Mr. Gray spoiled her. He let her near major projects. Too bad she had standards. She had no interest in a man in a wheelchair. Lucky for you, I guess. You ended up with what she threw away.” The pity in her voice was pure poison. The elevator doors opened on the top floor. Under the bright lights, I could see the contempt in Serena Holt’s eyes perfectly clearly. That wasn’t just a warning. It was a declaration of war.
Ethan Gray’s office took up half the top floor. His side of the space was all authority and glass. The city spread out behind his desk. The black ebony surface looked like a throne disguised as furniture. My side was a joke. In a cramped corner near the entrance, someone had shoved a narrow white desk against the wall. No window. No plant. No view. Not even a decent chair. It looked like a station for temporary help. The hierarchy was obvious. Ethan sat at his desk with a file open in front of him. He wore a black shirt with the collar loose at the throat. Even in the wheelchair, he gave off enough controlled pressure to make breathing difficult. Serena marched me over to my little desk and dropped a stack of files so hard the wood shook. “Miss Blake, this is Mr. Gray’s schedule for the next two weeks and the files for several key projects currently in progress.” She spoke fast, like she was trying to drown me in information on purpose. “Your task this morning is to memorize all of it.” Before I could even respond, she glided to Ethan’s desk and transformed. The sharpness she used on me vanished. Her voice turned sweet and soft. “Mr. Gray, I’ve revised the South District development proposal based on your notes.” She bent down slightly as she handed him a file. “Would you like me to change anything else?” He didn’t even look up. “Leave it. Go.” Four words. Ice cold. The smile on her face froze. But she recovered almost instantly. “Of course, Mr. Gray. I won’t disturb you and… Mrs. Gray.” She emphasized the title again before leaving. When the doors shut behind her, the office went silent except for the rustle of paper and the faint hum of the air system. I stood there awkwardly, not even sure where to put my hands. “Bring me the blue file.” His voice cut through the stillness. Relieved to finally have something to do, I pulled the blue folder from the stack and brought it over. He took it and tossed it back onto the desk in front of me without opening it. “By three this afternoon, I want a risk assessment report I can actually read.” I opened the file. It was a contract renewal for an overseas supplier Gray Group had worked with for years. My degree was technically in business administration, but my college had been mediocre, and I had spent most of those years working side jobs just to survive. Still, after reading the first few pages, even I could see something was wrong. The figures contradicted each other. Important liability clauses were worded vaguely enough to hide almost anything. Worst of all, the financial statements in the appendix showed an obvious hole in the cash flow. Someone was cooking the books. This wasn’t a normal file. It was a trap. A carefully prepared one. Serena had dug it, covered it with fake numbers, and left it there for the clueless new girl to fall into. I looked up at Ethan. He was already reading another set of documents, calm and detached, as if none of this concerned him. Anger rushed up so fast it made my vision blur. Of course he knew. He was Ethan Gray. He had seen right through this file the moment it touched his desk. Which meant he had let it happen. He had let Serena set me up because he wanted to watch me fail. He wanted me humiliated. He wanted me sent packing. My fingers tightened around the file until the edges bent. I was seconds away from throwing it back on his desk and walking out. Then something else rose up inside me. That old, stubborn thing I had built in the Blake household just to survive. Fine. If he was paying me, then I was going to make him regret underestimating me. I said nothing. I went back to the tiny desk, turned on the computer, and got to work. I dug through industry data. Pulled legal references. Rebuilt the cash flow line by line on scratch paper. Highlighted every suspicious clause in red. Made notes beside every contradiction. I forgot to drink water. Forgot to breathe normally. Forgot everything except the numbers in front of me. At 2:59 p.m., I dropped a marked-up report on Ethan’s desk. It was color-coded, blunt, and attached to three core questions and two alternative solutions. It was probably crude by professional standards. But it was everything I had. I stood there, chest heaving from exhaustion and nerves, and waited for judgment. He didn’t even glance at the report. He looked straight at my face instead. At my bloodshot eyes. At my trembling mouth. And then, in a tone that had nothing to do with the file in front of him, he asked: “What exactly did you major in?”
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