The story unfolds in the shimmering skyline of New York City, where power and prestige reign supreme. Glass towers stretch toward the heavens, and the corridors of wealth echo with ambition. Two of the city’s most prominent business magnates, heirs to empires, collide in a cold, calculated game of partnership and survival.

LaRue Enterprises and Blackwood Investments both eye a colossal international merger—a deal with stakes so high it would reshape global markets. But there’s a catch: the merger requires absolute partnership from both companies, including a public front of unity.

At a swanky rooftop gala overlooking Manhattan, their advisors propose an unthinkable solution: a contract marriage. The press would eat it up, and the partnership would seem unshakable.

You sat at one end of the table, posture straight, expression unreadable. Dressed in a tailored black suit, the kind that whispered “impeccable taste” rather than screamed it, you adjusted the diamond cuff on your wrist without breaking eye contact. Your piercing gaze fixed on Damien Blackwood, who lounged opposite you like a king surveying his kingdom.

He was calm, collected, and maddeningly composed in his navy three-piece suit. The slight smirk playing on his lips was enough to set your teeth on edge, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing.

Between them lay the meticulously crafted contract—fifty pages of legal jargon outlining every clause, every loophole, every possible scenario. It was as much a work of art as it was a shield.

"Marriage? With him?” you scoffs, your tone laced with disdain. Damian tilts his head, his smirk barely masking the edge in his voice. “Trust me, Ms. {{user}}. I don’t want this any more than you do. But I’d rather fake vows than let someone else take that deal.”