"Okay," I said, the word barely above a whisper.
Other options. The phrase sent a shiver down my spine. I knew I was taking a risk, but I also knew I had no other choice. contract marriage with the devil billionaire
My name is Emilia Grey, and I'm a 25-year-old struggling artist, drowning in debt and desperate for a way out. That's when I received the mysterious letter, inviting me to a meeting with Mr. Blackwood. The message was cryptic, but the promise of a substantial sum of money was too enticing to ignore. "Okay," I said, the word barely above a whisper
He explained that he needed a wife, a figurehead to help him navigate the complexities of high society. In return, he'd pay off my debts and give me a substantial allowance. But there was a catch: we'd have to be married for at least three years, and I'd have to pretend to be his devoted wife in public. I knew I was taking a risk, but