Chapter One:The Offer I Couldn't Refuse

IRA'S POV

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this office, not in this building, and certainly not sitting across from Aarav Blackwood—the man who made headlines with every breath he took. He was every inch the tycoon the media painted him to be. Cold, sharp and impossibly composed, the kind of man who didn’t have time to blink, let alone entertain small talk .

I was here because I was desperate.

The contract lay in front of me like a loaded weapon. Legal jargon blurred in my vision as I scanned it for the hundredth time. Marriage, One year, no strings, no expectations, and absolutely no room for emotion.

He needed a wife to fulfill a clause in his late grandfather’s will while I needed money to keep my father breathing and our lives intact.

"You’ll be well compensated," he said with a stiff voice "£75,000 will be paid every month and a clean break at the end of the year. No obligations beyond appearances."

His stiff cold words made me tremble. "Why me?"

He didn’t look up from his tablet. "Because you're not in love with me. That makes this... safe."

That stung. Not because I wanted to be in love with him—God, no. But because he said it with such dismissive certainty. As if love was a virus and I was immune.

Maybe I was. Life had hardened me too much to entertain fantasies.

Still, the absurdity of it clawed at me. "And if I say no?"

"You walk out. We never speak again. And I find someone else." He finally met my eyes, there was something unreadable flickering in those deep eyes of his.

" I think you’re smarter than that."

Smart or trapped.

I thought of my father, of the hospital bills piling up, the way his breath rattled at night when the medicine ran too low. I thought of my two waitressing jobs, the constant exhaustion, the weight of the world pressing harder each day.

I picked up the pen.

My signature felt like a betrayal of love.....of dreams.....Of every version of myself that once believed in fairytales. But survival didn’t leave space for softness.

He stood as soon as I did, already dismissing the moment like a business transaction. "We'll move into the penthouse next week. There'll be media coverage. Stay discreet. You'll be briefed by my PR team."

"You make it sound so romantic," I muttered before I could stop myself.

His lips twitched. Not a smile—God forbid—but something close. "Romance isn’t part of the deal."

As I stepped into the elevator, with the damn contract in hand, my heart thundered. Not with excitement......Not even fear. Just a strange, hollow acceptance.

This was it.

My wedding would come with no white dress, no flowers, no vows whispered under candlelight.

Just ink on paper.

And a man whose heart was made of stone.

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