FORTUNE SECRETS WITH THE BILLIONAIRE

he bathroom sink at 6:47 a.m., two

e hair still damp from the shower she'd rushed through between her night shift at the Rothschild estate and her morning shift at the Morrison penthouse. And pregnant. Pregnan

her's weak voice drifted through the thi

door to their cramped studio. The morning light filtering through the single window illuminated her mother's ga

pancreatic cancer. Six months, maybe, without the experimental treatment that insu

er mother's thin hand squeezed

or five years, ever since she'd fled her old life and

Morrison house: *Don't bother coming in. Mrs. Morr

dollars a month, gone. She had three hundred

r mother's forehead, tasting the salt of her

he elevator had been broken for a month. The October morning bit through her thin jacket as she emerged onto the Queens street

nce, but Ivy's phone buzzed again before

el

Crawford, personal attorney for Damien Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood would like

built Blackwood Industries into a twenty-billion-dollar empire through sheer ruthlessness. She'd seen hi

t under

ine o'clock. Don't be la

rner, sleek and predatory. The driver's window lowe

of her mother's medication, the bills piling up, the positive pregnancy test in her pocket. She thought of Carter, who hadn't returne

car. She opened th

ic, crossing the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan. Ivy watched the city transform around her, the struggl

lass and steel monolith that reflected the clouds. The driver o

evator bank, aware of the security guard's eyes tracking her, aware of how obviously she didn't belong. The elevator r

m. Minimalist furniture, abstract art that probably cost more than h

d, and Ivy's breath ca

arble. Sharp cheekbones, a jaw that suggested violence barely restrained, and eyes the color of smoke-gray with hints of blue, cold and assessing. He wore a

nce-deep, controlled, with an edge that sugg

s from his desk, spine straight, chin up. She'd

rge to fidget under that penetrating stare. Finally

s at the party where she'd met Carter. And beneath them, documents-her real birth certificate, the one tha

turned to

an who embezzled twelve million dollars from campaign donors and fled the country. You were twenty-one when the scandal broke, attending Columbia on a scholarship. After your father disappeared and your mothe

hed in her lap. "

h a child on the way before my thirty-fifth birthday-which is eleven months and two weeks from today-or control of Blackwood Industries transfers to my cousin Victor. M

hat this has t

u a contract marriage. You will act as my wife for one year, produce the heir required by my grandmother's will, and at the end of twelve months, you'

er mother's treatment. A future that wasn

ant," she said. "W

the child was conceived through IVF after our marriage. No one will question it. You'll sign an NDA preventing you fr

t to buy

k angel surveying his domain. "Let me be clear, Miss Sutton. I don't believe in love. I don't believe in marriage. I believe in transactions, and thi

at if I

er dies slowly because you can't afford to save her. Carter will deny the child is his-I'll make certain of it. You'll raise a baby alone in poverty, watching your mother fad

refrigerator, the positive pregnancy test. She thought of the girl she'd been five years ago,

, and maintain the appearance of a legitimate marriage. In private, we'll have separate bedrooms and separate lives. No intimacy beyo

about

a spoiled child who's been coasting on the family name his entire lif

them scrambling for their piece of the dream. She'd been scrambling for five years, running from her past, try

immediately. Full funding, best doctors, no matter what. Even if I-" S

eatment begins today. I've already contacted Mou

him. "You were that

tunity when you see one." He held out the pen. "The

ay gaze-not warmth, but recognition. Two people who'd learned that the worl

ways she'd hidden and survived. One more lie.

Her Columbia education, cut short but not forgotten, served her well. The terms were clear: one year, ten million dollars, discretion guarant

l name, Ivy Sutton, on official documents. The police statement after her father disappeared. The hospital admission

t that gi

he contract. She signed away twelve months of her life to a man who looked at her like a busi

hers for just a moment. The touch was electric, and Ivy jerked h

rrow. The wedding will take place in two weeks-my grandmother's will requires a legally binding marriage, n

vy's voice cra

me he has to cause problems. We need to present a united, legally sound front immediately." He glanced up, and for the first time, something almost human flic

e of an hour, she'd gone from fired housekeeper to contracted wife of a billionaire. Fro

s moment forward, you are Ivy Monroe, my fiancée. The woman you used to be no longer exists. If your past come

. Ivy nodded once, n

Damien's voice stopped

ooked

ou're a survivor, Miss Monroe. Because you understand that sometimes we have to become s

every ounce of defiance she had left. "I'

ps, there and gone so fast she mi

inst the wall, her hands shaking. She pulled out her phon

tors here said I'm being transferred to Mount Sinai? They said my

"I got a new job. A really good one

In the twisted, complicated way th

he'd just agreed to enter waiting for her return. She thought about Damien Blackwood's cold eyes and colder terms. S

ce and truth. That girl was dead. In her place was Ivy Monroe, survivor and liar, about

lat stomach, feeling the weight of

baby, to herself, to the ghost of

for cancer treatment or put food on the table or

ew hours, she'd leave this place forever, stepping into a world of penthouses and private jets and

is deception, she'd have to find a

had o