It was just past midnight when Lia Hart's phone rang.
She sat alone on the edge of a creaky motel bed, wrapped in her oversized hoodie, trying to stay warm in the cold, damp room. The paint was peeling from the walls. The fan above her head clicked with every spin, like it was counting down time. She had barely eaten all day. Her phone had only 4% battery left.
And yet, when that unknown number flashed on her cracked screen, her hands froze.
Something inside her knew—this wasn't just a random call.It was fate.
Her fingers hovered over the answer button.She didn't want to pick up.
But she had no one else to call. No money. No family left. Nowhere to go.Only debt… only fear.
She slowly pressed accept and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Miss Hart," a deep male voice spoke. Calm. Low. Cold. "You have sixty seconds to decide whether you want to save your life."
Her eyes widened.
"W-What?" she breathed, heart racing.
"I suggest you don't waste time," the voice replied.
"Who are you?"
"You'll find out soon enough. But for now, know this: Your father owed me. And now I own you."
Lia's stomach twisted. Her voice broke. "My father is… dead."
"I know," the man said, unmoved. "But debt doesn't die with the man. It follows the bloodline. And right now, you're all that's left."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Please… I don't understand. What debt? Why are you saying this now?"
"I'm sending a car to pick you up. Be ready in fifteen minutes."
"Wait! Please, just tell me—"
The call ended.
Lia stared at the dark screen in shock. Her hand dropped to her lap.
Fifteen minutes?
Was this a joke?
She looked around her miserable room. The dusty curtains. The leaking ceiling. Her torn bag lying in the corner.
She had nothing to lose. And maybe, just maybe, something to gain.
Fifteen Minutes Later
A sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of the motel.
The driver stepped out in a dark suit, holding an umbrella.
"Miss Hart?" he asked in a firm voice.
Lia clutched her duffel bag and nodded.
He opened the door for her. She hesitated for just one second, then slid into the backseat.
The car's leather interior smelled like power and silence. It was warm. Safe. And terrifying.
She stared out the window, her thoughts racing.
Who was this man?
What did he mean—he owned her?
Was this some mistake?
But deep inside, she knew it wasn't.
Her father had always been in trouble—gambling, lying, hiding. He used to say he'd fixed everything. He used to say he'd protect her.He lied.
And now the past had come to collect.
One Hour Later
The car stopped in front of a massive tower in the heart of the city.
Lia had never seen anything so luxurious. The building sparkled under the rain like a mirror in the dark. It was surrounded by silence, as if the world itself bowed to whoever lived inside.
Security guards stood at the entrance. They nodded as if they'd been waiting for her.
She was guided to a private elevator. It rose with terrifying smoothness to the top floor.
When the doors opened, she stepped into a space that felt more like a palace than a penthouse—floor-to-ceiling windows, white marble floors, glowing lights, and silence thick with power.
And then she saw him.
He stood facing the glass wall, his back to her. He didn't move right away.
He didn't need to.
Even still, Lia felt the presence of someone who was used to controlling everything—and everyone.
He finally turned.
Zayn Knight.
She had seen his photo in business magazines. The youngest billionaire in the city. A cold-hearted genius. Ruthless. Private.Untouchable.
But no picture prepared her for the way his eyes sliced through her like ice.Steel-gray. Focused. Empty.
"Miss Hart," he said slowly, like he was testing her name on his tongue.
Lia swallowed. "Why… am I here?"
Zayn walked closer. His every step was quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Your father owed me two million dollars," he said without emotion. "He lost it. He signed over everything. Including his rights to future assets."
"I'm not an asset," she whispered.
He stared at her. "No. But you're the only thing left to claim."
Her voice shook. "I can't pay that kind of money."
"I know." He didn't blink. "Which is why I'm offering you a deal."
Lia backed up slightly. "What kind of deal?"
Zayn stopped in front of her. He was taller. Stronger. The room felt smaller now.
"You become my wife. For one year."
Her heart stopped.
"What…?"
"In public, we'll be married. The media will believe it. The world will believe it."
"In private…" his eyes darkened. "You will do what I say. No questions. No rules except mine."
Lia shook her head. "This is insane—this is—this is blackmail."
"No," he said coolly. "It's survival. You sign this contract, and you walk away after one year with ten million dollars."
"And if I don't?"
Zayn leaned in, just a little. "Then you'll spend the next ten years drowning in lawsuits. No job. No money. And a ruined name."
Tears filled her eyes. "Why me? Why are you doing this?"
His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
"Because I need a wife. And you… you're perfectly disposable."
The words cut deeper than a knife.
Zayn handed her a folder. A thick contract inside. Her hands trembled as she took it.
"You have twenty-four hours to decide," he said.
Lia turned and walked away.
That Night
She lay awake in the guest bedroom. The sheets were softer than anything she'd ever touched. But she felt no comfort.
She read the contract again and again.
No real marriage.
No emotional involvement.
Must appear as a real couple in public.
Must attend all events as his wife.
Must not speak of the contract to anyone.
After one year—divorce, silence, ten million.
One year of her life, in exchange for safety.
One year as a puppet for a man with no heart.
But outside this tower? There was only hunger. Fear. Darkness.
At least here, she had a chance.
Next Morning
Lia stepped into the dining room. Her knees were weak, but her chin was high.
Zayn sat at the head of the table, sipping black coffee and reading the news like nothing had happened.
"I'll sign," she said.
He looked up, calm as ever. "Good."
Lia clenched her fists. "But don't mistake this for obedience."
A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or interest.
"Of course not," Zayn said. "You're not here to obey. You're here to belong to me."