Chapter 1: The Man In The Glass Tower

I’ve never seen a man look so bored while offering someone twelve million dollars.

Koven Elrik Mavros sat across from me like a statue carved out of winter. The windows behind him stretched to the ceiling, showing off the skyline like he owned the whole damn city. Maybe he did. Maybe that’s why his office looked more like a glass kingdom than a workspace. cold, quiet, untouchable.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just watched me, like I was a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

I sat still, trying not to fidget. I hated that he made me feel small. I wore my most expensive dress, the one I saved for charity balls. My heels were sharp, my lipstick darker than usual. But next to him? I still felt... exposed.

“I read the contract,” I said.

“And?”

I tilted my head. “You want me to be your wife. In public. For a year.”

“Correct.”

“In return, you clear my name, give me back my life, and pay me twelve million?”

He nodded once.

I let out a breath, short and sharp. “Why me?”

“You’re convenient.”

I wanted to throw something at him.

Instead, I leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “You want convenience? Hire an actress.”

“You’re not an actress.”

“I’m a scandal.”

His jaw flexed. “Exactly.”

I blinked.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand lazily draped over the armrest. “You’ve already been dragged through the mud. You’re used to cameras. You know how to pretend. That’s useful to me.”

“And what do you get in return, Koven?”

His name tasted bitter. Like secrets and steel.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at me, eyes unreadable. Then he said, “A wife. On paper. That’s all you need to know.”

I hated him. Not because he was cruel. But because he was calm. Detached. Like he didn’t care whether I said yes or no. Like he already knew I would.

And maybe I would.

Because I was running out of options. And this man, this cold, terrifying man was offering a lifeline wrapped in thorns.

I folded my arms. “No intimacy?”

“Unless mutually agreed upon.”

His voice was like ice breaking over concrete. Smooth, but dangerous.

“And after a year?”

“We file for divorce. Clean. Quiet. No drama.”

I laughed under my breath. “Everything about you screams drama.”

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of a smile.

I hated that even more.

“Why twelve months?” I asked.

“Because thirteen would be unlucky.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He stared at me. Unblinking. Serious.

I looked down at the contract again. My name. His name. The date. The clauses. Everything legal. Everything binding.

“This is insane,” I muttered.

“No,” he said. “This is business.”

I stood. “I’ll think about it.”

“You have until midnight.”

I froze. “Midnight?”

He looked at his watch, then back at me. “You want your name back, Zephyra Corvan? This is the cost.”

I hated how his name sounded when he said mine. Like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

I grabbed my purse and walked to the elevator. Didn’t look back. Not even once.

But as the doors closed and I caught his reflection in the glass, I realized something.

Koven Elrik Mavros didn’t just want a wife.

He wanted control.

And he was offering me the chance to sell myself wrapped in silk and shame.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I stared at the ceiling of my hotel room, contract open beside me, fingers tracing every line.

My reputation was gone. My family cut me off. My sister didn’t answer my calls. And the press? They’d already decided I was a villain in a dress.

Twelve months.

Twelve million.

One year of pretending to love a man who didn’t even know how to smile.

At 11:47 PM, I picked up the pen.

By 11:59, I signed.

And by midnight, I was no longer Zephyra Corvan.

I was Zephyra Corvan-Mavros.

A name I didn’t earn.

A life I didn’t choose.

The next morning, I stood outside his tower again.

My dress was black this time. Sleek. Unapologetic. Like armor.

The receptionist didn’t even blink as I stepped into the private elevator. Everyone in this building probably knew already. The man upstairs had claimed another piece of the city and I was part of the bargain.

When the elevator doors opened, he was waiting.

Not with flowers.

Not with a smile.

Just a nod, and the same bored expression from the night before.

“I’ve arranged a public appearance,” he said.

“Where?”

“A gallery opening. You’ll wear red.”

“Why?”

He looked at me. “Because people remember red.”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I crossed my arms. “You’re very sure I’ll follow orders.”

He stepped closer, eyes flicking down my face like he was reading secrets I hadn’t written yet.

“I didn’t choose you for obedience,” he said.

“Then what did you choose me for?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the real answer wasn’t something he could say in words.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it anyway.

The gallery was crowded. Lights. Cameras. Flash after flash. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the new Mrs. Mavros.

I walked beside him, hand on his arm, smile perfectly measured.

He said nothing.

But the way he held me was tight enough to bruise, soft enough to pass for affection and made my spine stiffen.

He was acting.

And he was good at it.

We posed. We nodded. We greeted names I didn’t remember.

And then, as the cameras kept clicking, he leaned in and whispered near my ear.

“Smile wider. They’re watching.”

I obeyed.

Because in that moment, I wasn’t a woman.

I was a product.

Pretty. Packaged. Sold.

Later that night, back in the penthouse, I peeled off the red dress like it was skin I didn’t want to wear anymore.

Koven poured himself a drink in the corner, still in his black suit. Still unbothered.

“You did well,” he said.

I turned to him, barefoot on marble, hair falling loose.

“This isn’t real,” I said.

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like you care if I perform.”

He sipped his drink. “This marriage depends on public belief. If you fail, you lose the payout.”

“And if you fail?”

“I never do.”

I walked past him, heading for the stairs.

“You’re arrogant,” I said.

“You’re broke.”

I paused mid-step.

He didn’t apologize.

He didn’t even blink.

I walked to my room, slammed the door, and cried into my pillow quietly, so he wouldn’t hear.

Not because of what he said.

But because he wasn’t wrong.

That night, I dreamed of fire.

Of a wedding without love. Of a man with blood on his hands and secrets in his eyes.

And somewhere in the middle of it all...

I saw myself.

Smiling.

While falling apart.

And when I woke up, I realized something terrifying.

This contract?

It wasn’t the beginning of my recovery.

It was the start of my unraveling.