My ex laughed the loudest as champagne soaked through my black dress, ran down my legs, and pooled inside my shoes while nearly forty people watched me burn with humiliation. Six months earlier, Damian had dumped me by text, coldly saying I no longer fit into his future—but apparently breaking my heart wasn’t enough for him. He wanted an audience when he humiliated me again. Then the ballroom doors opened, and the most feared man in New York walked in—and Damian had no idea who he had just embarrassed in front of him.

Julian led me through the stunned crowd, his arm wrapped securely around my waist. No one dared to step in our way. Event coordinators, billionaires, and waitstaff parted like the Red Sea as we walked through the grand mahogany doors of the Astor Grand Hotel and out into the crisp, rain-slicked New York night.

Parked directly in front of the hotel entrance was an obsidian-black Maybach with blacked-out windows. A driver in a crisp uniform immediately stepped forward, holding a grand black umbrella over us and opening the rear door.

Julian guided me inside the heated leather cabin before sliding in beside me. The door closed with a heavy, vacuum-sealed click, shutting out the noise of the city completely.

I sat on the edge of the leather seat, shivering slightly, the cold wet dress clinging to my skin.

"Here," Julian said softly.

He unbuttoned his custom tuxedo jacket, slid it off his broad shoulders, and draped it over my shivering frame. The heavy wool smelled intoxicating—a blend of expensive sandalwood, rain, and pure, refined authority.

"Why?" I finally blurted out, turning to look at him in the dim interior light of the car. "Mr. Mercer... why did you just do that? Why did you call me your fiancée?"

Julian leaned back against his seat, crossing one long leg over the other, his dark eyes studying me with intense fascination.

"Because you were about to let a parasite convince you that you were small, Ava," he replied calmly.

"I was going to handle it!" I protested, though my voice lacked conviction.

"You were going to absorb the humiliation, clean up the broken glass, and finish your shift because you needed the paycheck," Julian corrected softly. "You've been absorbing other people's damage for five years. I decided it was time someone absorbed it for you."

I stared at him, my mind spinning. "That doesn't explain the word fiancée. You just announced to the entire high-society political circuit that we are engaged! My boss, my friends, the press—everyone is going to be talking about this tomorrow! It's a lie!"

Julian reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold cigarette case, looked at me, and put it away without lighting one.

"It doesn't have to be a lie," Julian said quietly.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. "What?"

"I need a wife, Ava," Julian revealed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark gaze locking onto mine. "My grandfather's trust dictates that I must be married by my thirty-fifth birthday—which is in four months—in order to retain sixty percent of Mercer Holdings' voting shares. If I don't, my uncle Victor takes control of the board."

"Then marry an heiress!" I countered, bewildered. "Marry someone like Victoria Langford! Someone from your world!"

"An heiress brings political ties, greed, and an army of lawyers who will bleed my family dry," Julian countered flatly. "I don't need money. I don't need status. I need a woman with an iron spine, absolute loyalty, and zero interest in my fortune."