Ayelet sat on the cold, damp ground, her knees pulled close to her chest as she stared blankly at the grave in front of her.

The wind howled through the cemetery, ruffling her hair, but she felt nothing—not the chill, not the pain in her legs from sitting too long.

Her father was gone.

Her only family, her only support, the one person who had loved her unconditionally. Now she had no one.

Her fingers traced the engraved letters of his name, her vision blurring as fresh tears welled in her eyes.

She wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice just one more time.

But all she had left were memories—memories that tore her apart instead of bringing comfort.

Suddenly, the stillness of the moment was broken by the low hum of approaching engines.

Her body tensed as she lifted her head, squinting against the blinding headlights.

A convoy of black SUVs rolled in, surrounding her in a semi-circle. And then, in the middle of them, a sleek black McLaren with a silver trim came to a stop. It gleamed under the cemetery lights, a stark contrast to the lifeless setting.

She barely had time to react before the driver’s door opened. A polished black shoe stepped out, followed by another. The shine of a Louis Vuitton Manhattan Richelieu shoes was unmistakable. Her breath caught as the man finally emerged, his presence exuding authority. The bodyguards flanking him immediately stepped aside, giving him space. And then, he walked towards her—slow, deliberate, powerful.

Ayelet felt her heart hammering in her chest. She knew this face. She had seen him before.

Somewhere.

But she couldn’t place it, and trying to recall only made her head throb. So, she forced the thought aside and focused on the present.

He came to a halt in front of her, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored black coat.

The dim cemetery lights cast shadows over his chiseled face, making his sharp eyes even more unreadable.

“I have a proposition for you,” his deep voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Ayelet’s throat went dry. A proposition? What could a man like him possibly want from her?

Seeing her hesitation, he smirked faintly and continued. “I need a wife. And you… need a way out.”

She blinked, her body stiffening. “What?”

“I’ll erase all your debts. Every last one. In return, you’ll be my wife.”

Ayelet’s world seemed to tilt for a moment.

Her mind went blank, and her lips parted, but no words came out.

What kind of sick joke was this?

Her father had just been buried, and now this man was offering her a deal she couldn't even begin to process.

Snap.

A sharp sound jolted her out of her daze. He had snapped his fingers.

Her eyes met his, and she could see the amusement dancing in them.

He was enjoying this—watching her struggle with his words, watching her battle between logic and desperation

She swallowed hard. "Why… Why would you do this for me? What do you get out of it?"

"Does it matter? Take the deal or leave it. I have my reasons. Just know you won’t get a better offer."

She debates whether to dig deeper but is already overwhelmed. She still stays, "I need time to think," but it's followed by hesitance, uncertainty, and an attempt to read his expression.

He held her gaze for a moment before pulling his address from his coat pocket and slipping it between her fingers. “Don’t take too long.”

Then, without another word, he turned around and walked back to his car, his bodyguards immediately falling into step behind him.

Within seconds, the engines roared to life, and the fleet of cars vanished, leaving Ayelet in stunned silence.

The fleet of cars disappeared down the road, leaving her standing there, gripping the card like it was a ticking time bomb.

                       ************************************

Ayelet tried to push the encounter out of her mind as she headed to work. She needed normalcy, to focus on something other than the madness of the past few days.

The café bustled with its usual warmth, the scent of fresh coffee grounding her as she forced a smile and handed drinks to customers. She buried her grief deep, pretending that everything was fine, but every laugh she faked felt like a dagger twisting in her chest.

By the time her shift ended, exhaustion weighed on her, but nothing could have prepared her for what was waiting at home.

The moment she stepped into her apartment, her landlord was already inside, seated on her couch like he owned it—like he owned her.

"You're late on your payments," he said smoothly, standing up as she froze in place.

"I told you I'd get the money soon," she answered, gripping the strap of her bag tighter.

His gaze roamed over her, and a sickening smirk spread across his face. "Oh, sweetheart. You don’t have money, but you have something else that can pay the rent."

Her stomach turned. "Get out."

"Come on, Babygirl," he purred, stepping closer, licking his lips. "You don’t have to struggle anymore. Just one night, and all your debts disappear."

Disgust and panic crashed over her. When she tried to run, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the couch. She screamed, kicked, struggled—anything to get free. The weight of his body pressing her down made her stomach churn in terror.

Desperation fueled her next move. Her hand flailed until she found the table lamp, and without hesitation, she swung it with all her strength.

CRACK.

The lamp shattered against his skull, making him stumble back with a pained grunt. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but his grip loosened—just enough for her to bolt.

She didn’t look back. She ran, and ran, and ran, the cold night air burning her lungs. By the time she stopped, her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto a street curb, burying her face in her knees as sobs wracked her body.

She had nowhere left to go.

But then, as her ragged breathing steadied, her fingers brushed against the card still clenched in her palm.

Her only option.

With no other choice, she wiped her tears and pushed herself up, making her way to the address on the card.

___________________________________________________________

A/N:-

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