Chapter 1:
The rain had stopped, but Eden Blake's sneakers were already soaked. She weaved through cabs on Lexington Avenue, gripping the soggy brown paper bag like it held gold instead of spicy miso ramen and under-tipped hope.
It was her third delivery this hour. Her twelfth of the day. She hadn't eaten since last night—just some leftover toast. Her stomach growled. Her shoulders ached. Her phone buzzed with another rejection from the hospital billing department.
She didn't bother checking it.
The address glowed on her screen:
The Arcadia Grand Hotel, 110th floor.
"Holy f*ck," she muttered. "Who eats ramen on the 110th floor?"
She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until the doorman gave her a raised brow.
"Delivery entrance's around back, sweetheart."
Eden faked a smile she didn't mean and nodded. She knew her place. She always had.
The service elevator groaned as it climbed. Her reflection in the scratched metal stared back: tangled hair, hoodie two sizes too big, leggings with paint stains, sneakers with a peeling sole.
Eden Blake. Artist. Hustler. Broke. Invisible.
When the elevator doors opened, she expected a hallway.
What she got was a sea of chandeliers and champagne.
Her eyes widened.
No f*cking way.
This wasn't a regular hotel floor. It was a ballroom—gold-trimmed, massive, glittering. People moved like swans in gowns and tuxedos, sipping wine, laughing softly beneath diamond necklaces. A string quartet hummed in the background.
She froze, the ramen bag sweating in her hand.
No one even looked at her. Not like she didn't belong—but like she didn't exist.
"Hey! You can't be in here!"
A man's voice rang out, sharp and entitled.
Eden turned, heart pounding, searching for any sign of where she was supposed to be.
Then a voice cut through the noise—calm, commanding, deadly cool.
"Let her stay."
The room shifted.
Heads turned.
Eyes locked.
And that's when she saw him.
Cassian Wolfe.
He stood like he ruled gravity. Six-foot-something of expensive tailoring and unbothered power. Jet-black hair slicked back. Shadowed jawline. Eyes like obsidian—cold, watchful. Dangerous.
He wasn't just a man. He was a warning wrapped in wealth.
And he was looking straight at her.
He rose from his seat and walked toward her.
"You're in the wrong place," he said.
Eden's breath caught. Her mouth went dry. She held up the delivery bag like a shield.
"I—I have ramen. For a Mr. Levingston? I think I got off on the wrong floor."
Cassian stopped just a foot away. The air between them crackled.
"You just saved my night," he said.
"With noodles?" she asked, blinking.
"With timing."
Before she could ask what that meant, he tilted his head.
"Come with me."
"What? No—I have another job after this. I can't—"
"How much do you make in a night?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your rate. Give me a number."
"That's none of your business."
He arched a brow. "Five thousand dollars. One hour. Pretend to be my date."
Eden stared at him. "Is this a joke?"
"I don't joke. And I don't waste money unless it matters."
"Why me?"
"Because you look like someone no one expects. And I need someone... unpredictable."
She should've walked away.
But she remembered her mother's hospital bills. The landlord's calls. Her overdrafted account.
"You have it in cash?"
Cassian reached into his coat. "Of course."
Her heart hammered. Against every instinct, she followed him into the crowd. He slipped an arm around her waist—warm, steady. His cologne was expensive: clean, smoky, masculine.
People stared. Whispers spread. Eden kept her chin up.
At least, she thought, the ramen was still warm.
He led her to a private suite on the upper floor. The Manhattan skyline burned in gold and crimson behind the glass.
She crossed her arms. "What now?"
Cassian turned toward her. "We talk. Sip champagne. You laugh at my terrible jokes. And you act like you've been in love with me for years."
"You've got an ex watching, don't you?"
"One in particular. She won't believe this. That's why I want her to."
"So I'm your decoy?"
"You're my illusion."
"And if I screw it up?"
He leaned in, lips near her ear. "Then improvise. Convince me."
The door slammed open.
A tall blonde stormed in—heels like gunshots, eyes like daggers.
Verena Sterling.
Eden recognized her instantly. Tabloid royalty. Heiress. Once engaged to Cassian Wolfe.
"Cass," Verena purred, her smile razor-sharp. "Who's this?"
Cassian didn't blink. "Eden Blake. My fiancée."
Time slowed.
Eden choked on her champagne. Verena's eyes narrowed.
"Funny. I never saw the announcement."
Eden smiled sweetly. "He proposed last week. On a rooftop. Rose petals. Fireworks."
Cassian added, "She said yes before I finished the sentence."
Verena's smile turned to stone. "Congratulations. I hope she knows what she's getting into."
She turned and sauntered out, leaving poison and perfume in her wake.
Eden turned to Cassian. "Are you insane?"
"She'll dig now. Try to destroy you. We let her."
"Why?"
"Because she destroyed someone else. And it's time she learns what that feels like."
He walked to a drawer, pulled out a velvet pouch, and dropped it into her hand.
Inside sat a diamond ring the size of a marble.
"Put it on," he said.
"You said one hour."
"I changed my mind. One month."
"You can't just buy someone's life."
He stepped closer. "No. But I can rent it. And you need me more than you want to admit."
"This is insane."
"This is a deal. And I always honor mine."
"What do you get out of it?"
He smiled faintly. "Closure."
---
That night, Eden walked out of the Arcadia Grand with five thousand dollars in cash and the weight of something bigger pressing on her chest.
She should walk away.
But one month of pretending could pay for her mother's treatment. Could buy her time. Freedom.
Cassian Wolfe wasn't just offering money.
He was offering a cage made of silk.
And she'd just stepped inside.