Chapter 4 4

The elevator hummed softly as it descended, but Ivy's thoughts were anything but quiet. Her mind raced, replaying every word, every smirk, every veiled threat from Gregory and Sebastian. The weight of what she'd agreed to sank deeper into her chest with every floor that ticked past. This wasn't just a game of corporate power or family manipulation-this was her life now, tethered to a man she didn't trust and a family she despised.

When the doors slid open into the lavish marble lobby of Hale Enterprises, Ivy stepped out with purposeful strides. She could feel the stares from employees-polished men in suits, women in designer dresses-all of them aware she wasn't a part of this world. Not really. And yet, she was about to be thrust into the center of it.

The receptionist, a sleek woman with a glossy bob and a professional smile, glanced up from her desk. "Miss Collins," she said, her voice crisp and efficient. "Do you need me to call a car for you?"

"No, thanks," Ivy replied, keeping her tone curt as she headed for the exit.

As soon as she stepped outside, the warm California sun hit her skin, a sharp contrast to the chill of the Hales' oppressive atmosphere. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. But her phone buzzed in her bag, pulling her back to reality. She fished it out, glancing at the screen.

It was an email from her editor.

Subject: Update on Hale Story

Ivy,

Any progress on the exposé? I need something solid by the end of the week. The higher-ups are getting antsy, and we need to deliver before someone else scoops us. Let me know.

-David

Ivy groaned inwardly. The exposé. That was the whole reason she had walked into the lion's den to begin with. The truth about the Hales-their shady dealings, their backroom power plays-was a story she had been chasing for months. And now, she was caught in their web, not as a journalist, but as a pawn.

Her thumb hovered over the reply button, but she hesitated. What could she even say? That she'd been blackmailed into pretending to marry Sebastian Hale, the very man she had been investigating? That she was now bound to the family she had sworn to expose?

She shoved the phone back into her bag and started walking. She needed time to think, space to breathe. But as she rounded the corner, a sleek black car pulled up beside her, its tinted window rolling down.

"Get in," came Sebastian's smooth, commanding voice.

Ivy stopped, her fists clenching at her sides. "Are you stalking me now?"

He leaned slightly toward the open window, his expression as infuriatingly calm as ever. "We have things to discuss. And I don't have the patience to wait for you to come to your senses."

"Maybe I don't want to talk," she shot back.

"Too bad," he replied, his tone clipped. "Because this isn't just about you. If we're going to make this charade convincing, we need to start now. So get in."

She glared at him, debating whether it was worth causing a scene on the sidewalk. But the truth was, he was right. As much as she hated it, they needed to be on the same page if they were going to pull this off.

Reluctantly, she opened the door and slid into the leather seat. The interior smelled of polished wood and expensive cologne, the kind of luxury that screamed Hale.

"Where are we going?" she asked, crossing her arms as the car pulled away from the curb.

"To discuss logistics," he said, tapping something on his phone. "We need to figure out how this is going to work, what our story is, and how to deal with the inevitable media frenzy."

"Logistics," she repeated with a scoff. "Is that what you call this mess?"

Sebastian glanced at her, his piercing blue eyes as cold as ever. "Call it whatever you want, Ivy. But if we don't get this right, my father will chew us both up and spit us out. So maybe save the snark for later."

She bristled at his tone but bit her tongue. For now.

The car pulled into a private driveway, leading to a sleek, modern house perched on a hill. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcased a stunning view of the city below, but Ivy couldn't care less about the scenery.

"Is this your place?" she asked as the car came to a stop.

"Yes," he said simply, stepping out and waiting for her to follow.

She hesitated for a moment, then climbed out, her heels clicking against the polished concrete. As they entered the house, the cool air inside was a welcome relief, though it did little to ease her tension.

Sebastian gestured for her to sit in the sunken living room, but she remained standing, her arms still crossed.

"Let's get one thing straight," she said, her voice firm. "I'm not moving in here. I don't care how convincing we need to be-I'm not giving up my life for this."

He arched an eyebrow. "Relax. No one's asking you to move in. But we will need to spend time together. Enough to make people believe we're actually a couple."

"Wonderful," she muttered sarcastically. "This just keeps getting better."

Sebastian smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Look, Ivy, neither of us wants this. But if we play our cards right, we can get through it without completely losing our minds. Or our freedom."

She studied him for a moment, trying to decipher whether there was any sincerity behind his words. Finally, she sighed and sat down, her posture tense.

"Fine," she said. "Let's talk logistics."

For the next hour, they hashed out the details-how they met (a chance encounter at a charity gala), their "whirlwind romance," the engagement. Sebastian even insisted on creating a shared calendar to coordinate public appearances, which Ivy found both absurd and disturbingly efficient.

By the time they were done, her head was spinning, and she felt no closer to understanding the man sitting across from her. But one thing was clear: this wasn't just a marriage of convenience. It was a high-stakes gamble with everything on the line.

And Ivy wasn't sure if either of them would make it out unscathed.