Chapter 2 THE DEVIL IN A SUIT

Camille's point of view

Blackwood Tower loomed like a glass-and-steel fortress in the heart of Manhattan, stabbing the sky with its arrogance. The sun reflected harshly off its mirrored panels, blinding me as we stepped out of the taxi. The building's shadow swallowed us whole, casting a chill I couldn't shake,even in the middle of spring.

"This is it," Dad said beside me, adjusting the cuffs of his frayed suit jacket like it would make a difference. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale beneath his once-warm complexion. I could see the toll this mess had taken on him. Guilt clung to him like cologne.

I clenched my jaw and looked up again. "Why do I feel like we're walking into a trap?"

"Because we are," he muttered.

The lobby of Blackwood Tower was all glass, marble, and whispers. Polished floors reflected the sharp heels and tailored suits of the elite, none of whom spared us more than a glance. A cold air hummed through the space,clinical, intentional, like even the temperature was designed to intimidate.

A woman in a charcoal pencil skirt approached. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. This way."

We followed her past a long hallway of floor-to-ceiling windows, then into a private elevator that required a keycard. The doors closed with a metallic hiss, and my stomach twisted the higher we climbed. I counted the floors-twenty-two... thirty-four... forty-five... until we stopped at sixty-two.

The elevator dinged softly. The doors opened to reveal a sleek, cavernous office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of Manhattan. Power radiated from every inch of the room.

And then I saw him.

Sebastian Blackwood.

He stood with his back to us, staring out at the city like he owned every inch of it,which, judging by the way people spoke about him, he probably did.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably dressed in a black suit tailored to perfection. His jet-black hair was slicked back, and the profile of his face,sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and an expression carved from ice,made him look like a villain straight out of a fairytale.

"Mr. Hayes," he said without turning around. "And Miss Camille Hayes. Thank you for your punctuality."

His voice was smooth and deliberate, like a man who never needed to raise it to get what he wanted.

He finally turned to face us, his eyes,gray and unreadable,locking onto mine.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

There was no warmth in them. No curiosity. Just calculation. Like he was assessing me for flaws, mentally appraising my worth the way one might examine a car before signing the papers.

"Please," he gestured toward the leather chairs near the window. "Sit."

Dad obeyed instantly. I hesitated, but then followed, my spine straight, chin lifted. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of shrinking.

Sebastian took his time crossing the room. He sat across from us, folding his hands on the desk, and offered a tight, humorless smile.

"Let's get to the point," he said. "Mr. Hayes, your company's collapse is a PR disaster waiting to happen. The media is already circling, and if your name goes down in flames, it drags mine with it."

My brows furrowed. "Why does it affect you?"

He looked at me then, eyes narrowing. "Because I am acquiring several of the companies your firm had stakes in. Your scandal would reflect poorly on my board and create chaos in the market."

"So this isn't about saving us," I said, bitterly. "It's about saving your portfolio."

"Precisely." He didn't even blink.

I turned to my father, stunned. "You knew this?"

He looked down, unable to meet my gaze. "I knew he had an interest. I didn't know the extent."

Sebastian reached into a drawer and pulled out a black folder. He slid it across the table toward me.

"In there," he said, "is a marriage contract. You'll find it's been vetted by my lawyers and yours."

"Mine?" I asked, incredulous.

"I hired one on your behalf." He said it like he was doing me a favor.

I opened the folder. My eyes scanned over clauses and legal jargon: Term of one year, non-disclosure agreements, public appearances required, annulment at term-end, no legal claims to assets...

"This is insane," I muttered.

"You marry me," he said smoothly, "and in return, your father's debts disappear. His name gets cleared. I'll ensure the media spins this as a merger between two families,romantic, strategic, clean. You get to walk away after a year, debt-free and scandal-free."

I slammed the folder shut. "You want me to sell myself to you for a business transaction."

He leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed. "I want a quiet, obedient wife who will play her role in public. Nothing more. No expectations behind closed doors."

"You're disgusting."

He shrugged. "That's subjective. But I'm a realist. And realism wins in my world, Miss Hayes."

I turned to Dad, heart pounding. "You brought me here to pimp me out?"

"No!" he said quickly, standing. "Camille, I didn't know it would be like this. I thought, I hoped,maybe he actually wanted a marriage, not... whatever this is."

Sebastian stood too, his posture calm and composed. "You can walk out of here if you want. But make no mistake,if you do, I won't lift a finger when the press tears your father apart. They'll freeze every asset, investigate every account, and you, Miss Hayes, will be subpoenaed before you even graduate."

I couldn't believe the coldness in his voice. The sheer audacity. The power.

He was holding a gun to our heads,and dressing it in legal paperwork.

"I'm not some chess piece," I snapped. "You don't get to play God with people's lives just because you have money."

"I'm not playing God," he replied. "I'm simply offering an option no one else can."

I pushed the chair back, standing abruptly. "I'd rather scrub toilets for the rest of my life than marry a manipulative bastard like you."

"I admire your passion," he said coolly. "But it won't pay the bills."

I stormed toward the door, my father calling after me, but I didn't stop. The air in that room felt toxic, suffocating. My hands trembled as I shoved the elevator button.

The second the doors slid open, I stepped inside, heart racing. The walls seemed to close in with every passing floor, his voice echoing in my ears.

"I want a quiet, obedient wife."

Like hell.

I reached the ground floor and stormed out into the lobby, weaving between suits and heels and the scent of polished wealth.

And then-

I collided with someone.

Hard.

"Watch where you're-"

The words died in my throat as I looked up.

The woman was stunning,tall, slim, with icy blonde hair pulled into a sleek bun. Her heels clicked as she took a step back, one manicured hand brushing invisible dust off her blazer.

Then her eyes locked onto mine.

Cold. Amused. Dangerous.

"You must be the new one," she said, voice dripping with venom. "Poor thing."

I frowned. "Excuse me?"

Her smirk widened. "You're not the first girl Sebastian's used. And trust me..." she leaned in slightly, her perfume sharp and expensive, "you won't be the last."

My stomach dropped.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Vanessa Sloan," she said smoothly. "Former fiancée."

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me standing in the center of the lobby with one thought pounding in my mind like a warning bell.

What the hell did I just get myself into?