Islafaye001

She grew up with nothing—no parents, no home, no love. Forced to endure years under the roof of an abusive aunt, she finally broke free at twenty-two, only to find herself with nowhere to go. By day, she worked at a quaint bookstore, losing herself in the pages of novels she could never afford. By night, she hid among the shelves, sleeping on the cold floor, terrified of being discovered.

Then he walked in.

He was a man who had everything—wealth, power, and a name that commanded respect. But behind his cold, unreadable gaze was a burden he couldn’t escape. His family demanded that he find a wife and produce an heir, or he would lose the empire he had built from the ground up.

Their worlds should never have collided.

But a setup, a locked hotel room, and one well-timed scandal changed everything.

With cameras flashing and rumors spiraling, he saw an opportunity. She was desperate for stability, and he needed a bride who wouldn’t fall in love and complicate things. His proposal was simple: pretend to be his fiancée for a year, and in return, he’d provide her with a home, security, and a future.

For a girl who had spent her life just trying to survive, it was the perfect deal. But as the lines between duty and desire blurred, she realized that the most dangerous part of their arrangement wasn’t the contract—it was the man she was bound to.

Because beneath his icy exterior, something was broken. And against all logic, she wanted to be the one to fix it.

The Silent Accord

The man took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking softly against the wooden floor.

Eleanor instinctively stiffened. There was something about him—an effortless authority that made people take notice. It wasn't just his expensive black suit, which looked as if it had never seen a wrinkle. Nor was it the way he carried himself, shoulders squared and chin lifted, exuding quiet confidence. It was his presence: a kind of unshaken calm, like a man who had never once been told no.

He didn't belong here—not in this bookstore, not in this part of the city.

"Apologies," he said, his voice smooth, deep, and deliberate. "I didn't realize you were closing."

Eleanor's fingers curled into her sleeves. It wasn't the words themselves, but the way he said them—like he wasn't actually apologizing.

"It's fine," she said warily, glancing at the clock. "But we're not open this late."

He didn't move, didn't fidget, or shift like most customers would. Instead, his dark eyes swept over the store, taking in the shelves lined with secondhand books, the cozy reading nook near the back, and the dim lighting that cast long, soft shadows.

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a request.

Eleanor hesitated. Something about him unsettled her—not fear, exactly, but an acute awareness, as if he could see more than she wanted him to.

Still, she had no real reason to turn him away.

"Alright," she relented, crossing her arms. "What are you looking for?"

His gaze settled on her, studying her in a way that made her want to shift under its weight. "A recommendation."

"For a book?" she asked, caught off guard.

The corner of his mouth lifted—just slightly. "That is what bookstores sell, isn't it?"

Heat crept up her neck. "Of course. I just—never mind."

She turned, scanning the shelves as if the perfect book would leap out at her. What would someone like him read? Business? Finance? Something sharp and calculating, like the man himself?

Her fingers brushed over a worn copy of *The Picture of Dorian Gray*. She hesitated, then pulled it from the shelf and turned back to him.

He raised a brow as he took it. "Interesting choice."

"You seem like someone who appreciates stories about control and consequence."

His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity?

She swallowed, suddenly self-conscious. "I could be wrong."

His lips twitched, just barely. "I suppose I'll find out."

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a sleek black wallet and slipped out a bill. He extended it to her, but as soon as her eyes landed on it, her stomach tightened.

It was too much—far more than the price of the book.

"I—I can't accept this," she stammered.

His expression remained unreadable. "Consider it a tip."

A strange mix of emotions tightened in her chest—gratitude, embarrassment, frustration. She didn't like handouts. She had spent too much of her life being pitied and treated like a charity case.

"I don't take charity," she said, her voice quieter but firm.

Something changed in his gaze then. Not annoyance. Not surprise. Something else.

After a moment, he gave a small nod, retracting the bill and replacing it with the exact amount.

He turned toward the door, and she exhaled softly, relief washing over her. But just before stepping out, he paused.

She hesitated. She didn't owe him an answer. But something about the way he asked—not demanding, just... expectant—made her say,

He held her gaze for a beat, then nodded. "See you around, Eleanor."

The door swung shut behind him, the chime of the bell lingering in the still air.

Eleanor stood frozen, gripping the counter as if to steady herself.

She told herself he wouldn't be back.

Chapter 2: The Mysterious Customer