Isabel Jones stood outside the door, nerves wound tight, and rang the bell.
When the housekeeper opened it, surprise flickered across her face at the sight of Isabel—soaked, rumpled, barely put together. “Miss Jones...”
Isabel wasn't sure how much to explain, so she only nodded when the housekeeper ushered her in. “Come in, dear,” the woman said warmly, handing her a pair of slippers and a shawl. “Mr. Alexander's on a video call, but he told me to expect you. Why don't you wait in the living room? I'll fix you some coffee.”
Gratitude welled up in Isabel, unexpected and almost painful. The housekeeper's kindness settled something in her chest. Still, she scanned the room warily, not daring to sit in case she ruined Mr. Alexander's pristine sofa.
Everything in the space whispered wealth and precision—the kind of effortless elegance money couldn't buy on its own.
Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long. Raiden Alexander emerged from his study. He wore casual clothes, his hair still damp and a little mussed from a recent shower.
Raiden looked about the same age as Maximilian Riley, but his presence hit harder—sharp, magnetic, the kind that could hold its own under Hollywood lights. Isabel's resolve wobbled. Why would a man like him—successful, impossibly put together—want to marry her?
“Mr. Alexander,” she managed.
Raiden's gaze swept over her soaked, messy state, and surprise flickered across his face. “Did you just rescue someone? What happened to you?”
Isabel ducked her head, embarrassed—and startled by the unexpected tease.
“Margaret, get her cleaned up and find her something to wear.” Raiden's brow furrowed as he studied Isabel. “Anyone would think a stray had wandered in.”
But despite the jab, he retrieved some cold medicine, mixed it into a glass of water, and handed it to her.
Isabel blinked, thrown by the gesture. Kindness had never come easily to her. “Thank... thank you.”
“Drink this, then take a hot shower. We'll talk after.” He set a document on the table—a prenuptial agreement, from the look of it.
Isabel nodded, downed the medicine in one gulp, and followed Margaret without another word, like a moth pulled toward the light.
Raiden watched her go, faintly amused. Did she even notice the water was hot or the medicine bitter? She'd swallowed it all without a flicker.
She was... interesting.
...
After her shower, Isabel found clean, comfortable clothes waiting in the guest room—an oversized T-shirt and shorts.
Margaret knocked before stepping in, a warm smile on her face. “These are my niece's. She stayed with us not long ago. They're new—freshly washed. I hope you don't mind.”
Isabel shook her head quickly. “Not at all... I just—I'd hate to get them dirty.”
“Don't worry about that, Miss Jones. She has plenty, and you're welcome to keep this set.” She smiled and left a cup of coffee behind.
Once dressed, Isabel studied herself. Her long legs were pale and slim, but bruises and adhesive marks from the car accident mottled her skin—ugly reminders of a brutal day.
It took longer than it should have to dry her hair and gather the nerve to face Raiden.
Raiden was in the living room, finishing a call. Isabel hovered by the wall, afraid to interrupt.
When he noticed her, he ended the call and picked up the prenup. “Ready to talk?”
Isabel nodded and stepped closer. “What are your terms, Mr. Alexander?”
Raiden set the document down. “Marry me. Three to five years. We won't divorce until my grandfather passes. No marital duties required. It stays secret. You play the devoted granddaughter-in-law. During the marriage, you'll have a supplementary card and can use it as you like. After the divorce, you'll get a property in Newport. The rest is in the contract.”
Isabel stared at him, stunned. This wasn't a proposal. It was a business deal.
And yet the terms were generous. Almost too good to be true.
A husband in name only, free access to his money, and a house after divorce? It made no sense.
“What about studying abroad?” Isabel asked, eager to test the one possibility that actually mattered to her.
The offer was tempting—God, it was. But Isabel knew the real prize wasn't money. Money could run out. The ability to stand on her own two feet was what would keep her safe after she left Maximilian Riley.
Raiden watched her, thoughtful. The moment she said studying abroad, her eyes lit up—nothing like her reaction to the money or the property.
“I can support your study abroad. But let's be clear.” His voice stayed even. “I need a secret marriage, and only for my grandfather's sake.”
Isabel began to understand why he'd chosen her—an orphan with no background—for a contract marriage. Marrying someone of equal status would only complicate the eventual divorce. His marriage was duty, not love. A parentless orphan like her came with the fewest strings.
Raiden clearly thought he'd offered her more than enough to keep her from causing trouble later.
“I chose you for two reasons. One, at the club, I saw how patient and attentive you were with Maximilian. My grandfather would appreciate that in a granddaughter-in-law. Two, you refused several offers. That told me you're not greedy. But if you want to study abroad, it has to wait until after my grandfather passes—and after the divorce.”
He gave a small, apologetic shrug.
His terms were clear. He wanted Isabel to be emotional comfort for his grandfather. Studying abroad meant long absences—something the marriage couldn't accommodate.
Disappointment flickered across Isabel's face. Senior year was the perfect time to apply abroad—the age to seize opportunities. Waiting three to five years could mean missing her window entirely.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Alexander...” Isabel said, regret threading through her voice. As tempting as it was to become Mrs. Alexander—with a generous annual allowance—she wanted to seize this moment to build her own future.
“No rush.” Raiden's tone softened, just barely. “Aside from studying abroad during the marriage, the other terms are negotiable. My assistant will contact you again in a week.” It was his way of giving her another chance.
Isabel stood quietly, decision made. If this didn't work out, she'd chase scholarships and work herself to the bone to pay for her education.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Alexander. I'll get going now.” She glanced down at the borrowed clothes, gratitude knotting her throat. “And thank you—for the medicine and the clothes.”
Raiden's gaze dropped to her legs, now visible. The bruises and marks from the crash stood out violently against her pale skin.
“I had a minor car accident recently,” Isabel said quickly. “These are from that.”
Raiden didn't ask anything else. “It's late. It's not safe for you to leave like this. I'll have my assistant drive you.”
Isabel wanted to refuse, but Raiden had already called for his assistant. So she accepted.
…
Outside Isabel's apartment, Maximilian Riley parked and checked the time before calling her. No answer. He rubbed his temples. Maybe he'd pushed too far today. He thought about picking something up as an apology.
He was just about to get out when a black Maybach pulled up. Isabel climbed out, thanked the driver, and limped toward her building.
Maximilian's face went dark. Where the hell had she been this late?
