Other options. The phrase sent a shiver down my spine. I knew I was taking a risk, but I also knew I had no other choice.
My name is Emilia Grey, and I'm a 25-year-old struggling artist, drowning in debt and desperate for a way out. That's when I received the mysterious letter, inviting me to a meeting with Mr. Blackwood. The message was cryptic, but the promise of a substantial sum of money was too enticing to ignore.
"So, Miss Grey," he said, his voice low and smooth, like silk. "I understand you're in a bit of a financial bind. I'm willing to offer you a way out, but it comes with a price."
He explained that he needed a wife, a figurehead to help him navigate the complexities of high society. In return, he'd pay off my debts and give me a substantial allowance. But there was a catch: we'd have to be married for at least three years, and I'd have to pretend to be his devoted wife in public.
As I stepped into the luxurious office, I was greeted by the man himself. Tall, imposing, with piercing eyes that seemed to see right through me. Mr. Blackwood, aka the Devil Billionaire.