My best friend and I were job hunting when we got an offer from the Rhys family—one of the country's wealthiest dynasties. They were recruiting wives for their two sons. One son was a notorious ice king; the other was in a coma after a car accident. The deal: survive one year of marriage and walk away with ten million dollars. Conveniently, I had a nursing degree. My friend, Blaze, had a Ph.D. in seduction. It was a perfect match. We looked at each other, and the decision was unspoken. When a fortune that obscene falls into your lap, you say, "I do." But less than six months in, the ice king’s old flame—the one that got away—came back. That’s when Blaze pounded on my door in the middle of the night, a storm in her eyes. "That ghost of his is no saint, Sienna. I'm making a run for it. You in?" "I'm with you," I said without hesitation. I glanced down at the stacks of cash I'd been counting. "I've only saved up about five million. I'll have to crash on your couch." Blaze finalized her divorce one day; I filed mine the next. But the night before I was supposed to leave, as I was packing my bags to make a clean getaway, my comatose husband woke up. His arm snaked around my waist from behind, his body pressing against mine. "My brother's old love came back," he whispered, his voice a low, warm hum against my skin. "I don't have one. So where do you think you're going?" 1 I was humming to myself, delighting in the neat stacks of cash spread across my bed, when Blaze burst into my room. "Sienna, I need sanctuary." She collapsed onto my mattress, rubbing her lower back with a pained expression. "And if I ever hear another person call Donovan Rhys an 'ice king,' I will personally tear them limb from limb." She groaned dramatically. "One more night like that and my spine is going to turn to dust." As Blaze writhed on my bed, I patted my own chest in silent, grateful relief. Thank God my husband was in a coma. My duties were simple. Every day, I took a warm towel from the nurse, gave him a quick sponge bath, and clocked out. All for a salary that would make a CEO weep. Six months ago, Blaze and I were sending out resumes to anyone who would take them. Then, we both got a call from the Rhys family. It wasn't until we arrived at their palatial estate that we learned the position was "daughter-in-law." Eleanor Rhys, the family matriarch, dripped with diamonds and quiet authority. She handed us each a check for twenty thousand dollars just for showing up. "Ms. Hayes, you studied nursing, correct?" I nodded. A satisfied smile touched her lips. "Then I have no reservations about placing my younger son, Asher, in your care." My friend Blaze, on the other hand, had a different set of qualifications. On her application, under the 'special skills' section, she’d cheekily written "Master of Seduction." Somehow, it had caught Eleanor Rhys’s eye. After settling things with me, she turned to Blaze with a look of intrigued curiosity. "Ms. Astor," she began, "my eldest son, Donovan, is… emotionally distant. He has no interest in women. But if you were to find a way to get pregnant, to give me a grandchild—" Eleanor let a platinum credit card glint under the light. "—then a ten-million-dollar bonus is yours." Blaze and I lived by a single motto: "Wise women don't fall in love; they build empires." The second that card flashed, Blaze’s back straightened. "Consider it done," she said, her voice pure confidence. Eleanor nodded, pleased. "I understand that marrying my sons under these circumstances is a significant sacrifice." "After one year of marriage, you will each receive ten million dollars for your time and trouble." We both nearly dropped to our knees in gratitude. This wasn't "time and trouble." This was a winning lottery ticket delivered by an angel. And just like that, Blaze and I married into the Rhys family on the same day. 2 "Sienna, honey, could you just… right there," Blaze moaned from my bed. "Can I sue our mother-in-law for false advertising? Her son isn't an ice king. He's a ravenous beast sent to destroy me." Our "mother-in-law," of course, was Eleanor. I kneaded her lower back, my sympathy genuine. For the first two months, Donovan had lived up to his reputation. He barely glanced at his new wife and often stayed out all night. But Blaze was no shrinking violet. She’d always claimed that no man was immune to her charms; she could turn a saint into a sinner with a single look. And with ten million dollars on the line, she unleashed her entire arsenal. Two months later, even though our suites were on different floors of the mansion, I could often hear… evidence of her success. Once, Blaze complained to me in a hushed, conspiratorial tone that Donovan had actually broken their bedframe. I was about to offer some words of comfort when a deep, masculine voice echoed from the hallway. "Blaze. I know you're in there." Donovan’s tone was low, insistent. "Come back to our room. Now." Blaze shot up like a startled cat. After a silent, pleading look at me, she was lured out of my room under a mix of threats and promises I couldn’t quite hear. I was about to settle in with a movie when I remembered I hadn't done my daily rounds with my own husband. Sighing, I threw on a silk robe, grabbed a fresh towel, and padded into the master suite’s inner bedroom. With practiced movements, I dipped the cloth in warm water and began to gently wipe down Asher's smooth skin. Even after six months, I couldn't help but admire him. A quiet sigh escaped my lips. "Such a waste," I murmured to the silent room. "If you weren't… you know… you'd have women lined up around the block." Speaking to the empty air, I undid the buttons of his pajama top. A perfectly sculpted chest was revealed. And an idea, wicked and tempting, sparked in my mind. If I just… touched his abs… he'd never know, right? A debate started in my head. Sienna, have some respect! one voice scolded. But another, more persuasive one whispered, He's your husband. Technically, his body is your body. What's a little exploratory touch between man and wife? The mischievous voice won. Taking a deep breath, I reached out a trembling hand and tentatively stroked the firm muscles of his abdomen. Then again, more boldly this time. It felt… incredible. That's when I noticed it. A faint flush was creeping up Asher's neck, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink. My own face burned. But I brushed it off. He wasn’t objecting, was he? That was basically permission. 3 In the days that followed, it was like a whole new world had opened up to me. Every time I went in to give Asher his bath, my hands would wander, taking their sweet time exploring his physique. It became my favorite part of the day. And every time, without fail, that handsome blush would spread across his face. At first, I felt a little guilty, but now it was just part of our routine. I even started teasing him about it, my voice a low whisper in the quiet room. "You owe me this, you know," I’d say, my fingers tracing the lines of his stomach. "Look at your brother, a regular stallion. I got the short end of the stick here. A few extra touches are the least you can do to make it up to me." One afternoon, after lunch, I shooed the day nurse away, closed the door, and was just about to begin my… duties… with my husband. But a sharp knock echoed through the suite. It was Blaze, dressed in a stunning but disheveled evening gown. "Sienna! I'm leaving! I’m done!" Her hair was a mess, and a dark red stain, suspiciously like wine, was splattered across the front of her dress. I opened the door wider. "What happened? Who did this to you?" My sleeves were already halfway up my arms. Anyone who messes with my best friend messes with me. Blaze’s voice was shaking with fury. "Donovan's old flame is back! That bitch, Isabelle, 'accidentally' spilled a glass of cabernet all over me at the fundraiser and then played the innocent victim. She's a goddamn snake!" I froze. I knew Donovan was emotionally unavailable, but I’d never heard anything about a great lost love. Blaze was getting more worked up by the second, punching one of the decorative panels on my door. "Donovan isn't an ice king! He's a goddamn monk, saving himself for Saint Isabelle! And now that she's back, he not only lets her humiliate me, he tells me I need to apologize to her! I can't do this anymore!" Her eyes flashed with a terrible realization. "All those nights… was I just her stand-in? I'm out of here, Sienna. I’m filing for divorce today!" A cold anger settled in my own stomach. What a bastard. Blaze grabbed my hands, her gaze intense. "Are you coming with me?" I glanced back toward the bedroom, a pang of regret for the abs I wouldn’t get to touch tonight. I swallowed hard. Looking into Blaze's desperate eyes, I made my choice. "Best friends bail together. You go today, I'll go tomorrow." We sealed the plan with a pact. "There's just one problem," I admitted. "I've only got about five million saved up. I might need to borrow some cash." Blaze waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry. To get rid of me, that cheating bastard gave me the deed to our villa on the coast. I'll sell it, cash out, and we'll split it fifty-fifty." It sounded like a solid plan. Our great escape was officially in motion. 4 As the story went, Donovan didn't come home after the fundraiser. He was too busy escorting his precious Isabelle. With me as her witness, Blaze called him. In an instant, she transformed. Her eyes welled with tears, her voice trembled with heartbreaking sorrow. "Donovan," she whispered, "I want a divorce." There was a long silence on the other end. "Blaze, I just drove Isabelle home," he said, his voice laced with annoyance. "What are you trying to pull now?" "She threw wine on you because you provoked her," he continued coldly. "You brought it on yourself. As of today, you can move into the coastal villa and think about what you've done. I'm bringing Isabelle back to the estate. Don't let me see your face here tomorrow." Before Blaze could even respond, he hung up. She shrugged, the tears vanishing as quickly as they'd appeared. "Plan A failed. Time for Plan B." Plan B was to fake her own death. She moved with terrifying efficiency. The villa was sold, her assets were liquidated and transferred, and once everything was in place, she purchased a burial plot. On the day of her staged "fatal car accident," I followed her instructions and called Donovan. He answered, sounding surprised. "Sienna?" I choked back a sob, my voice thick with manufactured grief. "Donovan, it's Blaze… there was an accident. It's bad. She wants to see you one last time. Can you please come to the hospital?" A bitter, humorless laugh came through the phone. "Do you take me for a fool? She knows I haven't been home in days. This is just another one of her pathetic little games." His next words were like ice. "You tell her if she's going to die, she should just get on with it. But she can do it far away from me." I met Blaze’s eyes and gave her a subtle nod. The signal. Take my money and go. I'll meet you soon. I had one last scene to play to make sure he truly believed she was gone. Three days later, just as I was practicing my grief-stricken expression in the mirror, Donovan burst into my suite, his eyes wild and red-rimmed. "Sienna, where is she?!" I looked at him, my face a mask of cold sorrow, and squeezed out a single, perfect tear. "She's gone." His body went rigid, the color draining from his face. "That's impossible." I showed him a doctored video of a fiery car crash on my phone, pulling it away before he could get a clear look at the victim. Then, I drove him to see the fresh grave. "She just wanted to see you one last time," I said, my voice heavy with accusation. "You wouldn't even grant her that. She died all alone." Donovan stared at the name on the headstone, his expression one of utter devastation. "How could this happen?" he whispered. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the cold stone. Finally, he choked out the words, "It's for the best. It's better this way." A chill went down my spine. It was true what they said about marrying into these families. They didn't see you as a person. They saw you as a commodity. 5 Everyone knew Blaze was dead, but she was just a temporary daughter-in-law. No one bothered to investigate. Eleanor Rhys shed a few crocodile tears and moved on. Donovan didn't say a word, disappearing back into his world of late nights with his precious Isabelle. Life returned to how it was before Blaze had arrived. And I had my exit strategy ready. A forged medical certificate from the hospital—another one of Blaze’s photoshop masterpieces—diagnosing me with terminal cancer. Tomorrow, I would approach Eleanor and ask for a divorce from Asher. She doted on her younger son; surely she wouldn't let a dying woman continue to care for him. She could just hire a new wife. That night, I was packing my last few things when I heard a faint noise from the bed behind me. I froze, listening. Silence. Must be hearing things, I thought, my nerves frayed from all the scheming. I was about to go back to my packing when an arm wrapped around my waist from behind, and a warm body pressed against my back. His breath was hot and intimate against my neck. "My brother's old love came back," a low voice murmured in my ear. "I don't have one. So where do you think you're going?"
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