Chapter 1

Tonight was my third date with Derek, and it was going to be my last.

On our first two dates, I deliberately hid my background as an heiress. I wore cheap off-the-rack sundresses and told him I was just an entry-level marketing coordinator making four thousand a month.

He had sneered and said, "Four grand? In New York, that barely covers groceries."

"Don't worry, though," he added smugly. "I make two million a year. I have more than enough to take care of you."

I almost thought I had found someone genuine—until he laid down his conditions.

"Of course, my financial support comes with rules. Once we're married, you'll hand over your entire paycheck to me, and I'll give you a fixed monthly allowance."

I laughed on the inside.

My family held controlling stakes in three publicly traded conglomerates. The quarterly net profit from any single one of them was more than Derek could earn in ten lifetimes.

And he seriously thought he could control me?

Derek was already seated by the window.

When I walked in, he frowned slightly, his eyes scanning my plain black dress with undisguised distaste.

"You really don't know how to dress," he began, delivering his critique before I even sat down. "The cut isn't terrible, but wearing cheap fabric like that to a restaurant like this is embarrassing."

I sat across from him with a polite smile. "It's comfortable."

"Comfortable?" Derek scoffed. "Amber, you need to elevate your taste. Once you're with me, throw that garbage away. It's humiliating."

The waiter handed us the menus, but Derek took mine before I could even open it.

"We'll start with the caviar, follow with the A5 Wagyu, and bring a bottle of Romanée-Conti," he ordered smoothly. Then, as if tossing me a bone, he glanced my way. "Bring her a side salad. A woman shouldn't eat heavy at night anyway. You need to keep your figure."

I kept my smile intact. "A salad is fine."

While we waited, Derek pulled a manila folder from his leather briefcase and slid it across the table.

"My lawyer drafted this Prenuptial Agreement. Look it over. If everything looks good, we can sign the paperwork and get our marriage license next week."

I opened the folder.

Every single clause was a masterpiece of entitlement:

Clause 1: Upon marriage, the wife must quit her job and become a full-time homemaker, receiving a monthly "living allowance" of two thousand dollars.

Clause 2: All assets and income under the wife's name must be transferred to a joint account fully managed and controlled by the husband.

Clause 3: The wife is required to give birth to at least two sons to ensure the continuation of the family lineage.

I flipped to the signature page and looked up at him.

"Is this your idea, or your parents'?"

"Does it matter?" Derek leaned back, looking at me like an emperor addressing a peasant. "Amber, let's be realistic here. Given your ordinary background and your modest four-thousand-dollar salary, marrying me is the biggest upgrade of your life."

"This agreement is simply to protect my assets from being targeted by you or your family. You should be understanding."

I slowly closed the folder.

"Derek, we've known each other for a month. This is our third date. What makes you so certain I want to marry you?"

He looked at me as if I had just told a hilarious joke.

"Come on. Do you honestly think any other guy pulling in two million a year would look twice at someone like you?"

The waiter served the steaks. Derek cut into his meat and continued, "I'm already planning the wedding. Nothing too lavish—twenty tables should do it."

"You can rent a dress. Buying one is a total waste of money."

"I've already picked out a ring. A five-thousand-dollar diamond is more than enough for you."

He paused, as if remembering a minor chore.

"Oh, and I'll give your parents ten thousand dollars as a token of goodwill. That's more than generous for people in their position. Tell them not to be greedy or go bragging to their neighbors."

Derek took a sip of his wine, radiating superiority.

"I read the agreement," I said evenly. "I have a few questions."

Derek lifted his chin. "Go on."

"First, I have a degree in marketing and I'm good at what I do. Why must I give up my career to be a stay-at-home housewife?"

"A woman's highest purpose is her family," Derek frowned, visibly annoyed by my pushback. "Taking care of me and running my household is where your value lies. Besides, I make two million a year. Why would my wife need to be out there working?"

"Second, why does my own paycheck need to be turned over to an account that only you manage?"

"To prevent sneaky motives!" Derek's tone hardened. "I see it all the time. Women get married, siphon off their husband's money, and squirrel away assets behind his back. I'm just being proactive."

"What, were you planning on hoarding cash for yourself?" The contempt in his eyes was naked.

"Third, I have to produce two sons," I pressed on. "What if I have daughters?"

"Then you keep having babies," Derek said matter-of-factly. "Until we have sons. The Cole family line cannot end with me. Don't worry, I can afford to raise them. Your only job is to bear them."