Juliet Ashcroft never cried in public.
Not when she broke her collarbone in boarding school. Not when she left Copenhagen after the fallout with Leo. Not even when she'd found out her mother had remarried without telling her.
So she sure as hell wasn't going to cry in the elevator of Ashcroft Tower.
She stood rigid in the corner, folder clutched in both hands like a lifeline or a threat. The elevator descended in smooth silence but her pulse thudded in her ears.
Floor twelve. Floor ten. Floor seven.
She exhaled sharply.
By the time she stepped out onto the street, the heat had turned oppressive. She wanted to disappear, or drink something flammable, or scream. Instead, she hailed a cab and gave an address she hadn't used in years,her old condo.
Twenty minutes later, she was on the sidewalk staring at a locked door.
She tried her code.
Denied.
Again.
Still denied.
"Are you fucking kidding me," she muttered, jabbing the keypad.
Behind her, the doorman coughed softly. "Miss Ashcroft?"
She turned, eyebrows raised.
He hesitated. "The ownership records changed last week. Your father signed over management to a holding company."
Juliet's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Of course he did."
She turned on her heel and stormed to the corner, folder in hand, sweat beginning to trickle down her back.
Two hours later, she sat on the patio of a cafe , three espresso shots deep, the contract opened across her lap.
The words blurred, then sharpened. Every clause was a nail in the coffin.
Full compliance with media engagements
Agreement to reside in Locke Enterprises property
Non disparagement clause, indefinite
Failure to comply triggers immediate asset freeze
Clauses enforceable via expedited arbitration
Her phone buzzed. A message from her bank.
NOTICE: Unusual activity has been flagged on account ending in 6821. Temporary hold placed.
Juliet stared at the screen for a full minute.
Then she stood, calmly folded the folder shut, and walked four blocks in stiff silence until she found an alley.
There, she screamed.
A single, furious, throat-burning sound that cracked against brick and echoed into nothing.
When it faded, she pressed her palms to her thighs, panting.
She didn't cry. She didn't shake but when her phone buzzed again,this time with a text from an unknown number,her blood ran ice cold.
Driver en route. Locke Enterprises. 7 PM. Required.
Required.
The message didn't say please. It didn't ask. It assumed.
Juliet's hand curled around her phone like a weapon.
She texted back three words:
Go to hell.
The reply came instantly.
Decline will trigger breach penalty. See pg. 18.
She opened the folder. Page 18. There it was.
Clause 7.2: Initial In Person Compliance. Mandatory.
The fine print had fangs and it had already sunk them deep into her.
Locke Enterprises wasn't a building. It was a challenge.
All glass and steel, its mirrored facade caught the setting sun and turned it into fire. Juliet stood at the curb in front of it, arms crossed, black folder tucked under one elbow, fury pulsing under her skin like a second heartbeat.
The driver,silent and suited,held the back door open for her until she climbed out. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. The message had been clear.
She stepped through the revolving doors and into silence. No receptionist. No assistant. Just sleek marble floors and a digital wall pulsing with soft, ambient light.
A voice spoke through a concealed intercom: "Penthouse."
The elevator was waiting.
Juliet exhaled hard through her nose, jabbed the button, and muttered, "Coward."
The ride up was smooth, nauseatingly so. No music. No distractions. Just her reflection in mirrored chrome: a woman dressed for war, jaw set, blouse crisp, heels tapping out her temper.
When the elevator doors slid open, she stepped into a space so pristine it made her teeth ache.
Black floors. White walls. Massive windows that framed the city like artwork and at the center of it all,leaning against a desk with the posture of someone who never once heard "no",stood Xavier Locke.
He didn't look up right away.
Juliet studied him: tall, impeccably cut suit, dark hair swept back with casual precision, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest he'd been working but not too hard. His presence filled the room like pressure.
When he did look up, it was like being sized up by a predator.
His gaze was pale steel. Quiet. Calculating.
"Miss Ashcroft," he said.
She stepped forward, deliberately setting the black folder down on the table between them.
"You don't get to act like you're doing me a favor," she said. "We both know this marriage benefits no one."
His eyebrow lifted by a millimeter. "Doesn't it?"
"I don't want your name, your penthouse or your PR nightmares."
"Good," he said. "I don't want your attitude, your media history or your father's company but here we are."
Juliet blinked. "Then why the hell did you agree?"
Xavier walked around the desk slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze never leaving hers.
"Because sometimes control is worth more than comfort," he said. "And I like control."
"You think marrying a stranger gives you control?"
"No." He stopped a foot from her, tall enough that she had to tilt her chin to hold his gaze. "But watching you squirm trying to wriggle out of it does."
Her hand twitched,half tempted to slap, half tempted to do something else.
He smelled like expensive leather and cold citrus. A contradiction, just like everything else about him.
"This is coercion," she said, voice tight.
"Call it what you like," he replied. "But if you don't play the part, you lose everything. And I get to walk away the wronged party."
"You already have a girlfriend," she snapped.
He smirked. "Then you'll have to be very convincing."
Juliet stared at him for a long, hot second.
Then she leaned in, heels clicking as she closed the last inch between them.
"You don't scare me," she whispered.
"We'll see about that," he murmured back.
Xavier Locke moved like a man who never questioned his place in the world. Confident, calculating, silent when silence unnerved most. Juliet could feel his presence even when he wasn't moving,like gravity had decided to anchor itself to one man.
She hated him already.
He stood behind the desk while she paced the penthouse floor like a caged animal.
"This is blackmail," she snapped.
"No," he said, calm as an executioner. "It's business."
Juliet stopped, turning on her heel. Her hair fell forward in loose waves, disheveled from the heat, from the rage, from dragging that damned folder around the city all day.
"You don't even want this marriage," she accused. "So why the hell are you pushing it?"
"I'm not pushing anything," he said, walking around to face her. "You signed away your options long before I ever entered this circus."
"You think that makes you innocent?"
"Innocent?" His laugh was low, humorless. "Juliet, if I wanted to be innocent, I'd have stayed out of this but your father made sure I couldn't."
Juliet narrowed her eyes. "He must've promised you something enormous."
Xavier's jaw shifted slightly. Just enough to register irritation. "Control."
"There it is," she said, voice like smoke. "The only thing men like you ever want."
He stepped closer.
"Men like me," he repeated, tone dropping. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"I know enough."
His eyes locked on hers. "Then you should know I don't lose. Ever."
Juliet didn't flinch. "Neither do I."
A pause thickened between them. Not silence, it was worse than silence. It was the sound of two storms circling, waiting to collide.
"You'll move in next week," he said, breaking it first. "The press will be briefed. You'll wear the ring. I'll send a schedule of events."
She laughed,sharp and surprised. "You really think you can run my life like a boardroom?"
"You're not a project," he said, voice low. "You're a risk I'm managing."
Juliet stepped in, invading his space so deliberately it made his shoulders rise half an inch.
"I don't play submissive," she whispered.
"Good," Xavier replied. "I'd get bored."
His tone wasn't flirtatious. It was honest. Dangerous and something in her body betrayed her,heat coiling low, like attraction wrapped in wire.
He noticed. Of course he did.
"Careful, Locke," she said softly. "You don't want me in your bed. I bite."
"I don't want you at all," he said. "But I'll make it work."
Juliet moved first,turning sharply, gathering the folder, her purse, her shattered expectations. She reached the elevator and pressed the call button without looking back.
"I'll move in," she said. "I'll play the part but don't ever mistake cooperation for compliance."
Behind her, Xavier's voice was unreadable.
"I already know what it looks like when a Ashcroft cooperates."
She didn't ask what he meant because she was afraid he might be talking about her mother.
The elevator opened. Juliet stepped inside.
The doors closed between them without a goodbye.