Vows of Deception : Bound by Lies

"Camille Rivera?"

"Yes."

"This is Deputy Miles from the Department of Justice. I'm calling about your father."

Cami sat upright on the tiny, uneven couch in her studio apartment. Her laptop, still open to the freelance job portal she'd been refreshing for hours, slid off her lap.

"What about my father?" she asked, voice tightening.

"His bail has been officially denied. Due to the nature of the charges and flight risk assessment, he'll remain in federal custody until trial."

"What... no, wait... there has to be a mistake. He's not a flight risk! He's never even left the state!"

"Miss Rivera, I'm just relaying the update. You can file an appeal with the court."

"I've already filed! Twice!"

"I understand. That's all for now. Good day."

The call ended before she could scream.

Cami sat still for a second. Then she slammed the phone down on the armrest, let her head fall back, and laughed dry, exhausted, and half-crazed.

"Perfect. Amazing. This day just keeps getting better."

Rent was three days overdue. The fridge was empty. Her credit card had been declined that morning at a corner store trying to buy instant noodles. And now the only person left in her life was locked behind bars without a trial date.

A knock at the door.

She groaned. "Not now..."

The knock came again, harder this time. She got up, muttering, and opened it.

A man in a sleek black suit stood there. Too polished, too tall, too out of place in her crappy Brooklyn building. Behind him, parked at the curb, was a black town car.

"Miss Rivera?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "Depends who's asking."

"My name is Callum Westwood. I'm the personal assistant to Mr. Dominic Wolfe."

She blinked. "Who?"

He raised a brow like she'd just asked what gravity was.

"Dominic Wolfe," he repeated. "CEO of Wolfe Global. I believe you've heard of him."

"Yeah, sure, the guy who fires entire departments via email and owns like... four satellites."

"That's the one."

Callum reached into his coat and handed her a sleek, cream-colored envelope.

"A car will arrive in one hour to bring you to Mr. Wolfe's office. He wishes to speak to you. Privately."

"I'm sorry, what? Why?"

"He'll explain in person. Please wear something... appropriate."

She looked down at her sweatshirt and fuzzy socks. "You know you're standing in a building with four rats per tenant, right?"

"Then I suggest you dress faster."

Before she could argue, he turned and left.

One Hour Later.

The car was smoother than anything Cami had ever stepped foot in. Black leather, chilled water bottles, a faint smell of leather and something expensive she couldn't name. She sat stiffly, texting her friend Janelle in panic:

CAMI:

"A billionaire just summoned me.

If I don't text in 2 hrs, assume I'm dead or married" .

The elevator ride up Black Falcon Tower was so fast her ears popped. When the doors opened on the 85th floor, she stepped into a space that looked more like a luxury gallery than an office, glass walls, black marble floors, walls that glowed with soft ambient light.

And in the center of it all, behind a massive desk, stood HIM.

Dominic Wolfe.

He was taller than she expected. Broader. Midnight-black suit. Sharp jaw. Ice-gray eyes. And the kind of expression that made people forget how to speak.

Cami did not forget.

She crossed her arms. "Alright. I'm here. What's the emergency, Mr. Fancy Satellites?"

A flicker of amusement touched his lips. "Miss Rivera. Thank you for coming."

"Didn't give me much of a choice, did you?"

"You could've refused."

"You sent a guy in a suit to my door and a car with AC. I was curious."

"Good. Curiosity is useful."

"Mind telling me why a billionaire tracked down a broke, unemployed law grad who can't even afford Uber?"

Dominic stepped out from behind his desk and handed her a folder. "I need a wife."

Silence.

Cami stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"A temporary wife. One year. No emotional entanglement. Strictly contractual."

She blinked. "Okay. So, you're insane."

"Hardly. I have a merger pending that requires a stable public image. A marriage sends the right message to investors and shareholders."

"So you want me to play house for cameras?"

"Yes. In exchange, you'll receive ten million dollars."

Cami's brain flatlined for a full five seconds.

"I'm sorry. Did you say ten *million* dollars?"

"Yes."

"Real money? American currency?"

"Direct deposit. Tax covered. One year of your time. Appearances at select events. Some travel. You'll have full access to legal counsel and your own living quarters."

"And after a year?"

"We divorce. Quietly. You walk away wealthy."

Cami looked at him like he'd grown horns.

"Why me?"

Dominic's gaze sharpened. "I've read your background. You're smart. You keep secrets. And you're desperate."

"Wow. Do all your job interviews include personal insults?"

"I'm offering you a solution. You can help your father. Pay off your debt. Never worry about money again."

She shook her head. "And all I have to do is sell my soul."

"No. Just sign your name."

He pushed the folder toward her again.

Thirty Minutes Later

"I can't believe I'm still here," she muttered.

Dominic sat across from her now, legs crossed, watching her skim the contract.

"You ask a lot of questions," he observed.

"I'm a law student. I live for the fine print."

"You'll find everything airtight."

"Ten million. Five now, five after the divorce. NDA, no sex, no emotional obligations. Just appearances and behavior."

"Correct."

She leaned back. "You ever think about therapy instead?"

"I prefer efficiency."

Cami stared at the folder. Her hands itched to sign it. Her conscience screamed not to.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't walk out of here right now."

Dominic reached into a drawer and dropped a second folder on the table.

Inside were court documents. Her father's case file. Names of the judges. Annotations in blue pen. Access that no public record should include.

"I have the influence to help him," Dominic said. "Or I don't. It's up to you."

"You're blackmailing me."

"I'm presenting an opportunity. One year. One lie. And your father walks free."

Ten Hours Later

Cami lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.

The check was in her drawer.

Five million dollars.

Signed and deposited the moment she signed the contract.

Her phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

"You just became Mrs. Wolfe. Congratulations."

She turned to her side and whispered, "What the hell did I just do?"