FORTUNE SECRETS WITH THE BILLIONAIRE

Amanda Pierce was not what Ivy expected.

She arrived at Blackwood Industries at precisely six p.m., a woman in her forties with graying hair in a messy bun, wearing jeans and a blazer, no makeup except a swipe of lipstick. Her handshake was firm, her eyes sharp with intelligence, and she carried a worn leather notebook instead of a tablet.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Amanda said as Margot led her into Damien's office. "I know this must be difficult, with everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours."

"Difficult doesn't begin to cover it," Ivy admitted, then caught Damien's warning glance. She was supposed to be controlled, polished, not admitting vulnerability to a journalist.

But Amanda smiled, something warm and genuine. "Good. I appreciate honesty. I'm not here to write a hit piece, Mr. Blackwood, Ms. Sutton or should I call you Ms. Monroe?"

"Ivy is fine," Ivy said before Damien could respond. "And yes, I'm Ivy Sutton. I changed my name five years ago after my father's scandal destroyed my life. I'm not hiding that anymore."

Amanda pulled out her recorder, setting it on the desk between them. "May I?"

Damien nodded curtly. They were seated on the leather sofa in his office's sitting area, Amanda across from them in an armchair. Damien's thigh pressed against Ivy's, a solid warmth that was probably meant to look intimate but felt more like a reminder to stay on script.

"Let's start with the obvious question," Amanda said. "Reese Winters ambushed you yesterday at the hospital, claiming you're a gold digger who trapped Mr. Blackwood into marriage. Your response?"

Ivy took a breath, and Damien's hand found hers, interlacing their fingers. The gesture looked romantic but his grip was firm, grounding. "Reese is angry because I moved on," Ivy said carefully. "When I was twenty-one, I believed I was in love with him. When my father's crimes became public, Reese's family held a press conference denouncing me. Reese stood beside his mother and said being with me was the biggest mistake of his life. I was devastated. I lost everything-my reputation, my scholarship, my future. I changed my name and spent five years working minimum wage jobs to survive and support my mother through cancer."

"And now you're engaged to one of the wealthiest men in New York," Amanda said neutrally. "You can understand why people are skeptical?"

"Of course I can." Ivy forced herself to meet Amanda's eyes. "If I saw this story from the outside, I'd be skeptical too. But the truth is simpler and less dramatic than people want to believe. I met Damien while working at a charity event. We started talking. He asked me to dinner. We fell in love despite coming from completely different worlds."

"Mr. Blackwood, why her?" Amanda turned to Damien. "You could have anyone. Why a woman with such a complicated past?"

Damien's expression softened in a way that Ivy knew was calculated but still made her breath catch. "Because Ivy doesn't pretend to be something she's not. In my world, everyone has an agenda, everyone's performing. But Ivy is real. She's been through hell and came out stronger. She works hard, she loves fiercely, and she sees me as a person, not a bank account. That's rare. That's valuable. That's why I love her."

The words were lies. Perfect, polished lies. But Damien delivered them with such conviction that Ivy almost believed him.

Amanda was quiet for a moment, studying them both. "The pregnancy. Is the baby yours, Mr. Blackwood?"

"Yes," Damien said firmly.

"There are rumors suggesting otherwise. That Ivy was pregnant before your relationship began."

"Rumors are exactly that-rumors." Damien's voice went cold. "I won't dignify gossip with a response beyond this: Ivy is carrying my child. We're thrilled. Anyone who suggests otherwise is going to be hearing from my lawyers."

"Fair enough." Amanda made a note. "Ivy, tell me about your mother. Catherine Sutton-now Catherine Monroe. She's at Mount Sinai receiving treatment that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars. Is Mr. Blackwood funding that?"

Ivy's throat tightened. This was the part that made her feel most like a fraud. "Yes. Damien insisted on getting her the best care available. My mother was dying, and I couldn't afford the treatment that might save her. Damien made sure she had every chance."

"That's love," Damien said quietly, "taking care of the people who matter to the person you love. Catherine matters to Ivy, so she matters to me."

Amanda's expression shifted, something softer entering her eyes. "And your grandmother's will, Mr. Blackwood? The requirement that you be married with a child by your thirty-fifth birthday or lose control of your company-that's public record. Some people are suggesting this entire relationship is a strategic move to satisfy that requirement."

"My grandmother was a brilliant woman who believed family was the foundation of everything," Damien said. "She wanted to ensure that whoever led Blackwood Industries understood the weight of responsibility, not just to shareholders but to the people depending on us-employees, their families, the communities we operate in. Did her will accelerate my timeline for marriage? Yes. Did it make me propose to Ivy sooner than I might have otherwise? Probably. But it didn't create my feelings for her. Those were real long before I knew I had a deadline."

More beautiful lies. Ivy's chest ached with how well he sold them.

"Ivy, what do you say to people who think you're using Mr. Blackwood for his money?"

Ivy looked at Damien, at his sharp profile and cold eyes that were doing an excellent job pretending warmth. She thought about the contract sitting in a safe somewhere, legally binding her to this performance. She thought about how none of this was real, how in twelve months she'd walk away with her money and he'd have his company and they'd both pretend this year never happened.

"I understand why people think that," she said slowly. "My father was a criminal. I come from nothing now. Damien is wealthy beyond imagination. On paper, it looks like I'm using him. But money can't buy what we have. It can't buy the way he makes me feel safe for the first time in five years. It can't buy the way he looked at Reese yesterday when he was trying to destroy me,like he'd go to war to protect me. Money can buy comfort and security, but it can't buy the feeling of being truly seen by someone. That's what Damien gives me. That's why I'm marrying him."

The words tumbled out, more honest than she'd intended. And the terrifying part was that some of them were true. She did feel safer with Damien, despite everything. He had gone to war for her yesterday. She didn't understand why that mattered to her, but it did.

Damien's hand tightened on hers, and when Ivy glanced at him, something complicated flickered across his face before the mask returned.

Amanda asked more questions about the wedding, about their future plans, about how they'd navigate their different backgrounds. Damien answered with smooth competence, painting a picture of a couple building a life together. Ivy followed his lead, adding details that made their fake love story feel real.

By the time Amanda left an hour later, Ivy felt wrung out, exhausted from maintaining the performance. She sagged against the sofa as the door closed behind the journalist.

"You did well," Damien said, standing to pour himself a scotch from the bar cart. "The emotional honesty was a good touch."

"It wasn't a touch," Ivy said quietly. "Some of it was true."

Damien paused, his back to her. "Which parts?"

"The part about feeling safe. About you defending me." Ivy stood, suddenly needing to move. "I don't understand you, Damien. You claim this is all business, all strategy. But then you do things that feel... real."

He turned, his expression unreadable. "Don't confuse protection of my investment with personal feelings, Ivy."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" The question came out sharper than she intended. "That you have no feelings about any of this? That threatening Reese, funding my mother's treatment, holding my hand through that interview-all of it is just cold calculation?"

"Yes." Damien's voice was flat. "That's exactly what it is."

"I don't believe you."

"Then you're a fool." He drained his scotch in one swallow. "I learned a long time ago that feelings are liabilities. Serena taught me that lesson thoroughly. I built walls for a reason, Ivy. Don't mistake necessity for vulnerability."

"Everyone has vulnerabilities," Ivy said. "Even you."

"Not anymore." Damien set down his glass with a sharp click. "I gave you my terms. A clean transaction, no emotional entanglements. If you're developing feelings, that's your problem, not mine. Don't project them onto me."

The words stung like a slap. Ivy felt her face heat with embarrassment and anger. "You're right. My mistake. I forgot that you're just a machine in an expensive suit."

She turned to leave, but Damien's voice stopped her. "Ivy."

She looked back. He stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights making him look like a dark angel surveying his kingdom. Beautiful and utterly remote.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "you were right earlier. Some of it is real. The protection, the defense of you-that's not entirely strategic. But that doesn't change what this is. Don't confuse temporary partnership with something permanent."

Ivy nodded once, not trusting her voice, and left.

The days before the wedding blurred together in a chaos of preparation.

Dress fittings with a designer who treated Ivy like a particularly challenging art project. Menu tastings for a wedding reception that would host two hundred of Manhattan's elite. Guest list reviews where Ivy recognized exactly three names:her mother, the hospital social worker, and a former coworker who'd been kind to her.

Damien was everywhere and nowhere. Present for the public appearances-the engagement photos for Vogue, the dinner with his board of directors where Ivy smiled and said little, the site visit to the Plaza where their "intimate ceremony" would take place. But absent in any real sense, treating her with the same polite distance he'd treat a business colleague.

The Amanda Pierce article published three days after the interview, and it was... fair. More than fair, actually. Amanda had written a nuanced piece about second chances, about how people shouldn't be defined by their worst moments or their family's sins, about the complicated reality of love crossing class boundaries. The comments section was still brutal-half the internet thought Ivy was a gold digger, the other half thought Damien was a cold bastard using her for his inheritance-but the piece itself was thoughtful.

"Public opinion is shifting," Margot reported during one of their daily briefings. "Fifty-eight percent now view the engagement favorably. The hospital photos of you with your mother helped-People magazine's headline was 'Devoted Daughter, Devoted Fiancée.' And the fact that Mr. Blackwood has been photographed at the hospital three times this week is excellent optics."

Ivy hadn't known Damien had been visiting her mother. She frowned. "Why is he going to the hospital?"

Margot looked surprised. "He didn't tell you? He's been meeting with Dr. Chen, your mother's oncologist, reviewing treatment plans. He wanted to understand the prognosis and options."

Something warm and dangerous bloomed in Ivy's chest. She shoved it down ruthlessly. Strategic. It's all strategic.

But when she confronted Damien that evening, he shrugged dismissively. "Your mother's health directly affects your emotional state, which affects your ability to perform your role. I'm ensuring she receives optimal care."

"You're checking in on her treatment personally," Ivy pressed. "That's not delegating to staff. That's actually caring."

"Don't romanticize basic due diligence," Damien replied, not looking up from his laptop.

They were in his office,Ivy had taken to working there in the evenings, using the smaller desk by the windows to handle the endless emails and social media messages flooding her accounts. It was easier than being alone in her room, even if Damien barely acknowledged her presence.

"My mother likes you," Ivy said. "She told me yesterday that you remind her of my father before he became corrupted by power. Smart, driven, but with a moral code underneath."

That got Damien's attention. He looked up, something sharp in his expression. "Your father was a criminal."

"He wasn't always." Ivy closed her laptop. "Once upon a time, he was a good man who genuinely wanted to help people. The corruption came later, slowly. My mother said she watched him change, bit by bit, until he was someone she didn't recognize."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because she's wrong about you," Ivy said. "You're not like him. You're harder, colder. But you're honest about what you are. My father lied to everyone, including himself. You don't have that problem."

Damien was silent for a long moment. Then: "Is that a compliment?"

"Maybe." Ivy smiled slightly. "Or maybe I'm just saying you're consistently terrible instead of inconsistently good."

Something that might have been amusement flickered across his face. "I'll take it."

They worked in companionable silence after that, the city glittering below them, the distance between them feeling a little less vast.

Two days before the wedding, Carter Blackwood appeared.

Ivy was at Vera Wang for her final dress fitting when Margot's phone buzzed. The assistant's face went carefully blank as she read the message.

"What is it?" Ivy asked from the fitting platform, the wedding dress pooling around her in layers of silk and lace. It was a stunning gown-simple, elegant, with a high neck and long sleeves that managed to be both modest and sensual. She barely recognized herself in the mirror.

"Carter Blackwood is at the penthouse," Margot said. "He's demanding to speak with you."

Ivy's blood turned to ice. Carter. The baby's biological father. The man who'd ghosted her after one night and whose mother had fired her. She hadn't seen him since before she'd discovered the pregnancy.

"Tell him I'm unavailable," Ivy said.

"Mr. Blackwood already did. Carter says he won't leave until he speaks with you. He's threatening to go to the press."

Of course he was. Ivy closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. "Call Damien."

"Already done. He's en route."

Twenty minutes later, Ivy arrived at the penthouse still wearing the wedding dress,there'd been no time to change. Margot had thrown a coat over it, but there was no hiding the elaborate gown. The elevator opened, and Ivy stepped into chaos.

Carter stood in the living room, his boyishly handsome face flushed with anger. Damien faced him, utterly still, radiating lethal coldness. Security hovered nearby, waiting for orders.

"There she is!" Carter spun toward Ivy. "The little gold digger who's trying to trap my uncle into marriage. Does he know, Ivy? Does he know that baby is mine?"

Ivy's heart stopped. Beside her, she felt Margot stiffen.

Damien's expression didn't change. "Get out of my home, Carter."

"Not until she admits the truth!" Carter advanced on Ivy, and Damien moved faster than thought, intercepting him, one hand fisting in his nephew's shirt.

"Touch her and I'll break every bone in your hand," Damien said softly, and the threat was so genuine that Carter paled.

"You're being played," Carter insisted. "That night at the Morrison party, we hooked up. She was all over me, saying she loved me, that we could be together. Then suddenly she's pregnant and engaged to you? It's my baby, Uncle Damien. She's lying to you."

Ivy found her voice, though it shook. "I'm not lying to Damien. He knows everything."

Carter's eyes widened. "What?"

"I know about your night together," Damien said coldly, releasing Carter with a shove. "I know the timing of the pregnancy. I don't care. Ivy is marrying me. The child will be raised as mine. You have no claim and no rights."

"That's insane!" Carter looked between them wildly. "You're actually okay with raising another man's kid?"

"I'm raising my child," Damien corrected. "Biological parentage is irrelevant. Ivy is my fiancée. This is my family. You're nothing but a sperm donor who can't keep his mouth shut or his pants zipped."

"This is about the will," Carter said, understanding dawning. "You're so desperate to keep the company that you'll marry some lying housekeeper and claim her bastard as yours. Grandmother would be ashamed."

Damien moved so fast Ivy barely saw it. One moment he was standing still, the next his hand was around Carter's throat, shoving him against the wall. "My grandmother wanted me to understand family and loyalty. I'm providing both to Ivy and her child. What are you providing besides disruption and threats?"

Carter struggled, his face reddening. "Can't... breathe..."

"Good." Damien's voice was terrifying in its calmness. "Let me make something very clear, Carter. Ivy is under my protection. The child is under my protection. If you ever speak to her again, if you ever approach her, if you ever tell anyone about your supposed paternity, I will destroy you. Not your trust fund-you specifically. I'll ruin every business opportunity, every social connection, every future prospect you have. You'll be unemployable, unmarriageable, and completely alone. Do you understand?"

He released Carter, who collapsed against the wall, gasping. Damien turned to security. "Escort Mr. Carter Blackwood out. He's no longer welcome in this building or any property I own."

As security moved forward, Carter straightened, his eyes full of impotent rage. "You can't do this."

"I already have." Damien dismissed him with a glance. "Goodbye, Carter. Give your mother my regards."

Security led Carter out, his protests fading as the elevator doors closed. Silence fell over the penthouse. Ivy stood frozen, still wrapped in her coat over her wedding dress, processing what had just happened.

Damien had known. He'd known about Carter from the beginning, and he'd still defended her. Still claimed the baby as his. Still threatened his own nephew to protect them.

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly. "About Carter being the father?"

Damien poured himself a scotch, his movements controlled. "From the beginning. I did a thorough background check, Ivy. I knew about your employment history, which included working at events Carter attended. I knew about your night with him,security footage from the Morrison house caught you two leaving together. When you told me you were pregnant and agreed to the contract, I ran the timeline. The math was obvious."

"And you didn't care?"

"I cared that you were willing to lie about it," Damien said. "But I understood why. Desperation makes people do things they normally wouldn't. And honestly?" He took a drink. "Carter's an idiot. The baby is better off with me as a father in every way that matters."

Ivy sank onto the sofa, her legs suddenly weak. "You've been protecting a secret you knew I was keeping."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Damien looked at her, really looked at her, and for once his mask slipped enough that she saw something raw underneath. "Because you deserved protection, Ivy. Because you'd been abandoned by everyone who should have stood by you. Because..." He stopped, jaw tightening. "Because I know what it's like to be betrayed by family. Carter got you pregnant and vanished. That makes him a coward. I won't let cowards dictate your future."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Ivy stood, walking toward him slowly, her heart pounding. "Damien-"

"Don't," he said quietly. "Don't read more into this than what it is. I'm fulfilling my end of our contract. Protecting you protects my interests."

But his eyes told a different story. They lingered on her face, traced the line of her throat, dropped to where the coat had fallen open to reveal the wedding dress underneath. And in that moment, Ivy saw hunger-raw, undeniable, quickly suppressed but there.

"You're still wearing the dress," Damien said, his voice rougher than usual.

Ivy looked down, having forgotten in the chaos. The silk and lace clung to her body, the high neck and long sleeves somehow more intimate than bare skin. "I didn't have time to change."

"It suits you." Damien set down his glass, moving closer. "You look like a bride."

"I will be one," Ivy whispered. "In two days."

"Yes." He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could feel his body heat, smell his cologne. "My bride. My wife. Mine."

The possessive words sent heat spiraling through her. This was dangerous. This was crossing lines they'd agreed not to cross. But Ivy couldn't move away, couldn't break the intensity of his gaze.

"Damien-"

His phone buzzed, shattering the moment. He stepped back immediately, the mask slamming back into place. "I need to take this. Margot will help you out of the dress."

He walked away, already answering the call in clipped tones, leaving Ivy standing alone in her wedding dress, her heart racing, wondering what would have happened if the phone hadn't rung.

Nothing, she told herself firmly. Nothing would have happened. This is a transaction. He doesn't want you. He wants his company.

But her traitorous body didn't believe it. And neither, deep down, did she.