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Did he know he spoke like an artist? These were deep words from a man who had endured too much. Only a man who had touched the darkest of the dark would know how to describe it beautifully.

I felt his pain like a serrated knife had scraped over a raw wound. I shivered at the sensation. There was more to Attikus Mount than the man staring at me.

I had no idea why I was sharing so much about myself with him. Maybe it was because he saw my vulnerability. Maybe because he was the only person I saw when I woke up in this hospital room.

Was I doing the right thing with this proposal? Or was I making a horrible mistake? Doubts swarmed me like nasty hornets, but I kept my focus on the idea that seemed more real the more I thought about it.

That horrific dream of seeing men holding down my mother to cut off her finger had tossed me into a panic. When I woke and saw Attikus staring at me with concern, he yanked me away from that panic mode to help me land safely. Even though he didn’t know what he had done, I considered that a sign from heaven—he was the path to my escape.

I entertained this idea when I saw the lovely couple in the art gallery. The man’s wife had tripped, and he caught her before she fell. At that moment, I had wondered if I’d ever have anyone to catch me during my fall.

Attikus kept his gaze on me, his eyes searching and probably wondering if I was being serious about my proposal.

I inhaled a breath and said, “Do you want to be my fake husband?”

His eyes widened as he studied me. Silence and something else pulsed in the room. After a moment, he rose from the chair, stepped over to the bed without using his cane, and sat on the edge.

“Why?”

“Because a smart business person like you would want to protect your assets.”

An eyebrow arched, and the slow way it moved on his forehead fascinated me.

“Is that so? You believe you’re my asset now?”

I pushed down the nerves multiplying in my stomach. Was this a bad idea? I didn’t know why, but I had the impression Attikus could be more dangerous than Emmanuel.

“You spent a lot of money on renovating the gallery. I want to help you profit by being successful and continuing my lease for years to come.”

He let out a half laugh. “If you want me to help you, I need the truth, Nessa.”

Would Attikus be the temporary help I needed to overcome this obstacle? Could my proposal push Emmanuel away once and for all? He probably sent that finger to scare me. Threats about revealing my true identity and ruining my career had been his MO, but cutting off someone’s finger? I never thought he was that violent. Plus, he didn’t know about my mother being in prison. Did he?

I’d tried ignoring Emmanuel for months, but he’d gotten violent. What if he showed up at my house or the gallery again? A restraining order wouldn’t be effective. I’d heard of womengetting killed by their significant others even with a restraining order. I needed someone powerful by my side.

I licked my dried lips. “You might not help me if you knew the truth.”

He reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. His finger touched my skin, and tingles rippled through me.

“But if I don’t know, it’s an absolute no. As a businessman, I need to scan the horizon and see things from all angles so I can anticipate what’s coming my way. How can I fight a war if I don’t know my enemy or my surroundings?” He tipped up my chin. “I don’t join a battle to lose. Nobody likes to lose.”

Of course, he was right.

“I’m being blackmailed, and I think if I was married to you, he’d leave me alone. The marriage would be fake. We can draft up a proposal. The time frame can be three to six months. After that, we can get it annulled.”

“Who’s blackmailing you?” The muscle in his jaw ticked.

“My ex-boyfriend, Emmanuel Valencia. We only dated for two months,” I said, unsure why I added that tidbit.

“What does he want?” His eyes darkened, reminding me of a lion ready to attack.

“Money.” I yanked at the bedsheet. “I’ve already given him a lot.”

“What does he have on you? Or rather, what do you need to protect?”

“My true identity.”

That eyebrow arched again. Why did I find it so attractive?