I never imagined my life would be reduced to a stack of legal papers and a pen.
"My conditions are final," Damien Hale said calmly, sliding the contract toward me. His voice was deep, steady — and completely emotionless.
I stared at the pages.
Five signatures.
One year of marriage.
Zero expectations.
"If you want to save your father's company," he continued, "this is the only option."
His eyes met mine — cool, unreadable, like frost on glass. This man wasn't proposing marriage. He was offering a transaction.
"What do you get out of this?" I asked softly.
"A wife," he answered. "Strictly for professional optics. Nothing more."
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. My heart pounded violently.
I thought of my father — sick, exhausted, drowning under crushing debt.
And I thought of myself — trapped, cornered, with nowhere else to turn.
Slowly, I picked up the pen.
Damien watched me, expression still unreadable.
With a shaking breath, I signed my name beside his.
For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes — something almost human — but it vanished too quickly to be sure.
"Welcome to the arrangement," Damien said, standing.
Not welcome to the family.
Not welcome to the marriage.
Just… the arrangement.
I wondered then — not for the last time — what I had just sold to this man.
My name?
My freedom?
Or something far deeper… and far more dangerous?