"Marry me, and I'll fix everything."
The words sliced through the silence like a blade.
Emilia Blackwood's breath caught in the opulent office—its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city's glittering grid. But she saw none of it. All she could feel was the weight of the man seated before her—the kind of man whose name opened doors, whose gaze could shut them forever. Damien Cross. Billionaire tycoon. Media magnate. And her potential executioner.
She gripped her clutch so hard her knuckles whitened. Inside lay the eviction notice and a stack of bills that had come to define her life this month. Her father's debts had doubled. Her mother's insurance lapsed. They'd already lost half their assets. The rest was frozen—and suffocating them day by day.
"You want me to marry you," she repeated, voice raw. "To fix everything."
Damien didn't blink. His tailored charcoal suit was impeccable; his dark hair was in place. Nothing about him spoke of emotion. "A one‑year contract. You attend events, say the right things, behave. In return, I clear your family's debts and guarantee the best care for your mother."
Her stomach twisted into a knot. Marriage as currency. Degradation masquerading as salvation. "But… why me?"
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Because you're desperate. And I need someone disposable."
The word echoed in her skull. Disposable. She—a human being with hopes once bright as morning, now reduced to an asset.
Elsewhere, another message buzzed through: "Your mother will be transferred tomorrow unless payment is received." The chill of fear crept up her spine. Her chest tightened; her pulse echoed in her ears.
She swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "And what do you get?"
He shrugged. "Stability. Media herding. A trophy who won't fall in love." His tone was flat, as if discussing stock options.
Her pulse hammered. "No love." The contract could bend her life. But taking her heart was off-limits. She wouldn't—though she already felt broken.
He slid a thick contract across the desk. Marriage license. NDA. Terms. Conditions. Her future sealed in ink.
She closed her eyes a moment, inhaled. Instinct urged her to flee. Survival urged her to sign.
"Do I… get a ring?" The question sounded hollow even to her ears.
Damien's lips quirked. He stood, crossed to a secure wall panel, tapped a code, and dropped a black velvet box onto the table. Cartier. Diamond bigger than her paychecks ever were. Cold, unforgiving.
He watched her open it and held his breath—or so she imagined. "Don't lose it. It costs more than your father's company."
She slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit too well: snug, unforgiving.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Cross." His voice was flat, but his eyes flickered.
Emilia rose, squared her shoulders despite the swirl of shame. "I'm not weak."
A flicker passed across his gaze—something like respect? Or challenge. "We'll see."
Thunder rolled as lightning split the sky. Rain pounded the glass.
She handed him the signed contract. So much for dignity. But she was still alive.
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