The ink hadn't even dried when Elena realized she had just sold her soul.
She stared at the contract spread before her, hands trembling as she lowered the pen. Her name—Elena Carter—looked foreign and fragile on that cold, heartless page.
Across the polished table sat Damian Blackwood, billionaire CEO, known more for his empire than his emotions. He didn't smile. He didn't congratulate her. He simply closed the folder, like sealing a coffin.
> "It's done," he said. His voice was ice. "You are now my wife. Legally."
Her stomach twisted. Her heart screamed. But her face stayed still. Because showing weakness in front of Damian was like bleeding in a pool full of sharks.
> "This isn't a marriage," she whispered. "This is a business transaction."
Damian's expression didn't change.
> "Then treat it like one, Mrs. Blackwood. Follow the rules, and you'll be well rewarded."
Rules.
She hadn't even read the fine print.
He stood, casting a long shadow over her.
> "Rule number one: no love."
"Rule number two: no secrets."
"Rule number three..." He paused, his eyes cutting into hers.
"Liam West is dead to you."
Her lips parted, breath stolen.
> "How do you—?"
> "I know everything," he snapped. "Including the fact that you were willing to give yourself to him... while your father was drowning in debt."
Shame burned her skin.
> "You'll move into my penthouse tonight. And don't make the mistake of thinking I'll ever care."
He turned and walked away, every step echoing like a countdown.
Elena sat frozen, staring at her new name printed on the contract.
Mrs. Blackwood.
It sounded like power.
It felt like a prison.
And what terrified her most… was that part of her heart was still waiting for Liam.
Even though she now belonged to the devil.