The ticking of the clock felt louder than Arianna's heartbeat. She sat in the lavish office, the black marble table stretching like a cold barrier between her and the man whose name dominated every business headline. Damien Cross.
His gaze was razor-sharp, unreadable."If you sign this contract, you'll be my wife for one year," he said, sliding the crisp document toward her. "No love. No expectations. Just… terms."
Arianna's fingers trembled as she glanced at the thick pages. Every clause screamed that this wasn't a marriage it was a transaction."And if I refuse?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Damien leaned back, the faintest smirk ghosting over his lips. "Then your family loses the last piece of what they have left. Vale Mansion goes to the bank by Monday morning."
Her chest tightened. He knew. He knew exactly how desperate she was, how close her family was to losing everything. The man across from her wasn't offering a lifeline—he was chaining her to him.
The pen felt heavy in her hand. With each second, the air thickened, pressing in on her ribs. Damien's eyes never left hers, as if daring her to walk away.
Arianna took a deep breath. "One year," she whispered, signing her name.The sound of the pen scratching paper was louder than the storm gathering outside.
Damien reached for the contract, his touch lingering on the edge of the page."Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Cross," he said, his voice silk wrapped around steel.
And in that moment, Arianna knew—this was the beginning of her biggest mistake.
The pen slipped from Arianna's fingers, clattering softly onto the glass surface. She didn't look at Damien. She couldn't. Not when her mind was already spinning, not when her chest felt hollow as if signing that paper had carved out a part of her soul.
He took the contract with a deliberate calm, the movement so precise it was unnerving. "My secretary will arrange the details," Damien said, glancing briefly at the signature as though it were just another acquisition on his list.
Arianna rose to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping against the polished floor. "Is that all?" Her voice cracked, betraying the storm beneath her carefully controlled mask.
Damien's eyes flicked up to meet hers. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw something there an almost imperceptible flicker of hesitation but it was gone before she could be sure."For now," he replied. "But remember, Mrs. Cross…" His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "In this arrangement, there are no mistakes. Only consequences."
A sharp chill ran down her spine. The title Mrs. Cross sounded like a brand, a mark she couldn't wash away.
The elevator ride down from the penthouse felt longer than the meeting itself. Her reflection in the mirrored walls looked like a stranger eyes shadowed, lips pressed into a thin line. She'd done it. She'd traded her freedom for her family's survival.
When the doors opened into the bustling lobby of Cross Industries, the world seemed louder, brighter, and far more indifferent to her turmoil. She clutched her bag tighter, weaving through the crowd until the heavy doors swung open to the crisp air outside.
It was raining. The city's skyline blurred under sheets of silver, taxis hissing over wet asphalt. Arianna didn't care. She stepped into the downpour, letting the cold soak through her coat. Maybe it would wash away the suffocating feeling clinging to her skin.
Three days later, she stood before the wrought-iron gates of Vale Mansion. Once, they had been a symbol of her family's stature. Now, they felt like the last bars of a gilded cage about to collapse.
Lucas was waiting at the door, his expression torn between relief and guilt. "Did you…?" He didn't finish the question. He didn't have to. His eyes darted to the absence of a ring on her finger, then back to her face.
"It's done," Arianna said quietly, stepping past him into the dimly lit hallway.
Evelyn appeared from the sitting room, her thin frame draped in a shawl. "You've saved us," her mother whispered, clutching Arianna's hands as if they were the only anchor keeping her afloat.
The words cut deep. She hadn't saved them she'd only postponed the inevitable. And at what cost?
The wedding happened in silence. A private legal affair in Damien's office, witnessed only by Olivia Grant, his poised and efficient secretary, and a notary who seemed more concerned about ink smudges than the lives being bound together.
A gold band was slipped onto her finger, cold against her skin. Damien's touch was brief, almost clinical, his gaze never softening.
"There will be public appearances," he informed her afterward, as if discussing quarterly reports. "We'll attend the charity gala next Friday. You'll be expected to play the part."
Arianna forced a tight smile. "And what part is that exactly?"
His eyes narrowed. "The perfect wife. The world doesn't need to know the truth."
The penthouse became her new prison. Expansive windows framed the glittering city, but the view felt like a taunt freedom so close yet impossibly far.
That first night, she explored in silence, her footsteps muffled by plush carpets. Every surface gleamed, every detail screamed wealth… and yet it was cold. Impersonal. As if no one truly lived here.
Damien worked late, his study door closed. She didn't see him until nearly midnight, when he emerged with his tie loosened and a file still in hand.
"You're still awake," he observed, not as a question but a fact.
"I couldn't sleep."
His gaze lingered on her for a moment. "You'll get used to it." Then, without another word, he disappeared into his bedroom, leaving her in the soft hum of the city lights.
Lying awake in the guest room, Arianna stared at the ceiling. The rain had returned, tapping softly against the glass. She thought about her father's laughter, about the warmth that once filled the Vale Mansion. She thought about how all of it had slipped away piece by piece… until this.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from an unknown number.
You don't know what you've married into. Get out while you can.
Her breath caught. She sat up, heart pounding, scanning the dark corners of the room as if the sender might be hiding there.
And just like that, she realized this wasn't just a contract marriage. It was the start of something far more dangerous.