The night stretched on, sleepless and heavy.
Elena lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word Damian Blackwood had thrown at her. His ultimatum wasn't just outrageous—it was cruel. Marry me or watch your father lose everything.
The sheets twisted around her legs as she tossed and turned. No matter how much she tried to silence her thoughts, his face—the cold arrogance in his eyes, the faint curl of his lips when he delivered his threat—haunted her.
Her father's worried voice from earlier still echoed in her ears: "We can't lose the company, Elena. It's all we have left of your mother."
That memory cut deeper than Damian's words. The company was more than just a business; it was her father's pride, the one thing that had kept him alive after her mother's death. If it collapsed, so would he.
By dawn, Elena sat at the edge of her bed, exhausted but resolute. She couldn't let her father suffer. Which meant only one thing: she had to face the devil again.
Damian Blackwood's office was perched at the top of the tallest skyscraper in the city, a tower of glass and steel that seemed to sneer down at the world. Elena stood in the lobby, clutching her purse with clammy hands as she signed in with the receptionist.
"Mr. Blackwood is expecting you," the woman said smoothly, as though this were routine.
Elena doubted anything about this situation was routine.
The elevator ride felt endless. Each floor that blinked past brought her closer to a man she should have hated but couldn't stop thinking about. Her heart pounded like a drumbeat of betrayal against her ribs.
When the doors slid open, Damian's office spread out before her like another world. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, drowning the space in golden morning light. Sleek black leather furniture and steel accents screamed wealth and dominance.
And then there was Damian.
He stood by the windows, hands tucked in his pockets, suit tailored to perfection. His posture was relaxed, yet his presence filled the room like a storm about to break.
"You came." His voice was low, smooth, and dangerous.
Elena swallowed hard. "You didn't leave me much of a choice."
One dark brow arched as he turned to face her. "No one ever does with me."
His words slid under her skin, equal parts threat and truth.
She straightened her shoulders, forcing her voice steady. "If I agree… if I sign your contract, I need assurances. My father's company—"
"—Will be saved," Damian cut in, striding toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "I'll cover the debts, absorb the losses, and make sure it thrives under my watch."
Her breath caught. It was everything her father needed. But she also knew nothing came from Damian Blackwood without a price.
"And in return," she said carefully, "you get me."
A smile ghosted across his lips, dark and predatory. "Not quite. I get your name, your presence at my side, and your loyalty. You will become Mrs. Blackwood, in every sense that matters to the world. And behind closed doors…" His gaze burned into hers. "You'll learn exactly what it means to be mine."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She hated the way his words stirred something dangerous inside her.
"This is insane," she whispered.
"Perhaps," he allowed, tilting his head as though studying prey. "But then, survival usually is. So, Elena… will you be my contract bride, or will you let your father drown?"
The choice sliced her in two.
She wanted to scream at him, to tell him no. But when she thought of her father's fragile smile, his trembling hands as he tried to hide the bills… she knew she couldn't.
"I'll do it," she said finally, the words trembling out of her.
For the first time, Damian's expression shifted—satisfaction glinting in his eyes. He stepped closer, his presence swallowing her whole.
"Good girl."
The phrase made her chest tighten. Infuriating. Degrading. Yet, somehow, it also made her shiver.
He poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her as though this were some twisted celebration.
"To new beginnings," Damian said, raising his glass.
Elena's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "This isn't a beginning. It's a prison."
"Call it what you like," he murmured, sipping his drink, eyes never leaving her face. "But soon, you'll wear my ring. And when you do, the world will see you as mine—forever."
She wanted to tell herself it was just a contract. Just a transaction. But as Damian's gaze lingered on her lips, Elena realized with chilling clarity…
This wasn't business. This was possession.
And she had just signed her soul away to the Devil.