Dad's voice cracked over speaker. "Elara… the board just called. Everything is gone unless you do this. Your mother's last chemo session was cancelled yesterday. The hospital won't schedule more."
"Dad, he says no touching, no real marriage, just act in public!" I cried. "I slapped him on live TV. Now he wants me as his fake wife?"
Dad sighed heavily. "Baby, take the money. One year. We pay off everything. Mom can fight this cancer properly. Please. I'm begging you."
I hung up, eyes burning. "You're using my sick mother as leverage. You're disgusting."
"Disgusting but effective," Damien said. "Sign tonight or the offer vanishes at 3 a.m. My driver will collect you at 2:30. One suitcase only. Everything else will be provided."
I glared. "I keep my architecture job. I visit Mom whenever I want. And I will never, ever sleep in your bed."
"Job stays. Remote from the penthouse office," he answered. "Visits? Twice a month, escorted. Bed? Separate wings. But at galas you will hold my hand, call me darling, and look adoring. Understood?"
"Darling?" I spat. "I'd rather vomit. And the fifty million — paid in full, no hidden clauses?"
"Full amount, wired the morning after the year ends," Damien confirmed. "Lawyer, show her clause 7.2. No pregnancy clause because we won't be intimate."
The lawyer nodded. "Correct, sir. No children. No emotional attachment. Breach and you owe Blackwood Empire every cent spent on your mother's care."
I slammed the table. "You thought of everything, didn't you? What if I say no right now?"
Damien checked his watch. "Then your mother's next appointment gets cancelled permanently. Your choice, Elara. Clock's ticking."
I stared at the papers. "Why me specifically? You could buy any woman in New York."
"Because you slapped me on camera," he said. "The world already thinks we're explosive. One viral story and the inheritance board believes it's real. Efficient."
"Efficient?" I repeated. "This is my life you're buying!"
"Your life for one year," he corrected. "After that you walk away richer than you ever dreamed. Your Lagos family gets a fresh start. Sign."
I picked up the pen, hand shaking. "For Mom. Only for Mom. If you ever touch me without cameras, I swear I'll slap you harder."
"Cameras only," he agreed. "No personal questions. No friends visiting without approval. And you smile every time someone calls you Mrs. Blackwood."
"Mrs. Blackwood?" I muttered. "God, I hate that already."
The lawyer pushed the papers closer. "Initial every page, full signature on the last three. Date and time it."
I scribbled my name over and over. "There. Happy now?"
Damien took the signed contract. "Ecstatic. Driver is downstairs. 2:30 sharp. Welcome to your new home, wife."
"Don't call me that yet," I warned.
"In public I will," he said. "In private you're still the woman who slapped me. Same difference."
I stood, suitcase handle tight in my grip. "One year. Then I never see your face again."
He smiled that ice-cold smile. "Three hundred and sixty-five days. Not a minute more. Sleep well, Elara. Tomorrow the world meets the new Mrs. Blackwood."
I walked out without looking back, heart hammering. The elevator ride down felt endless.
At 2:45 a.m. the black limo waited. The driver opened the door. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you, Miss Voss."
I climbed in. "This is insane. I just signed my life away for money."
The penthouse door opened at exactly 3 a.m. Damien stood there in a fresh shirt. "You're late by fifteen minutes."
"Traffic," I lied. "Where's my room?"
"East wing," he said. "Rules start now. No wandering into my side after midnight. Breakfast at seven. We leave for the first public appearance at nine."
I dropped my suitcase. "Public appearance already? We just signed!"
"Media is waiting," he replied. "Smile, Elara. Or your mother's treatment ends before it begins."
I glared. "You're a monster."
"Monster who just saved your family," he shot back. "Goodnight, darling."
"Don't you dare," I hissed.
He closed his door. "In public I will. Get used to it."
I stood alone in the huge hallway, signed contract burning in my mind. One year. Fifty million. Mom safe.
But at what cost?
I stood frozen in the hallway after Damien closed his door. One year. Fifty million. Mom safe. But at what cost?
At exactly seven a.m. I walked into the dining room. Damien sat at the head of the table, tablet in hand.
"Good morning, darling," he said without looking up.
"Don't call me darling when we're alone," I snapped, dropping into the chair. "Rules say only for cameras."
"Rule four says practice at all times," he replied calmly. "The maid hears. The staff talks. Say it back with a smile."
"Good morning… darling," I forced through gritted teeth. "Happy now?"
"Not convincing," he said. "Press conference at nine sharp to announce our engagement. Then the red-carpet gala tonight. The slap video has five million views. We flip it today."
The maid appeared. "Eggs Benedict, sir? For the miss?"
"Eggs for both," Damien ordered. "She needs energy."
"I want black coffee only," I argued. "And call me Elara, not miss or darling."
Damien set his tablet down. "She'll have the eggs. Coffee after. Now, the script is on your phone. When they ask about the slap, you say 'It was the spark that lit our fire.'"
"I'm not saying that garbage," I shot back. "I'll tell them you deserved it."
"You will say the script word for word," he warned. "Or I call Mount Sinai and cancel your mother's treatment slot. Practice right now. Say 'Damien is the love of my life.'"
"No chance," I refused. "I'm not role-playing love over breakfast like some cheap movie."
"Do it," he insisted. "Smile and say it or the deal ends before it starts."
The stylist burst in. "Mr. Blackwood, red dress or black for the press and gala? Makeup team is ready."
"Black," I said quickly.
"Red," Damien overruled. "It matches the fire she showed when she slapped me. Professional makeup too."
"I choose black," I argued. "This is my body, not yours."