The wedding was as cold as the man she was marrying.
No flowers. No music. No guests.
Just a sterile conference room at the city courthouse, a bored-looking officiant, Damien Blackwood in an immaculate suit, and Lena in a borrowed cream dress that didn't quite fit.
Damien handed her a ring a simple platinum band, no stone.
"It's for appearances," he said. "Don't read into it."
Lena nodded, slipping the cold metal onto her finger. Her own hands were trembling, but she refused to let it show. Not in front of him.
He signed the papers with mechanical precision, like he was authorizing a merger, not tying his life to hers for the next year.
And when it was her turn, Lena hesitated only a second before she wrote her name: Lena Moore-Blackwood.
The officiant barely looked up. "Congratulations. You're now legally husband and wife."
No kiss. No vows.
Just silence.
Damien stood, adjusted his cuffs, and turned to her. "You'll be moving into my penthouse tonight. My assistant will pick you up at 6 p.m. Sharp."
Lena blinked. "Tonight?"
"You're my wife now. It would be strange if we lived separately."
Strange. As if this wasn't already insane.
She nodded numbly. "Alright."
Before she could say more, he was gone, already stepping into his waiting car outside.
That Evening Blackwood Penthouse
The building was one of the most exclusive in the city. The kind of place Lena used to pass by and wonder what kind of people lived behind those gleaming walls.
Now, she was one of them. Sort of.
Damien's assistant, a woman named Tessa, opened the door to the penthouse for her.
"This is your home now," she said simply. "Your room is the second door on the left. Mr. Blackwood's is at the end of the hall."
"Separate rooms?" Lena asked before she could stop herself.
Tessa arched a brow. "This is a contract marriage, Miss Moore. Not a love story."
Lena flushed. "Right."
The penthouse was breathtaking floor-to-ceiling windows, gleaming marble floors, and furniture that probably cost more than her entire college education.
But it felt... hollow. Like a museum.
Tessa handed her a tablet. "Mr. Blackwood has arranged a schedule for you. Public appearances, charity events, company galas. You're expected to attend and behave accordingly. Details are here."
Lena took the device with a nod, already feeling the weight of her new role.
"Also," Tessa added, "you're expected to look the part. A stylist will be here tomorrow. Don't argue. Just cooperate."
"Of course," Lena said quietly.
As Tessa left, Lena made her way to the guest room her new room. It was beautiful, decorated in muted tones with soft lighting and expensive linens.
But it didn't feel like hers.
Nothing did.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the ring on her finger. It caught the light just enough to mock her.
She was married.
To a man she barely knew.
For money.
She told herself she did it for her mother. That it was the right decision. The only decision.
But as she lay in that too-soft bed in that too-perfect apartment, she couldn't help wondering what the cost of this contract would really be.