📘 Chapter One: The Contract
Amara Blake's fingers trembled above her keyboard, her mind still reeling from the message that had just popped into her inbox. Three words. That was all it said.
> Come to my office. Now. – Damon Blackwood
Her stomach dropped like a lead weight.
She stared at the email for a moment longer, hoping it would vanish. Hoping it had gone to the wrong Amara. But no—there was only one Amara Blake employed at Blackwood Enterprises, and only one man bold enough to command the world with a three-word sentence.
Damon Blackwood. The name alone sent a cold shiver down her spine. CEO. Billionaire. Strategist. Ice King. Rumors swirled about how he crushed competitors with a look and ruined careers with a signature.
And now he wanted to see her. Alone.
With a quick breath, she stood up, smoothed the wrinkles in her navy pencil skirt, and grabbed her notebook like it was a shield. Around her, the hum of the office continued—phones ringing, heels clicking, people murmuring in the language of business. No one noticed her distress. In a place like this, weakness was a luxury no one could afford.
The elevator ride to the top floor was a slow form of torture. The mirrored walls showed her reflection—dark curls pulled into a low bun, makeup fading from a long day, and panic barely masked beneath carefully composed features.
Ding.
The doors opened into a quieter, colder world. Damon's executive floor was all glass, marble, and silence. The kind of silence that echoed your heartbeat back to you.
"Mr. Blackwood is expecting you," said the receptionist with a tight, professional smile.
Amara nodded stiffly and approached the towering frosted glass doors. She knocked lightly, then pushed them open.
And there he was.
Damon Blackwood stood by the window like a portrait brought to life—tall, poised, and impossibly sharp. His tailored charcoal suit clung to his broad frame like a second skin. The skyline behind him glittered, a sea of gold and steel under the late afternoon sun, but it was his presence that swallowed the room whole.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Blackwood?" Her voice was steady, but her hands clenched around her notebook.
He didn't turn immediately. When he finally did, his cool grey eyes fixed on her like a puzzle he was already solving.
"Close the door."
She did.
"Sit."
She sat.
Then, without preamble, he dropped a bomb.
"I need a wife."
Silence.
Amara blinked. Once. Twice. "I… I'm sorry?"
"I said I need a wife," he repeated, folding his hands behind his back. His voice was even, like he was discussing office supplies. "Temporary. Six months. No emotions. No drama."
Her mouth went dry. "You're… joking."
"Do I look like someone who jokes, Miss Blake?"
No. He absolutely did not.
She stared at him, struggling to comprehend. "Why me?"
"You're competent. Discreet. Unattached. You don't gossip. You don't beg for promotions. And most importantly"—his eyes narrowed slightly—"you don't ask unnecessary questions."
Amara stood up, flustered. "This is ridiculous. Illegal. Immoral, even."
He slid a folder across the sleek black desk. "It's a contract. You'll find everything legal is inside. One marriage certificate. One NDA. One schedule of public appearances. And a payment plan."
She opened the folder with shaking hands. The number at the bottom made her breath catch.
$500,000.
"Why would anyone agree to this?" she asked softly, heart thudding.
His gaze sharpened. "Why would someone say no to half a million dollars and six months of pretending?"
Because it's insane. Because it's humiliating. Because it's a trap.
But still, the number burned in her mind. Her father's hospital bills. The rent on their crumbling apartment. Her mother's sleepless nights and thinning hair. That money could erase years of struggle.
"Why do you need this?" she whispered.
His jaw ticked. For a second—just a second—something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Regret?
"My father's will," he said finally. "To secure full control of Blackwood Enterprises, I must be married before the board vote in thirty-one days. If I'm not, my shares go to my cousin—a man who shouldn't run a lemonade stand, let alone a billion-dollar company."
Amara sat slowly.
She had no idea what was more surreal: that this man was asking her to marry him… or that a small part of her was considering it.
"You think this will work?" she said, voice hoarse. "You think people won't notice we're faking it?"
"They'll believe what I show them," he said. "And so will you."
"What if I say no?"
Damon leaned across the desk, voice dropping. "Then you walk out of this room, go back to your desk, and wait for life to devour you slowly. But if you say yes... you get the money. The freedom. And when it's over, you go back to your life a very rich woman."
Her fingers grazed the folder again.
She should walk away.
But instead, she asked, "What happens after the six months?"
He smiled—just barely. "We divorce. Quietly. Neatly. No mess."
A perfect plan.
Cold. Calculated. And dangerously tempting.
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End of Chapter One.