The air inside the mahogany-paneled study was suffocating, heavy with the scent of desperation and stale cigar smoke. Papers littered the desk in careless heaps; they weren't any ordinary papers, rather, they were debt notices stamped in red, foreclosure warnings, and court summonses.
For the first time in her life, Elena saw her father not as the commanding businessman the world once revered, but as a man cornered, his pride shattered into fragments.
"I've given my life to this company," Charles Winters rasped, pacing with wild eyes. His suit hung loose, his hair grayer than she remembered. "And now, vultures circle every boardroom. Do you think I can watch strangers rip apart my empire? Your grandfather's empire?"
Elena stood rigid near the doorway, her hands curled into fists. She wanted to comfort her father, but she was scared. Scared for her life. For her future and for the injustice they wanted to do to her.
Inhaling sharply, she looked straight into her father's eyes with all the courage she mustered up. "You built this collapse yourself, father. Years of lies, gambling, corruption, you expect me to clean it with my life?" She said with every ounce of courage she could gather in that moment.
In other situations, she would've stayed mum and listened to him silently, but not this time. He was about to sacrifice her as a lamb. She will not accept this injustice so easily when she was never at fault to begin with.
Her father froze, his gaze snapping to her. For a brief moment, there was shame. Then it hardened into something colder, something that made her stomach twist up in knots.
"There is a way out," he said, lowering himself into the leather chair like a king preparing to pass judgment.
She knew what he was about to say and what this way out meant. She had heard him talking to one of his friends on the phone about how he would get out of this mess. And she didn't want to hear it. Because it terrifies her to her bones.
"Damian Blackwood." Her father said.
The name cracked through the room like a whip. Elena's breath caught despite herself. Her sweaty fingers began to tremble lightly at the mention of that name.
Everyone knew him. The ruthless billionaire, the youngest CEO, just at the age of 28, carved his name into skyscrapers and stock markets alike. To the public, he was brilliance and terror woven into a man. But to her, he was a phantom whispered about at gatherings. Untouchable, merciless, dangerous. Some even said he was linked to the Mafia. And some said he killed anyone who became his enemies. Though these were all just rumors but there must've been something that sparked them.
But still, she had hope. He was so rich. He would never agree to any demand her father makes.
Her father's lips curved into a thin smile. "He has agreed to cover our debts, shield us from the creditors. All he asks in return… is you."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Her breath hitched, and for a couple of seconds her ears rang.
It took her a lot of strength to gather herself and face her father, who looked crazed enough to even think of such a thing. Elena's voice rose, sharp and trembling. "You're selling me? To him? Like some bargaining chip in your filthy games?" She gritted as tears of frustration and fear gathered in her eyes.
That man didn't even know her, yet he agreed to help her father in exchange for her. What exactly does he want from her? Her body? A slave? All the worst-case scenarios ran through her mind as her body shivered in fear of the unknown.
"Don't speak to me that way," Charles snapped, slamming his fist on the desk. "Do you think I wanted this? You think I enjoy placing my only daughter in the arms of my enemy. A man like Blackwood?" His eyes softened just enough to twist the knife of harsh words deeper. "But what choice do I have? Do you want your mother thrown out of this house? Do you want our name dragged through every paper as the Winters ruin?"
Her heart pounded painfully. "He's your enemy, Dad. Why do you think he agreed to help you? I think he has an ulterior motive behind this. There has to be another way, anything but this."
"There isn't." His voice cracked this time, raw and almost pleading. "Elena, listen to me. If you refuse, this family collapses. Your mother will lose everything. Your brother will be destroyed. Do you want that on your conscience? Do you want to be the one who ruins us?"
Tears burned her eyes as she tried her best not to cry. He was cornering her with guilt, chaining her with blood ties that had long lost their warmth. Still, her chest tightened at the image of her mother's fragile frame, of her little brother's hopeful eyes.
Charles leaned forward, lowering his tone to a whisper laced with poison. "Damian doesn't need a wife. He needs leverage. A bride to parade. You give him that, and in return, he gives us life."
Wife... So he doesn't want her as a slave, but a trophy he could parade.
Elena's voice broke as she said, "And what about me? Do I get a choice in my life?"
Her father's eyes glistened, but his lips were merciless. "No."
The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the hall, each second hammering into her skull like a countdown.
She wanted to scream, to tear the papers from his desk and set them alight. She wanted to run, far from this gilded prison. But her feet wouldn't move, and her father knew it. He leaned back, as though the verdict had already been sealed.
Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I hate you."
"I can live with that," Charles murmured, reaching into the drawer.
When his hand emerged, he carried a crisp folder. He slid it across the desk with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving hers. The folder landed in front of her with a dull thud, the weight of it heavier than iron shackles.
Elena's breath hitched as her eyes fell upon it. A marriage contract. Every clause neatly typed, every condition spelled out in ink darker than midnight.
Her trembling hand reached forward, but stopped before touching it. Her father's face was grave, unreadable.
And then she saw it.
At the bottom of the final page, written in precise strokes, was the name that made her stomach turn cold.
Damian Blackwood.
His signature was already there, bold and merciless.
Elena's knees weakened. It wasn't just a threat. It wasn't just her father's desperate fantasy.
The deal was done.
And she… was already his.
The ink had dried long before she'd been given a choice.