The moment Elena's pen left the contract, the room fell into a suffocating silence. She wanted to take the signature back, to rip the pages into shreds, to scream at the man who sat across from her with maddening composure. But her name was inked in black, binding her tighter than any chain ever could.
Damian Blackwood leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with something unreadable. Satisfaction? Triumph? To Elena, it felt like watching a wolf that had just cornered its prey.
"Good," he said smoothly, tucking the contract back into the drawer as if her life hadn't just been rewritten. "Now, there are rules."
Her stomach clenched. "Rules?"
"Of course." His voice was as calm as ever, like he was negotiating business instead of dictating her future. "If you are to play the role of Mrs. Blackwood, there will be expectations. Appearances matter. And you, Elena Carter, are about to step into a world that will eat you alive if you're not prepared."
She forced herself to sit straighter, though her hands trembled in her lap. "What kind of… expectations?"
Damian's gaze flicked to her cheap, faded blouse, then back to her face. "You'll dress the part. You'll attend social functions, charity galas, business dinners. You'll smile when necessary and keep quiet when it's wise. You'll not embarrass me. Ever."
Heat rose in her cheeks. "I'm not a doll for you to parade around"
"You are exactly that," he cut her off coldly. "For one year, you belong to me. In public, you'll be the perfect wife. In private, you'll stay out of my way unless I call for you."
The words sliced deeper than she expected. Belong. Perfect wife. Stay out of his way.
"And what if I don't follow these… rules?" she asked quietly.
His lips curved, though it wasn't a smile it was a warning. "Then your mother's hospital bills stop being paid. And the debt collectors will be reminded where you live."
Elena's breath caught. Her nails dug into her palms, leaving crescents of pain. She wanted to throw the glass paperweight from his desk at his face, to see even a flicker of emotion break that mask of ice. But her mother's fragile smile flashed in her mind again, and she swallowed the fury.
"Fine," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'll follow your rules."
"Good girl." His voice was dangerously soft, like silk concealing blades.
Her entire body tensed at the phrase. She wasn't his girl. She wasn't anything but his prisoner dressed as a wife.
Damian rose from his chair, towering over her. Even in her defiance, she couldn't deny the raw power in his presence the way his tailored suit framed broad shoulders, the precision of every movement, the icy control radiating off him. He extended his hand.
"Come."
Elena blinked. "Where?"
"To the tailor. You can't attend tonight's gala dressed like…" His eyes swept her blouse again, dismissive. "…that."
"Tonight?" Panic shot through her veins. "You expect me to....already?"
"You signed the contract, Elena. The world will meet Mrs. Blackwood tonight."
Her knees nearly buckled. She wasn't ready. She would never be ready.
But Damian's hand waited, patient and commanding. Trembling, she placed her fingers in his. His grip was firm, unyielding, as he pulled her to her feet.
---
Hours later…
Elena barely recognized the reflection staring back at her.
The boutique had been a whirlwind of silks, sequins, and sharp-eyed stylists who treated her body like a mannequin to be fitted and pinned. They draped her in gowns worth more than her apartment, slid glittering heels onto her feet, painted her lips with shades she'd never dared to wear.
Now, standing before a gilded mirror, she saw someone else.
Her hair was swept into an elegant chignon, her shoulders framed by a midnight-blue gown that clung to her curves before flowing like liquid around her legs. A diamond necklace glittered at her throat, cold and heavy like the chains she couldn't see.
She looked like a queen.
She felt like a fraud.
Behind her, Damian adjusted the cufflinks on his pristine suit, the very image of power. His reflection met hers in the mirror, his gaze assessing, critical.
"You clean up well," he said finally, as though she were another acquisition he'd polished for display.
Elena turned, clutching her small beaded clutch tighter than necessary. "I don't belong in places like this."
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "You belong where I say you belong. And tonight, you belong at my side."
Her lips parted with a retort, but the words withered when his hand brushed a loose curl from her face. The touch was feather-light, yet it burned. His eyes lingered on hers for a fraction longer than necessary, before he stepped back and the mask of indifference snapped back into place.
"Let's go."
---
The Gala
The Blackwood limousine rolled to a stop outside the city's grandest hotel, and Elena's heart raced so violently she thought she might faint. Flashing lights exploded outside paparazzi, dozens of them, cameras poised like weapons.
The door opened, and Damian slid out first, commanding the night with his mere presence. When he turned and extended his hand toward her, Elena hesitated.
One wrong move, one falter, and the world would see her as weak.
She placed her hand in his, and he helped her out with smooth precision.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Cameras flashed, voices shouted
..
"Mr. Blackwood! Is this your date?"
"Who's the mystery woman?"
"Is she your fiancée?"
Elena's vision blurred under the onslaught of lights, but Damian's hand was steady against her back, guiding her with unyielding authority.
"She's my wife," he said coolly, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Wife.
The word rang in her ears like a verdict.
The reporters erupted. Questions flew, cameras clicked, but Damian ignored them all, leading her into the glittering ballroom as though the world outside didn't exist.
Inside, chandeliers sparkled above polished marble floors, and the air buzzed with champagne and wealth. Elena's every instinct screamed to flee, but Damian's hand remained on her lower back, a silent command.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at her. "They're watching."
So she did. A brittle curve of her lips, fragile as glass.
---
Whispers followed them through the crowd. Elena caught fragments...
"She's beautiful, but where did he find her?"
"She's not from any of the old families, I've never seen her."
"Do you think it's real? Damian Blackwood, married?"
Her skin prickled under their scrutiny. She felt naked, exposed.
Damian, however, thrived under the attention. He moved with perfect grace, greeting other elites, shaking hands with powerful men, exchanging polite lies with diamond-draped women. To all of them, he introduced her with the same calm authority: "My wife, Elena."
Each time, the words dug deeper.
Elena smiled, curtsied, murmured polite greetings, but inside she was screaming. This wasn't her world. She was drowning in it.
At one point, a tall, elegant woman with icy blue eyes approached. Her perfume was suffocating, her smile sharp as glass.
"Damian," she purred, laying a manicured hand on his arm. "You didn't tell me you'd finally married. How… sudden."
Elena stiffened.
Damian's expression didn't change. "Victoria." He didn't offer warmth, only acknowledgment. "This is Elena, my wife."
Victoria's gaze swept over Elena like a blade, dismissive and cruel. "How lovely. And where exactly did you two meet?"
Elena opened her mouth, but Damian's hand tightened at her back. "Private matters," he said smoothly, shutting down the question with finality.
Victoria's smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed. "Well, I do hope you enjoy your little fairytale." She leaned closer, her words a dagger. "Though in this world, not all fairytales end happily."
She glided away, leaving Elena trembling.
Damian didn't look at her, didn't comfort her, didn't even acknowledge the sting. He simply led her to another circle of guests, as if her humiliation meant nothing.
---
Hours later, when they finally returned to the limousine, Elena collapsed against the seat, her feet throbbing, her heart heavier than the diamonds around her neck.
"Was that entertaining enough for you?" she snapped, unable to hold it in any longer.
Damian's gaze slid to her, calm, unreadable. "You did well. Better than I expected."
"That's all you have to say?"
"Yes."
Her chest heaved. "Do you enjoy this? Controlling me? Watching me squirm while people like Victoria tear me apart with their eyes?"
His silence was more infuriating than words.
She turned to the window, tears burning her eyes. She had signed her freedom away, and tonight was only the beginning.
And yet, deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that Damian hadn't brought her into his world by accident.
No...this was all part of something bigger.
Something darker.
Something she wasn't ready to face.
---