Though I honoured the invitation to meet with Damien at The Sterling, I was reluctant to sign the contract.
Instead, I shoved it into my bag and spent the next six hours trying to find out who Damien Cross really was.
If I was going to sell my next two years to a stranger, I needed to know what I was getting into, I should by no means dive into that blindly.
The problem? Damien Cross barely existed.
His company, Cross Enterprises, had fingers in everything, real estate, tech startups, private security, even a pharmaceutical division.
Forbes estimated his net worth at somewhere net of three billion, but the articles were vague, like the writers themselves weren't quite sure where his money came from.
No social media presence, no candid photographs, the few official photos showed a man who looked like Damien but revealed nothing, just a pair of cold eyes, expensive suits, and a face that gave away no secrets.
I tried the gossip sites next, desperate for anything personal, that's when things got strange, all options were opened.
"Damien Cross spotted with mystery dark brown complexion lady at charity gala," read one headline from six months ago. But the photo had been scrubbed from the article, what was left, just a blank square where an image should have been.
Another article mentioned a "serious relationship" ending abruptly three years ago, but the woman's name was edited to suit publication
Every single mention of Damien's personal life had been sanitized, edited, erased.
Someone was controlling his narrative, and they were crafty and good at it.
My best friend Jenna called at two pm. "Please tell me you're coming to drink tonight, you know I haven't seen you in weeks."
"I can't, I'm ordinarily researching someone."
"For work?"
I hesitated. "Something like that."
"Is he hot?"
Despite everything, I almost laughed. "That's irrelevant."
"So he is hot." I heard her grin through the phone. "Who is he?"
"Damien Cross., ever heard of him?"
The silence stretched too long.
"Jenna?"
"Sophie." Her voice had changed, gone serious. "Why are you asking about Damien Cross?"
"You know him?"
"I know of him, my firm tried to recruit him for a merger last year." She paused.
"He destroyed the company we were representing instead, he bought out all their investors, got interested in their best people, diverted them and left the CEO bankrupt within three months."
My stomach sank. "Why?"
"No one knows, that's what makes him dangerous, he doesn't need a reason. If Damien Cross wants something, he takes it and If someone's in his way, he removes them." Another pause.
"Sophie, please tell me you're not involved with him."
I looked at the contract sitting on my desk. "I have to go."
"Sophia…"
I hung up and immediately hated myself for it., but I couldn't explain this to Jenna , there's no way I could explain it to anyone.
My laptop made a short high pitched sound, with a new email this time, an unknown sender.
*Still digging? You won't find what you're looking for in public records…D.C.*
My hands froze on the keyboard, I never knew he was watching me, somehow, he knew I'd spent the day researching him.
I typed back: *Then tell me yourself, what aren't you telling me?*
The response came within seconds: *Everything that matters, but you'll sign anyway.*
My fingers slammed against the keys: *You're awfully confident.*
*I'm realistic, you have thirteen hours left, as the clock is ticking.*
I wanted to throw my laptop across the room, instead, I called the one person who might actually have answers.
Marcus, my younger brother, worked in Venture Capital. He knew everyone in New York's financial circles.
"Hey, sis. What's up?"
"Do you know Damien Cross?"
The line went quiet, then: "Why?"
"Just answer the question."
"Sophia, I don't know what you're mixed up in, but stay away from him."
"Marcus…"
"I'm serious." His voice dropped. "There are rumors about Cross. Bad ones, as a matter of fact, people who cross him don't just lose business deals, they also disappear from the industry entirely. Some people say he has connections to…" He stopped.
"To what?"
"Forget I said anything, just promise me you'll stay away from him."
I closed my eyes. "I can't."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I need you to tell me the truth. All of it."
Marcus sighed, and I heard him moving to somewhere more private. "There's a story about Cross, probably not true, but it circulates. Five years ago, there was this hedge fund manager named Richard Stokes. He tried to undercut one of Cross's deals, spread rumors about Cross's financing being dirty."
"What happened?"
"Stokes lost everything, his funds, reputation, and his marriage. But that's not the weird part." Marcus's voice got quieter. "The weird part is that six months later, Stokes vanished.
Just... gone, no trace, some people think Cross had him killed."
"That's insane."
"Is it? No one's ever proven anything, but people are terrified of him for a reason."
After I hung up, I sat in the growing darkness of my apartment, staring at the contract.
Damien Cross was either a ruthless businessman or something far worse and I was considering marrying him.
My phone lit up, another text from the unknown number: *Time's almost up, Sophia. Choose.*
I looked at the contract, then at the photo on my dresser…Tori at her last recital, beaming with joy.
I picked up a pen.
My phone rang. Dad's number.
"Sophia?" His voice was broken, raw. "I need to tell you something. I've made terrible mistakes, and I…"
"Dad, wait…"
"There's going to be a scandal tomorrow. The Times is running a story about the bankruptcies, but I wanted you to hear it from me first."
My world tilted.
Tomorrow? The story will break tomorrow.
I had less time than I thought.
End of Chapter Seven