The drive to Blackwood Corporation was quiet.
Amara sat in the back seat of the black car, hands folded in her lap, watching the city unfold through the tinted window. The streets grew wider, the buildings taller, the air sharper—everything more deliberate. This part of the city didn't rush. It expected obedience.
She didn't speak. Neither did the driver.
When the car finally stopped, Amara looked up.
Blackwood Corporation rose before her, glass and steel catching the morning light like something unapproachable. It wasn't beautiful in a comforting way. It was impressive. Cold. Permanent.
The driver stepped out and opened her door.
"We've arrived, Miss."
She nodded and stepped onto the pavement.
Inside, the building was even more imposing. Conversations were hushed. Movements precise. People passed her without looking twice, unaware that she was about to become something very few ever did—Lucian Blackwood's wife.
At the reception desk, her name was already waiting.
"Miss Collins," the receptionist said politely. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."
Of course he was.
She was escorted to the top floor. The elevator ride felt longer than it was, her reflection staring back at her from the mirrored walls. She barely recognized the woman looking back—calm on the surface, guarded beneath.
The doors opened onto silence.
Lucian's office was unchanged from her memory. Expansive. Minimal. Controlled. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city behind him, a reminder of exactly where power lived.
Lucian stood as she entered.
"You came," he said.
"I said I would," she replied.
He gestured toward the chair. "Please."
She sat.
On the desk lay a thick folder—heavier than the one she had taken home. This one felt final even from a distance.
"This is the marriage agreement," Lucian said calmly. "Legally binding. Effective immediately upon signing."
Her fingers tightened slightly. "I assumed as much."
"You may read it again."
"I already have."
He studied her face for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."
He slid the folder toward her.
Amara opened it slowly.
Everything was there. Names. Dates. Clauses written in language designed to leave no room for emotion. Three years. Public obligations. Confidentiality. Exit terms.
Her gaze stopped at the signature line.
Lucian Blackwood's name was already there.
"You didn't wait," she said softly.
"I don't gamble," he replied. "I prepare."
She turned another page.
"You won't force me to move in immediately," she said.
"No," Lucian replied. "Only when necessary."
Necessary again.
"And children?" she asked quietly.
Lucian's expression didn't change. "Not part of this agreement."
Relief passed through her like a quiet wave.
She closed the folder.
"I want something added," she said.
Lucian leaned back slightly. "Go on."
"If this ends," she said carefully, "I walk away clean. No scandals. No whispers. No damage to my name."
Lucian considered her for a long moment.
"Agreed," he said finally.
He reached for a pen, amended the clause, and initialed it without hesitation.
That surprised her.
She picked up the pen.
For a brief second, she hesitated—not because she didn't know what she was doing, but because she knew exactly what she was giving up.
Then she signed.
The ink dried quickly.
Lucian closed the folder.
"It's done," he said.
Her heart sank and lifted all at once.
"When does this begin?" she asked.
"It already has," he replied. "Publicly, in two days."
She stood.
"I don't expect kindness," she said. "But I expect respect."
Lucian met her gaze steadily. "You'll have both."
She turned to leave.
"Amara," he said.
She paused.
"This marriage will be… difficult," he said evenly. "If at any point you regret agreeing to it—"
"I already regret it," she replied softly, without turning around.
When she stepped out of the office, the doors closing behind her, the world felt sharper. Colder. Real.
She was no longer just Amara Collins.
She was bound—by ink, by obligation, by a deal she never asked for.
And the life she had crossed into would not let her leave unchanged.
When she stepped out of the office, the doors closing behind her, the world felt sharper. Colder. Real.
She was no longer just Amara Collins.
She was bound—by ink, by obligation, by a deal she never asked for.
Amara's POV:
The city outside moved on as if nothing had changed. People walked past her, eyes fixed ahead, conversations floating through the air—ordinary, alive. But she felt suspended, as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her.
Her hands trembled slightly as she held her bag closer. She had signed. She had agreed. And yet… it didn't feel like a victory. It didn't feel like a choice. It felt like surrender.
Lucian Blackwood's calm, unreadable face haunted her. He had no doubt. No hesitation. And yet she couldn't tell if there was anything hidden behind that control—anything human.
Three years. That was all she had agreed to give him. But already, she felt the weight pressing down. Every glance, every expectation, every whispered word in society could trap her before she even realized it.
She clenched her fists. I won't be crushed. I won't let him win completely.
But deep down, a quiet, unwelcome thought whispered: I don't know if I can survive this without losing myself.
Her steps felt heavy as she walked toward the car, toward a life she had never wanted, toward a man she barely knew. And somewhere in the back of her mind, a single, persistent fear grew:
What if I sign this contract… and what it demands from me is more than I can ever give?