The Billionaire's Holiday Marriage Contract

CHAPTER THREE — THE PROPOSITION

(Ariana’s POV)

I stood frozen, my mind scrambling like a broken snow globe.

Marry him?

The words hung in the air like the snow outside his windows — impossibly cold, impossibly heavy, and entirely unreal.

I glanced around the penthouse. Expensive. Impeccable. Too perfect. Too cold. And yet, the warmth from the fireplace did nothing to soothe me. Not when I was about to be propositioned like a character in someone else’s life.

Damian’s eyes never left mine. Dark. Controlled. The kind of gaze that made it feel like he could read every fragment of my soul — the anger, the fear, the desperate little spark of hope I didn’t even realize I had.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” I whispered. My voice was shaky. Low. Weak, even though I hated sounding that way.

“You can start by listening,” he said simply. Hands tucked neatly in his pockets again, posture perfect, calm in a way that made me want to run — and stay — all at once.

I sank into the nearest chair, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I felt. Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t felt since my business collapsed. Vulnerable because I had no armor left. No booth in the Winter Village. No family money. No control.

“Go on,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

Damian circled me slowly, each step deliberate, like a predator deciding whether I was worth the hunt or the cage. “You’re aware of your situation, yes?”

I blinked. “You mean—” I stopped. My voice caught. “Yes. My business is gone. My mother’s house is about to be taken. I’m… running out of options.”

He nodded. “Good. Then you understand the stakes.”

The way he said it, as though he were discussing a chess game, made my stomach twist. I didn’t like it. I hated it. And yet… I couldn’t deny it. He was right. I had nowhere else to go. No one to fight for me in this city except myself. And maybe… him.

“You see,” he continued, “I have my own problem. A board threatening to vote me out. Investors questioning my stability. And I need a wife. Temporarily. Someone who can convince the public that I… have a life beyond the boardroom.”

I blinked. My brain screamed. My chest felt tight.

“You want me… to be your wife?”

“Yes,” he said. “For now. Until Christmas Eve. Three weeks. You’ll have a contract. Legal protections. And compensation sufficient to solve your current—” He gestured subtly at my tense shoulders, my trembling hands — “all of your immediate problems.”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. A laugh, bitter and sharp, forced its way out. “You have got to be kidding. This is insane.”

“No,” he said. Calm. Certain. Unwavering. “Completely serious.”

I leaned back in my chair, gripping the arms until my knuckles ached. “And why would I ever agree to this? I don’t know you. You ruined my life. You have a face on a magazine cover and the empathy of a stone.”

He smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly, like he found amusement in my anger. “Because,” he said slowly, “if you refuse, your problems remain. And if you accept, you get everything you need. House. Stability. Money. Control over your immediate future. And, Miss Cole…” His gaze darkened. “You get an opportunity to see me as I truly am, not the myth the world believes.”

I scoffed. “And you think I’ll trust that? You destroyed my business. You don’t get a ‘trust me’ clause just because you feel like explaining your side of the story.”

“I don’t expect trust,” he said softly, taking a step closer, reducing the space between us by inches that made my stomach twist. “I expect… agreement. And I assure you — you’ll be compensated for it.”

I swallowed hard, heart hammering. My mind raced, calculating.

Option one: Refuse. Stick to my pride, my anger, my righteous sense of justice. Consequence: homelessness, debt, humiliation.

Option two: Accept. Temporarily step into a world I don’t belong to, become a pawn in a game I barely understand, and live under the roof of the man I despised most in the city.

I wanted to scream, to run, to throw myself out the window into the snowy streets below. And yet… there was a tiny, grudging voice in my head:

You might just survive this. You might just win.

I looked up at him. The firelight flickered across his sharp jawline, his dark eyes calm, unreadable. He was confident. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that made my pulse spike, even though I wanted to hate him.

“How much are we talking?” I asked finally, my voice steadier than I expected.

He smiled faintly again, approvingly. “Enough to pay off your debt. Enough to restore your mother’s home. Enough to let you walk away on your own terms at Christmas Eve. And if you play your part well…” His lips curved slightly. “Perhaps more.”

I frowned. “And the… wife part? What do I have to do?”

“Live with me. Attend the public events. Appear as a couple. Nothing more. Unless you wish it.” His tone was clinical. Precise. Calculated.

“And if I refuse?” I asked, voice low.

“You walk away,” he said simply. “And your current situation remains as is. No aid. No compromise. Just survival of the fittest.”

I leaned back further, letting the weight of the decision settle on me. Survival of the fittest. That was exactly what this city had always been. And suddenly… I realized something.

I didn’t have to survive. I could survive smartly.

I could play his game. Beat him at his own rules. Get revenge in a way he wouldn’t even see coming.

A slow, dangerous smile formed on my lips. “Three weeks,” I said. “And I want it in writing. Every detail. Legal. Binding. No loopholes.”

Damian’s eyes flicked, just barely, registering surprise. And then he smiled — faint, approving, like he had expected this answer all along. “Agreed.”

He extended a hand. My hand shook as I took it. Warmth radiated through my fingers. Dangerous warmth.

“Welcome to the arrangement, Miss Cole,” he said. “Your Christmas starts now.”

I let go of his hand and sank back into the chair, my mind racing. He didn’t know it yet. I wasn’t agreeing because I trusted him. I was agreeing because I intended to win. To survive. To get revenge.

And somewhere deep inside, I felt something I didn’t recognize: the faintest spark of fear — and the faintest spark of curiosity.

Because this man… this billionaire… was more than just a problem. He was the storm I had no choice but to walk straight into.