Married to the billionaire

Sign it.” His voice was low, commanding, with no room for refusal. Damian Blackwood’s cold eyes locked on her as he slid the crisp document across the glass table. Elena’s hands stiffened on her lap. She had expected arrogance from him every newspaper headline screamed billionaire, ruthless, untouchable—but she hadn’t expected this. She stared at the pages. Her name was there, bold and sharp. Elena Carter. Next to his. Damian Alexander Blackwood. Her throat went dry. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered. Damian leaned back in his leather chair, one elbow resting against the armrest like a king watching his subject squirm. His custom black suit clung to him like a second skin, every line sharp, perfect, expensive. Even the watch on his wrist looked like it could pay off her mother’s hospital bills twice over. “Do I look like a man who jokes?” His words dripped with steel. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the contract. Every line on the page screamed business transaction. Marriage reduced to clauses and signatures. “This is insane,” she said, louder this time, trying to sound braver than she felt. “Insane?” Damian’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. Efficient.” She let out a bitter laugh. “You’re asking me to marry you like you’re offering me a job.” “That’s exactly what this is.” He leaned forward now, pinning her with his stare. “A job. A role. You play the wife. I play the husband. Simple.” Her chest rose and fell, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Why me? Out of every woman in this city” His lips twitched, almost amused. “Because you’re desperate enough to say yes.” The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Her jaw tightened. He wasn’t wrong. Her mother’s hospital bills were suffocating her. Every loan application had been denied. Every door slammed shut in her face. And then came Damian Blackwood. A man with more money than God. A man who had the power to solve everything with a single stroke of his pen. But at what cost? “This isn’t marriage,” she muttered. “It’s a deal with the devil.” “Then be the devil’s bride.” His tone was flat, cold, unbothered. “You want your mother alive, don’t you?” Elena’s hands curled into fists. He made it sound so simple. But it wasn’t. “And what do you get from this?” she demanded. For the first time, his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and unspoken crossing them. “What I get,” he said slowly, “is none of your concern. All you need to know is this: I need a wife. You need money. We help each other. That’s all.” Her chest tightened. “You could marry anyone. Any model, any heiress” He cut her off with a sharp laugh. “Models talk. Heiresses gossip. You…” His gaze raked over her, head to toe, making her squirm. “…You’ll keep quiet. Because you can’t afford not to.” Heat burned her cheeks. Shame, anger, helplessness tangled inside her. She slammed the contract shut. “I won’t be your puppet.” “Puppet?” His smirk was ice. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need a puppet. I need a name beside mine. Someone to stand next to me when the cameras flash. Someone temporary.” “Temporary?” she repeated. “One year,” he said. “After that, we divorce. You walk away rich, your debts gone. I walk away with what I need.” Her stomach twisted. “And what happens in that one year?” “You’ll live in my house. You’ll attend events with me. You’ll act like the perfect wife in public.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “In private, you’ll stay out of my way.” Elena’s nails dug into her palm. Every word was a cage. “And if I refuse?” she asked softly. Damian’s expression didn’t change. He simply shrugged. “Then walk out that door. But remember when the hospital calls you tomorrow, asking for another payment, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” The room went silent. The contract burned beneath her fingertips. Her heart screamed no. Her reality whispered yes. She looked up, straight into his merciless eyes. And asked herself the only question left Should I sign the contract?