THE CONTRACT TO LOVE HIM

The air in the glass-walled office was too cold. Aria Bennett clutched her folder to her chest like it could shield her from the rejection she knew was coming. Three months of job hunting. Three months of “we’ll call you” that never turned into a call. And now her mom’s hospital bills were due in 48 hours. “Ms. Bennett, thank you for coming in today,” the HR assistant said, forcing a smile. “Mr. Voss will be with you shortly.” Mr. Voss. Her stomach dropped. She should have asked for the CEO’s name. Should have Googled. Should have run the second she saw the Voss Corporation logo on the building. The door opened. He filled the room without trying. Tall, dark suit, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Three years hadn’t dulled him. If anything, he looked worse. In the way that made your chest ache and your knees forget how to work. Damien Voss. Her ex. The man who’d proposed to her on a rooftop in Paris, then vanished three days later. No call. No explanation. Just gone. For a second, neither of them spoke. His dark eyes flicked over her old suit, chipped nail polish, the exhaustion she couldn’t hide and something flickered there. Regret? Annoyance? She couldn’t tell. “Aria,” he said. Low. Like he was tasting the name. “I didn’t expect you.” “Obviously,” she said before she could stop herself. “Otherwise you would’ve canceled the interview like a normal coward.” His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “You still have a sharp tongue.” “You still have a habit of disappearing.” HR shifted awkwardly and slipped out, closing the door behind her. Now it was just them. And ten years of history pressing down on the room. Damien walked to the head of the table and sat. He didn’t offer her a seat. He didn’t need to. “I looked at your resume,” he said. “MIT. Biomedical engineering. You’re overqualified for the assistant role you applied for.” “I need the job,” Aria said. Simple. True. He leaned back, studying her like she was a contract clause he didn’t like. “You’re also broke. Your mother’s in St. Mary’s. Oncology ward. Room 312.” Aria’s blood went cold. “How do you” “I make it my business to know who I hire.” He slid a single sheet across the table. “Or who I marry.” She looked down. PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT MARRIAGE CONTRACT – TERM: 12 MONTHS The words blurred. “What the hell is this?” “An offer,” Damien said. “You marry me for one year. You play the part of my wife at events, dinners, board meetings. No public scandals. No sleeping around. In return, I pay off your mother’s debt. $500,000. Plus a salary of $120k a year. And you keep your job.” Aria stared at him. “You’re insane.” “Voss Corp is finalizing a merger next month,” he said, ignoring her. “The board wants to see me ‘settled’. A wife makes me look stable. You need money. I need a wife. It’s practical.” “Practical,” she repeated, like the word tasted bitter. “And the ‘no feelings allowed’ part? Because I remember the last time you said you loved me.” His jaw tightened. “That was different.” “How?” she snapped. “Because this time it’s a contract? Because you get to walk away clean in a year?” Damien stood. The movement was slow, deliberate. He came around the table and stopped in front of her. Close enough that she could smell his cologne. The same one he wore in Paris. “Look at me, Aria.” She didn’t want to. But she did. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t offer you half a million dollars,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t give you a way out. You can walk away right now. No one’s forcing you.” But he knew she couldn’t. Her mom didn’t have a year. She barely had a month. Aria’s hands shook as she picked up the contract. Her name was already typed at the bottom. All she had to do was sign. “One year,” she said. “And after that, we’re done. No contact. No loose ends.” Damien’s eyes darkened. “One year.” She uncapped the pen. The tip hovered over the signature line. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. “Sign it, Aria,” he said. And for the second time in her life, she said yes to Damien Voss.