Married by Midnight

CHAPTER TWO - The Devil's Proposal

CHAPTER TWO - The Devil's Proposal

Silence came to the glass office like downfall from a storm. Time ticked on the wall towards midnight.

Emma stood at the window shaking and her reflection caught the lightning flashes which illuminated the skyline. Damon was watching her from his desk, a man of unblinking eyes, unreadable eyes, a man who looked like he was carved from the storm itself.

When he finally spoke it was in a low and steady voice.

"Sit down."

She didn't move.

"I'd rather stand."

One dark brow arched. "That wasn't a request."

Something in his tone made her heart stutter - not fear, exactly, but the quiet recognition that this was a man who didn't understand no.

Reluctantly she crossed the floor, heels bouncing off polished marble. She sat on the edge of the chair, her wet dress stuck to her skin and she folded her arms across her chest protectively.

Damon pressed one of the buttons on his desk. The lights dimmed and the glow of the city filled the room with broken gold. Then he took a folder - the same one she'd brought - and pushed it towards her.

"The terms," he said simply.

Emma looked at it as though it was poison. "You can't be serious."

He sounded back, crossed his arms. "I've never been more serious."

Her throat tightened. "You're blackmailing me and forcing me to marry you."

"I'm putting forth a contract," he corrected with a clipped tone. One that is advantageous for both parties.

"Benefits?" Her voice rose. "You take my freedom, and what do I get out of it?" A front-row seat to your ego?"

His eyes glanced upward to hers - calm, cold, assessing. "You get your father's company. His reputation. His peace of mind."

Emma swallowed hard. "At the cost of mine."

Damon tilted his head. "You came out here tonight to save something." The man says to me, "Don't be surprised that it comes with a price.

She wanted to scream. Instead, she made herself breathe, think. "Why marriage?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes wandered to the window which was streaked with rain. As the last word, he said, "because I need a wife."

The fact that he said it so matter-of-factly, so impassively, made it seem like a business deal, not a union.

Emma's brows knitted. "For what? Image? Power? Need to tick some billionaire checklist?

I know it's not your thing, but I said it before, none of your concern. There is only the need to know your role.

"And that is?"

His eyes flashed back to her, as sharp as a blade. "To stand with me when I need it, be silent when I ask it, and never, never, never, to disobey me in public."

Her hands curled into fists. "You can't be real."

He smiled, a small smile, not a smile of warmth, but a warning. I'm deucedly real, I tell you, Miss Blake.

She glared at him. So you want me to play the submissive wife to what? A year?"

He didn't blink. "Exactly one year."

"Why a year?"

"Because," he said almost absently, "it takes me that long."

"For what?"

"To prove something."

"To whom?"

Again he smiled, but not with his eyes. "To everyone."

Emma stood on the spur of the moment with an anger and confusion burning through her fear. "You are crazy if you think I am agreeing to this."

"Sit down."

"Stop ordering me around!"

There was a scratch as his chair moved backwards, but he didn't stand, didn't even move fast, but the air shifted. Heavy. Electric.

He took a slow step toward her. "You think you have a choice."

"I do."

"No," he whispered, coming to a stop before inches of her. "You don't."

Her breath caught. His body filled the space between them - all steel and fire, calm but coiled.

You sign that contract and your dad keeps his empire. You walk out and everything he built turns to ashes before sunrise.

Emma's jaw tightened. "You're a devil."

"Then learn to dance in hell."

Lightning, sounding it out behind him, cracked the glass. She looked at him, saw him not as a man, but as a given form, a storm, cold, dangerous, unrelenting.

"Why me?" she whispered.

He glanced at her for a long time before answering. Because you are not fragile, that's why.

There was a twistedness in her chest. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." His eyes glanced momentarily down at the damp strands of hair that clung to her cheek. "You've gone through a storm for a man who broke you once, your father." "That's what tells me you'll survive me."

His voice dropped just a tad on that last word - me - but cruelty was back before she had a chance to read it.

Emma crossed her arms. And what if your board does figure out you're marrying out of spite?

"They won't," he said smoothly. And if they do, they'll believe anything I say to them.

"Because you are in control of everything."

He returned her glare without flinching. "Exactly."

The clock ticked. 11:54.

The rain pounded harder wind howling against the glass. Emma's pulse pounded as she glanced down at the page between them.

A single line.

A single signature.

One lifetime of consequences, if you are unlucky.

"What happens after the year?" she asked quietly.

Damon said: "You walk away." "Debt‑free. Richer, if you play your part. Forget you ever met me."

"And if I don't?"

He met her eyes. "Then I'll make you wish you had."

The coldness in his voice made her shiver.

Or do you believe in marriage at all? she asked suddenly.

He stopped and said, "I believe in contracts."

Her chest ached. "All this is ink and signatures to you."

"Everything in life is ink and signatures," he muttered.

Emma shook her head, a bitter laugh coming from her. "Do you think for a year you are going to own me?"

"I don't think," Damon said, moving away from him toward his desk. "I know."

Flared hot and sudden was her anger. "You don't own me, Damon Black. You can't buy me."

He turned, eyes cold. Then tell him why you are still here.

The words were more hitting than she expected. Because he was right. She was still there. Still desperate. Still stuck in the storm that he'd made.

"Because," she said away, "you gave me no choice."

He looked at her; saw something that flashed in his expression, too quick to name. Regret? Pity? Maybe even a little bit of self-loathing. But it was disappeared before she could be sure.

"You will have time to think it through," he said finally. But on the stroke of midnight that clock and you'll see-"

"--I sign my soul away?" she snapped.

He didn't answer. He just turned to the window, city mirrored across his suit like broken glass.

"You're going to sign because you know power," he said quietly. Even if you dislike the person that gives it to you.

Her voice broke. "Why are you doing this?"

His jaw flexed. "Because someone has to lose."

That answer wasn't for her. It was for himself.

Emma looked at him - at the perfection of his back, the tension in his shoulders, the curl of his hands into fists at his sides.

Something under the surface, there was. Something cracked.

But she did not have the luxury of caring. Not now.

She took a deep breath. "You really think you can intimidate me into saying yes?"

"I do not need to scare you," he said. I have no time and desperation does the work for me.

Her breath hitched. "You're unbelievable."

He turned then, eyes burning. "And you're out of time."

The clock read 11:59.

Her pulse roared in her ears. "What if I refuse to sign?"

Then the father will be seen falling.

One solitary tear rolled down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away.

"Do you sleep at night?" she whispered.

His expression did not change, but there was something in his eyes - something that flickered - pain, buried deep. "I don't."

The sincerity in that one admission tore greater than any indignity.

The silence expanded, pregnant with unsaid words of pregnant woman and man.

Then Damon moved closer again, until their air felt humming. "You have 1 minute left Emma Blake."

Her name on his tongue sounded dangerous - like a promise and a threat.

He threw the pen down next to the contract. "Choose wisely."

Emma stared at the paper. Her eyes were blurred by rain, tears and exhaustion. Her pulse thundered.

"You're a monster," said she again with a whisper.

He leaned forward, voice low. "Maybe. But I'm the monster holding back your world from burning.

The second hand ticked. 11:59:40.

Trembling fingers of Emma touches the pen.

Damon didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just watched.

11:59:50.

She could hear the storm but it was so faint and her heart pounded so loud.

He talked again - softer, a whisper of a voice. "If you're going to hate me, hate me, at least hate me for something good."

She looked up. 2 Eyes locking on his. "And what are those?"

The corner of his mouth was raised, but there was no humor in it. For being just what your father made me.

The clock struck twelve.

Thunder crashed. The lights flickered.

Emma flinched - and the pen slipped out of her grasp and went clattering down onto the marble.

It reverberated throughout the office like a gunshot.

Damon's jaw tightened. He bent down, lifted it and put it carefully back on the desk.

"You have until next strike," he said his voice cold again. "Then the deal's gone."

Her chest heaved. "You'd really destroy him? Destroy me?"

He didn't hesitate. "I already have."

The words froze her.

He turned away with his hands in his pockets, when lightning flashed again - his reflection in the window split down the middle - half light, half shadow.

Behind him Emma stared at the contract - the promise, the trap, the end.

Over it her hand was trembling.

Damon's voice was a quiet one, barely distant. "The decision was never yours Emma. Just the illusion of it."

Out in front there was the clock tower, which struck once.

BONG.

The first strike of midnight.

Her fingers closed around her pen.