His Paper Wife, His Real Obsession

The click of her suitcase latch echoed through the vacant penthouse like a shot. Sofia Reed froze. Her hand didn't move from the metal knob, her fingers almost trembling . The silence that followed was too heavy, too complete—like the air itself knew what tonight meant. One year. Twelve months of a marriage that wasn't a marriage. And now it was over. As she looked through the penthouse window, The city glittered below her, the skyline bleeding gold and blue through the floor-to-ceiling windows. From this high up, everything looked small—just like she had felt next to him. Damian Blackwood. Her husband. Her employer. Her undoing. She inhaled slowly, forcing composure back into her lungs. “One more minute,” she murmured to herself, straightening the strap of her bag. “And then I’m gone.” Her wedding ring glimmered in the soft light. She took it off and held it between her fingers. It should be freeing but It burned instead. The elevator opened. Her heart stopped. Of course, he'd show up now. On the last night. At the hour the arrangement expired. The doors opened with a soft hiss, releasing Damian into the silence. His presence filled the room before he even spoke—a storm in a tailored suit. His black coat framed perfectly for his broad shoulders, his tie loosened but precise. He looked like sin carved into marble. Controlled and Untouchable. His gaze flicked to the suitcase. Then to her. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. Sofia’s lips curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “The contract ends at midnight. It’s ten past.” He took off his gloves slowly, as if buying time. “You could’ve waited until morning.” “I’ve already waited a year,” she said softly. His jaw flexed. “You were paid to.” She flinched. Not visibly—but enough that her breath caught. He saw it. Of course he did. Damian noticed everything, except the things that mattered. "Right," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Business only, okay?" A muscle in his cheek flexed. "That was the arrangement." Sofia drifted towards the window, her image merging with the city lights. "And we upheld it," she whispered. "No feelings. No strings. Just a deal." Her reflection flashed a sickly smile. "Bravo, Mr. Blackwood. Deal done." Behind her, his footsteps crossed the shiny marble—measured, calculated. "You're making it sound like a divorce." She grumbled under her breath. "You have to be married first for that." There was a silence between them, a sharp, electric silence. He stopped a few feet from her. Close enough that she could feel his warmth against her back, but not close enough to touch. He never touched without intention. Not unless he had to. Not unless someone could see. And tonight, no one was around. "Where will you go?" he asked softly. She hesitated. "Does it matter?" "Yes." What he said hit her harder than she expected. She turned, seeking something human, something unguarded on his face. His face was expressionless—icy perfection. But his eyes… There was something there. Something pinched, Controlled, and almost desperate. She backed away before she fell in. "Don't fret, Damian. I'll vanish tidily, just as planned. Your reputation is still intact. No messy conclusions." He didn't move. "You think I care about that?" "Don't you?" His silence was enough. She bent, grasped the handle of her suitcase, and moved towards the door. Each step was slightly heavier than the last. "I'll have the divorce papers sent to your lawyer," she said without turning to look back. His voice halted her. "What if I don't want a divorce?" She turned around slowly. Sofia stood almost near the door. "What did you just say?" "I said," he replied, each word cutting through the air, "I don't want a divorce." Her laughter splintered, half shock, half pain. "You can't be serious." He took a step nearer. "You think I'd joke about it?" "Yes," she spat. "Because to you, everything is a f*****g business arrangement. Even this.". Something flickered in his eyes. "You think I do not recognize what this was? You think I did not notice every single time you came into a room and treated me like I did not exist?" Sofia's chest tightened. "You told me not to be." His voice was low, menacing. "And you complied." The air around them grew thick. She could hear her heart, pounding and erratic. “Damian,” she said softly, “don’t do this. Not tonight. Let’s just end it cleanly. You’ll find someone who—” “I already did.” Her words died in her throat. “What?” He closed the space between them in two long strides. “You.” Her heart tripped. “You don’t mean that.” He caught her wrist—not roughly, but firmly, as if he was afraid she might disappear. “I mean every word.” “Damian—” "I desire a real marriage, Sofia." His eyes blazed into hers. "Not an act. Not a contract. A marriage. With you." Her breath caught. For a moment, she couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The man who had spent twelve months pretending she didn't exist was now looking at her as if she were the only thing that did. "Why now?" she breathed. "Because the transaction is complete? Because you now need another exchange?" His face darkened. "Because I couldn't stand for you to go out that door." Her mouth was dry. "You don't get to say that after twelve months of nothing." "Then say it now." Tears stung in her eyes, but she suppressed them. "You think words fix everything? You think one apology makes up for twelve months of—" "I'll make it up to you." He said immediately She glared at him. "You can't buy love, Damian." He stepped in, his voice a whisper on the crackling silence. "Who talked about love?" Her stomach knotted. "Then why do you want something?" His fingers relaxed their grip on her wrist. His jaw clenched. And then, with the same self-control that had built empires, he uttered the words that broke all— "I want you to stay. As my wife. And give me an heir." The world froze. For a moment, she thought she had misheard. The words hung suspended in the air, heavy and insentient, piercing through the fragile hope that had had the power to waver in her heart. Sofia's fingers slipped from the handle of the suitcase. It fell onto the marble with a muffled clang. She looked at him, really looked at him. And for the first time, she didn't see the man she'd fallen in love with. She saw the businessman. The strategist. The billionaire who achieved what he wanted. Her voice was a breath, broken and jagged all of a sudden. "A child, Damian? That's what this is all about?" His stare didn't waver. "It's about the future." She swallowed, hard. "Yours or mine?" He did not respond. He did not have to. She took a step back, her own heart pounding so loudly she could not even hear herself speak. "Then congratulations, Mr. Blackwood," she breathed. "You just made our conclusion another transaction." And as she stepped toward the door, he said the one thing that made her go rigid— "If you walk out now, Sofia… you'll regret it. Because I'm not inviting you to stay.". Her pulse thundered. “What are you saying?” “I’m telling you,” he said quietly, dangerously, “you don’t get to leave me.”