Chapter 11: A Deal with Destiny
876 Words
Damian’s POV
A year.
That’s what they said.
One year left with the only family I had ever known. The man who pulled me from the wreckage of my childhood, gave me a home, taught me everything I knew about power, about survival, about winning.
And what did he want in return?
Not money. Not another business expansion. Not a legacy deal.
He wanted to see me married.
Not just married—in love.
It would’ve been almost funny if it weren’t so goddamn ridiculous.
I stared at the contract in my hands, my jaw tightening as the weight of his request settled over me. The legal jargon was clear: I had three months to find a wife. Not just any wife—a woman I could plausibly convince the world, and more importantly, my grandfather, that I had fallen for.
This wasn’t a request.
It was a goddamn ultimatum.
My grandfather, ever the businessman, had already signed my name.
The audacity.
The pure manipulation of it.
I glanced up at him, still sitting there in that hospital bed, looking far too pleased with himself for a dying man.
"Tell me you didn’t actually think I’d agree to this," I said, my voice even, controlled.
His expression didn’t change.
"You already did, kid. You signed the contract."
I narrowed my eyes. "No, I didn’t."
"Didn’t you?"
There was something in his tone that made me pause. A knowing glint in his sharp, aged eyes.
I flipped back through the pages, scanning every line, every clause—
And then I saw it.
My signature.
At the bottom of the last page.
What the hell?
My grip tightened on the contract. "This is forgery."
He shrugged. "It’s business."
A slow breath. "You tricked me."
"I call it strategizing."
I clenched my jaw, every instinct in me screaming to walk away, to tear up the contract, to tell him no.
But I didn’t.
Because this wasn’t just anyone.
This was him.
The man who had raised me. The man who had given me everything. The only person in my life who had never, not once, abandoned me.
So instead, I closed my eyes for a second, exhaled, and reopened them with clear, cold precision.
"Fine," I said.
His expression flickered—something unreadable passing over his face before he masked it. "Fine?"
"I’ll do it," I repeated. "I’ll get married. I’ll play this little game of yours."
A slow, satisfied smile stretched across his lips.
"Good."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my voice dropping. "But hear me now, old man—"
His brows lifted slightly.
"I don’t fail. And if I’m doing this, I’m doing it my way."
His smile widened. "That’s my boy."
By the time I left the hospital, the contract burned in my hands like a ticking time bomb.
Three months.
Three months to do the impossible.
To find a woman convincing enough to pass as my true love, to make my grandfather believe she was the one.
The problem?
I didn’t believe in love.
Not in the way he wanted me to.
Love was a weakness, an illusion. I had seen it destroy people. Strip them of their power, their control. Love made men reckless.
And I was never reckless.
So, if I had to play this game, I would play it like I played everything else—to win.
Which meant I needed a woman who was smart, capable, immune to my bullshit. Someone who wouldn’t get attached, wouldn’t expect real emotion from me.
A business transaction.
A contract marriage.
That was the only way this would work.
I needed someone who could handle me. Someone who wouldn’t break.
Someone who would challenge me.
My car pulled up to the office building, the driver stopping smoothly in front of the entrance.
I stepped out, adjusting my cufflinks, my mind already scanning through possibilities.
Women I had dated. Women in my business circles. Women who wouldn’t ask for more than I was willing to give.
And yet…
A nagging thought settled in the back of my mind.
A pair of sharp green eyes. A smirk that drove me insane. A voice laced with sarcasm, one that never backed down from mine.
No.
I dismissed the thought before it could fully form.
Absolutely not.
Avena Cross was the last woman I needed in my life.
She was fire and defiance, and the last thing I wanted was to bring that into something as delicate as this.
And yet, as I entered the building, striding toward my office, my mind betrayed me.
Because when I passed her desk, my gaze landed on her before I could stop it.
She was already working, brow furrowed, pen tapping against her desk as she read through a manuscript, completely lost in whatever world she had created.
I slowed, just slightly.
Something about watching her work—watching her think—was… interesting.
Then, as if sensing me, she looked up.
Our eyes met.
And I knew, in that exact moment, that my life was about to become a whole lot more complicated.
Because for the first time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just walked into a trap of my own making.
- Writer
