HIS CONTRACT WIFE,HIS OBSESSION

What Does DamianWant?

Am I doing the right thing?”

“Will dad be okay?”

“What does Damian Voss want from me?”

I sat before the mirror in my room. Face pale. The vanity lights made me look sick. Or maybe I was.

My hands were shaking.

My chest tightened like someone had wrapped rope around it and pulled.

The contract was signed 3 days ago. My father’s company. His name. His legacy. All of it now belonged to Damian Voss. And in exchange, I belonged to him too.

For one year.

One year of marriage. One year of playing the perfect wife.

One year to save my dad.

One year of pretending I wasn’t dying inside every time he looked at me.

“what’s on your mind, little wife?”

I jerked. My back hit the mirror with a dull thud. Pain shot up my spine but I barely felt it.

Damian Voss stood before me shirtless. Water still dripped from his hair down to the scar running down his chest. A long, jagged line that disappeared into the waistband of his black trousers.

And I forgot how to breathe.

He shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not in my room. Not at 11pm.

The room smelled like his shower gel. Cedar. Expensive. And something that was only him.

“What do—you —want?”

My voice broke. It sounded small. Foreign.

My eyes trailed down against my will. His sharp jawline. The water on his collarbone. The way his chest rose and fell, steady, while I was falling apart.

He looked me in the eye and said. “You want the contract to stay. You have to do as I say.”

His voice was low. No anger. No warmth. Just fact.

My hand brushed the skincare bottles on the table and they fell.

Glass and plastic.

Leaving a thudding sound that was too loud in the quiet room.

I bent quickly to pick and place them back. My shaky hands sold me out this time again. The niacinamide rolled under the dresser. I had to reach for it, on my knees, with him watching.

Humiliation burned my cheeks.

When I stood, he hadn’t moved. Not an inch.

“Take off your clothes. Let’s see what I’m paying for.”

My eyes widened. Heat crawled up my neck to my ears. My stomach flipped.

“It wasn’t in the contract.” The words came out before I could stop them. Shaking, but there.

The contract said public appearances. Dinners. A ring. A last name.

It did not say this.

He quietly sat on the bed. My bed. With both feet slightly apart. Elbows on his knees. Watching me like I was something he’d already bought and was just deciding how to unwrap.

The room felt smaller.

I wanted to strip.

God help me, I felt it.

The way his lips lined when he was done talking.

His bare chest. The scar. The power in the way he just sat there and waited.

It aroused me and disgusted me at the same time.

I hated that my body was reacting.

I hated that part of me was curious what his hands would feel like.

I hated that I noticed the water droplet sliding down his abs.

I walked towards him and stopped a foot apart. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Cedar and something expensive I couldn’t name. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his skin.

“You bought my father’s company in exchange for this marriage.” My voice shook, but I made myself say it.

“Your father’s company that ran bankrupt.” He corrected me. No pity. “I saved it. You should be thanking me, little wife.”

I swallowed hard. So hard I feared he must have heard it.

Dad’s sickness. The debts. The calls from the bank.

Damian Voss was the only one who offered a way out.

And his price was me.

He stood up. Slow. Deliberate.

The bed dipped when he moved.

And ran his hand on my waistline. His fingers were warm through the thin fabric of my robe. They didn’t squeeze. They claimed.

Possessive. Final.

He bent a little lower to my ear and whispered.

“You’re mine.”

I froze. Every muscle in me locked. My breath caught.

“You don’t own me, you only—”

I stopped between the lines. Because what was the point? The papers were signed. My signature was next to his on every page. In ink.

“I own you.” His breath was against my ear. Hot. “I can’t wait for your father to recover and find out his sworn enemy now owns his daughter.”

My chest tightened. Pain bloomed behind my ribs.

What was I expecting? Kindness?

He only agreed to the contract to ridicule my dad. To finally win the war they’d been fighting for 20 years in boardrooms.

Was my dad’s sickness a joke to him? Was I a joke?

Tears burned behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Never in front of him.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted metal.

Damian pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark. Searching. Like he was waiting for me to break, to cry, to beg.

I didn’t.

I lifted my chin instead. My hands fisted at my sides. “What do you want me to do now?”

Something flickered in his expression. Surprise? Respect? I couldn’t tell. It was gone in a second.

“Go to bed, little wife.” He stepped away. The loss of his touch was immediate and cold. Like someone opened a window in winter. “We have a gala tomorrow. You’ll wear the red dress. And you’ll smile like you mean it.”

He walked to the door, shirtless, like he owned the entire house. Which, technically, he did .

Before he left, he paused. Didn’t turn around. His shoulders were broad in the doorway.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

The door clicked shut.

I exhaled. A breath I didn’t know I was holding. My legs gave out and I sank to the floor among my fallen skincare.

The mirror reflected me back. Pale. Shaking. Married.

Year one had just begun.