Chapter Two: The Devil’s Terms
1274 Words
The moment Alina stepped into Damien Cross’s penthouse, she felt completely out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, but the air inside was thick with tension—and a silence that stretched far too long.
She stood stiffly near the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, still wearing her café uniform. She hadn’t even had the chance to change before being escorted straight from the security office to his private driver, who dropped her at this tower of glass and gold.
Damien walked ahead of her, suit jacket discarded casually over a chair. He loosened his tie with practiced ease, as if he hadn’t just blackmailed a stranger into marrying him.
“I assume you have questions,” he said without turning around.
“No. Just give me the contract,” Alina replied curtly. “Let’s get this over with.”
He raised an eyebrow and finally turned to face her. “I expected tears. Or hesitation.”
She met his gaze squarely. “You don’t know me.”
“No,” he said slowly, “but I know enough.”
That made her uneasy.
He walked over to a sleek cabinet and pulled out a thin black folder. He placed it on the marble island in the center of the room.
“You’ll live here. Public appearances are mandatory. Two events per week, minimum. Paparazzi love couples with a bit of mystery. I expect you to play your part convincingly.”
Alina moved closer, her eyes narrowing. “And what do you get from this?”
Damien gave a half-smile. “A promotion. Or rather, protection of my empire. The board of Cross Holdings doesn’t trust bachelors—too reckless. I need to appear stable. Married.”
“And after six months?”
“You disappear. I’ll even arrange a new identity if you want.”
Alina stared at the contract. “This is insane.”
“And yet you’re still standing here.”
Because of Leo. Because of the endless hospital bills and the growing list of medications. Her brother needed specialized surgery, and she couldn’t afford it on three jobs and pure willpower.
Damien leaned in. “You’ll be paid a generous monthly allowance. Enough to make your financial struggles vanish.”
“What’s the catch?”
He didn’t blink. “You’ll belong to me during the contract. No dating. No secrets. And no lies.”
Alina scoffed. “So I’m just your trophy wife?”
“You’re my business strategy,” he said coolly. “Nothing more.”
She hated how calm he was. As if this was just another corporate merger.
Alina opened the folder, skimming the contract. The terms were clear, and legally binding. A six-month marriage. Appearances. Behavior clauses. Confidentiality agreements. And a final clause that made her stop.
“No intimacy required,” she read aloud. “Seriously?”
Damien’s expression flickered. “This is a transaction. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Good,” she said stiffly, pushing the folder back. “Where do I sign?”
---
Two hours later, the contract was signed, notarized, and sealed. Alina had officially become Mrs. Damien Cross—on paper, at least.
“I’ll have my assistant arrange your clothing, press interviews, and media coaching,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “The media will eat this up by tomorrow.”
“I don’t drink,” she replied, declining the glass he offered.
“Of course you don’t.” His voice held the faintest trace of amusement.
Alina stood, still tense. “Where will I be sleeping?”
Damien gestured toward the hallway. “The guest suite. Far end.”
“Perfect.”
She walked away without waiting for a response, clutching her small bag tightly. She had no plan, no backup, and no idea what she’d just walked into. But Leo’s life depended on this.
And if that meant pretending to be the wife of a cold, controlling billionaire for six months… so be it.
---
The next morning, Alina woke in a bed larger than her entire apartment. The sheets smelled expensive, and the view outside the window was surreal.
She had barely slept.
Her phone buzzed. It was Damien’s assistant.
*Lexa (Assistant):*
“Good morning, Mrs. Cross. A car will pick you up at 10AM for your first fitting. The gala is in three days.”
Alina frowned. Gala?
A second message followed.
*Lexa:*
“Press release goes out today. You and Mr. Cross will be seen together by the weekend. Wear something that photographs well.”
Alina sighed and dropped the phone.
This wasn’t her world. Not even close.
---
At precisely 10AM, a sleek black car arrived. The driver didn’t speak. The boutique they arrived at looked like something out of a royal dream—velvet carpets, chandeliers, and rows of designer gowns.
Lexa, a tall redhead with sharp heels and sharper eyes, greeted her.
“Alina. You’re smaller than I expected.”
“I get that a lot,” Alina said flatly.
Lexa didn’t laugh. “You’ll need at least five looks. Gala, charity dinner, board appearance, interview outfit, and daywear for paparazzi.”
Alina’s eyes widened. “Board appearance?”
“Didn’t he tell you? Cross Holdings will introduce you to shareholders next week.”
Panic twisted in her stomach.
Before she could protest, a team of stylists swarmed her. Measurements, makeup tests, fabric samples. It was like being poked and prodded by a herd of designer sharks.
Two hours later, she was shoved into a satin red gown that hugged her curves. She caught her reflection—and barely recognized the woman in the mirror.
Lexa gave a brief nod. “You’ll do.”
Alina frowned. “Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a survival statement,” Lexa replied. “You’ve entered the lion’s den, darling. Try not to bleed.”
---
By the time she returned to the penthouse, Alina was exhausted. She dropped her bags by the door and went to check on Leo’s updates. A new message from his doctor glowed on her screen.
Dr. Moralez:
“Confirmed: Surgery has been approved and scheduled. Full cost covered by Cross Holdings. Congratulations.”
Alina’s throat tightened.
He had actually done it.
Damien might be a cold-hearted businessman, but he was a man of his word.
She didn’t know how to feel about that.
---
That evening, she found Damien in the lounge, laptop open, phone against his ear.
He ended the call as she entered. “How was the fitting?”
“Terrifying. Your assistant’s kind of a cyborg.”
“She’s efficient.”
“And emotionless.”
“She’s been with me for years.”
Figures.
Alina hovered by the door. “The surgery’s scheduled. For Leo.”
Damien nodded, barely looking up. “Good.”
“No strings? No surprises?”
“You already signed your life away, Alina. That’s enough strings.”
Her stomach twisted, but she refused to show weakness.
She took a breath. “Thank you. Seriously.”
He looked up at that. Their eyes locked—for a moment too long.
“You’re welcome,” he said quietly.
It was the first time his voice didn’t sound like steel.
---
Later that night, Alina stood on the balcony, wrapped in a robe, staring at the glittering skyline. Somewhere out there, real couples were falling in love. Mak
ing memories. Living honestly.
She, on the other hand, was married to a stranger with ice in his veins.
But at least Leo would live.
And for now, that had to be enough.
- Writer
