The Contract
1125 Words
Mia stood in the middle of Damien’s massive office. The silence was so heavy she could hear the ticking of her own heart. She looked at the man sitting behind the mahogany desk. He looked like a king on a throne, and she felt like a commoner who had accidentally wandered into his palace.
"Sit down, Mia," Damien said. He didn't look up from the papers in front of him.
Mia sat in the leather chair. It was soft and smelled like luxury, but she sat on the very edge of it. She felt like if she got too comfortable, the dream would break and she would be back in her cold, empty apartment.
"I have the contract ready," Damien continued. He slid a thick stack of papers across the desk. "My lawyers worked on it through the night. It is very simple. You will live in my house. You will attend events with me. You will pretend to be the woman I love in front of my family and the cameras. In exchange, I have already sent the money to your father’s hospital."
Mia’s breath hitched. "You already sent it?"
"Fourteen thousand dollars is pocket change to me," he said, and for the first time, he looked her in the eyes. His gray eyes were like flint. "But to you, it is your father’s life. Consider it a down payment on our deal."
Mia felt a wave of relief so strong she almost cried. Her father was safe. For the first time in months, she could breathe without feeling like her lungs were filled with lead. But then, she felt a small, sharp poke in her lower stomach.
The baby.
She froze. The relief turned into a cold, sharp fear. She couldn't tell him. If she told this powerful, cold man that she was pregnant with a stranger's child, he would surely kick her out. He wanted a "stable" image, not a scandal involving a girl who didn't even know who her baby's father was.
She reached out and signed the paper. Her hand shook, but the signature was clear.
"Good," Damien said, taking the papers back. "Pack your things. My driver will pick you up at eight o'clock tonight. You will move into the Cross Mansion immediately."
"Tonight?" Mia asked, her voice small. "But I have a shift at the cafe..."
"You don't have a shift anywhere anymore," Damien snapped, his voice turning sharp and loud. "You are the future Mrs. Cross. You do not scrub floors or serve coffee. From now on, your only job is to do exactly what I tell you."
Mia flinched. The kindness she thought she saw in his eyes when he caught her from falling was gone. Now, there was only a businessman who had bought a new tool.
That evening, a long black car pulled up to Mia’s crumbling apartment building. The neighbors stared through their windows as a man in a suit carried Mia’s two small suitcases to the trunk. Mia looked back at her home one last time. It was a sad place, but it was hers. Now, she was going into the unknown.
The Cross Mansion was even bigger than the office. It sat behind tall iron gates and was surrounded by perfectly green grass and white roses. Inside, the floors were gold and the chandeliers looked like falling stars.
"This is your room," Damien said, leading her to a bedroom that was larger than her entire apartment. "There are clothes in the closet. Jewelry in the drawers. Use them. I cannot have you looking like a beggar when my cousin Richard arrives for dinner tomorrow."
"Thank you, Damien," she said softly.
He stopped at the door, his back to her. "Do not call me that in private. To me, this is a business deal. You can call me Mr. Cross when we are alone. Only use my first name when people are watching us."
He left without another word.
Mia sank onto the giant bed. It was so soft, but it felt cold. She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She pulled up her thin shirt and looked at her stomach. It was still flat, but she knew that soon, it wouldn't be.
"We are safe for now," she whispered, her hand stroking her skin. "I will protect you. I will never let him know. I’ll find a way to leave before the belly shows. I just need to save enough money first."
The next few days were a blur of lessons. Damien hired people to teach Mia how to walk, how to eat with five different forks, and how to speak like a lady of high society. He was always there, watching from the corner of the room with a judgmental look on his face.
He was never kind. He was never warm. He treated her like a project that was failing.
"You're holding the glass wrong," he said one evening, walking over to her. He grabbed her hand to adjust it.
His touch sent a jolt of electricity through Mia. It was the same feeling from the hotel—that strange, magnetic pull. She looked up at him, her heart thumping against her ribs. For a second, his eyes softened. He looked at her lips, and his thumb brushed against her wrist, right where her pulse was jumping.
But then, he noticed something. He felt the way her hand was trembling, and he saw the way she looked slightly pale.
"Are you sick?" he asked, his voice narrowing. "You look faint every time I come near you. If you have some kind of illness, Mia, you should have told me before I signed the checks."
"I'm fine," Mia lied quickly, pulling her hand away. "I'm just tired. The lessons are a lot."
"Make sure you stay fine," he warned. "My cousin Richard is coming tonight. He is looking for any reason to prove this marriage is a sham so he can take the company from me. Do not give him a reason."
As Damien walked away, Mia felt another wave of nausea. She leaned against the table, her face turning white. She had to hide this. If Damien found out she was pregnant, he would think she was a liar. He would think she was using him.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. She had to play the part of the perfect wife. Even if her heart was breaking, and even if her body was keeping a secret that could destroy everything.
- Writer
