Chapter 2: Terms and Tensions
508 Words
Lena didn’t sleep that night.
She sat at her tiny kitchen table in her cramped apartment, the contract spread out before her like a moral crime scene. The terms were crystal clear. One year of marriage. Public appearances as needed. Zero expectations of physical intimacy. A payout large enough to save her father’s business—and possibly fund her art career.
There were non-disclosure clauses. Reputation safeguards. A prenup ironclad enough to make her lawyer’s head spin. If she walked away now, her father’s company was gone. If she signed…
She’d become the fake wife of Damien Blackwood. A man with a jaw sculpted by gods and a heart rumored to be made of stone.
Jules sat on the couch behind her, nursing a coffee and looking far too smug.
“You know, some girls dream of marrying a billionaire.”
Lena shot her a glare. “Some girls aren’t being paid to do it.”
“Oh, come on. He’s hot. He’s loaded. You get to play dress-up for a year and walk away with your dad’s company intact.”
“It’s not a game.”
“No. It’s survival. And he’s offering a life raft. I say grab it before it floats away.”
---
The next morning, Lena stood once again inside Blackwood Tower, her fingers clutching the folder she’d signed at 2 a.m. in between sobs and sips of wine.
Damien didn’t even look up as she entered. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to her, hands clasped behind him.
“You came,” he said simply.
“I signed,” she replied. “But I have conditions.”
That got his attention. He turned slowly, one eyebrow arched. “You’re in no position to bargain.”
“Try me.”
He moved toward her, each step deliberate. “Go on.”
“No s*x. No lies. No interfering with my art. And no humiliating me in public. This may be fake, but my dignity is real.”
His lips quirked in something almost resembling a smile. “Deal. On one condition of my own.”
“What?”
“You never fall in love with me.”
She barked a laugh. “I think I’ll survive.”
“Good,” he said smoothly. “We marry in three days.”
---
The ceremony was a carefully choreographed illusion.
A high-profile venue. Designer dress picked out by Damien’s stylist. A guest list filled with business moguls, journalists, and fake smiles. Lena stood beside Damien in a stunning ivory gown, heart hammering as flashbulbs exploded around them.
His fingers were cool against hers as they exchanged rings. The kiss was brief. Polite. Barely a brush of lips for the camera.
To the world, they looked like the perfect power couple.
To Lena, it felt like being swallowed whole by a life that wasn’t hers.
As they walked down the steps toward their limo, Damien leaned in, whispering so only she could hear:
“Smile, Mrs. Blackwood. Our fairy tale has just begun.”
- Writer
