Chapter 2: Ultimatum from a Billionaire
744 Words
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Aria sat on the edge of the leather armchair, her fingers tightening around her messenger bag like it could shield her from what she’d just heard.
“Let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your fiancée… for a year?”
Dominic Blackwell leaned against his sleek mahogany desk, arms crossed, watching her like she was a complicated formula he had every intention of solving. “Correct.”
“You’re blackmailing me.”
He gave a slight shrug. “I prefer the term… mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Aria scoffed. “You’re insane.”
“No,” Dominic said, his voice cool as the rain tapping the windows. “I’m practical. And I see opportunity where others see catastrophe.”
Her stomach churned. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t the kind of girl who got swept up in dramatic ultimatums and shady CEO plots. She painted murals in coffee shops and gave art lessons to kids on weekends. She was real. Raw. Broke.
And yet here she was, facing the world’s most feared businessman, who was offering her a one-year contract in exchange for pretending to love him.
“How exactly would this work?” she asked, more out of morbid curiosity than actual consideration.
Dominic’s mouth curved into something almost like a smile. “We would make a public appearance at the charity gala next week. After that, a formal announcement will be made. Photos, dinners, occasional interviews. You’ll wear the ring, play the role, and say what I tell you to say.”
She arched a brow. “And what do you get out of it, besides a fake love story?”
“An image,” he replied crisply. “I’m finalizing a merger with the Lockhart family. They value traditional values—marriage, loyalty, legacy. My public persona needs to match what they expect. You help me secure that, and I erase your debt.”
“And if I mess up?” she asked.
Dominic’s eyes darkened. “You won’t.”
Aria stood, her breath shallow. “I still don’t understand why me.”
“You’re disposable,” he said bluntly. “No ties, no media presence, no scandals. You’re perfect.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Silence stretched between them. Outside, thunder cracked again.
Every instinct screamed at her to leave. But behind those screams was another voice—soft, desperate, but clear.
What other choice do you have?
She didn’t have seventy thousand dollars. She didn’t have rich family members or a lawyer. She barely had enough to pay rent and feed herself for the next two weeks.
Aria looked him in the eye. “And after a year?”
“The contract ends. We ‘break up,’ and you go back to your quaint, bohemian life. With enough money to open your own gallery, if you play your part well.”
“You’re serious,” she whispered.
“Always.”
“And the emotional damage?”
“You’re not my type. I’m not yours. We’ll survive.”
Aria almost laughed at that. He had no idea what she’d already survived.
“I want it in writing,” she said finally. “Every word. No surprises.”
Dominic nodded once. “Of course. You’ll have my lawyers draft the paperwork today.”
She inhaled shakily. “And I can still paint?”
He smirked. “You’ll have more time than ever. Consider it… paid inspiration.”
Her legs wobbled as she stood, trying to shake the surrealness off her shoulders like a coat that didn’t fit. She extended her hand.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. But I have conditions.”
Dominic raised a brow. “Do tell.”
“I won’t lie to my friends. I won’t sleep with you. And I won’t wear anything that makes me look like a walking billboard.”
He chuckled once, low and dry. “Deal. Though you might reconsider the third one. My wardrobe team is world-class.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You have a wardrobe team?”
“Obviously.”
Dominic took her hand.
His grip was firm. Cold.
A businessman sealing a contract.
“Welcome to the performance of your life, Miss Lane,” he said.
Aria wanted to pull away.
But she couldn’t.
She’d just made a deal with the devil.
And there was no going back.
- Writer
