Chapter Two: A Dangerous Proposal First Meeting with the Billionaire
1154 Words
The black car arrived at exactly 10:00 a.m. — sleek, silent, and intimidating. Alessia hesitated for a moment on the crumbling steps of her apartment building, nervously adjusting the secondhand blazer she’d borrowed from a neighbor. She didn’t own anything even remotely “appropriate” for a meeting with a billionaire, and her cheap heels clicked uncomfortably on the pavement as she approached the car.
The chauffeur, dressed in a dark suit and gloves, opened the door without a word.
Alessia slid inside, her heart pounding. The interior smelled like leather and money. She sat stiffly, clutching her purse like it held her last shred of sanity. The windows were tinted. The engine was so quiet she barely felt it start.
She didn’t know where they were going, and the driver didn’t say a word. Her phone buzzed once — a message from an unknown number.
“Arriving in 20 minutes. Do not be late.” — D. Blackwood"
She swallowed hard.
The city outside transformed as they drove — the broken streets and rundown corners of her world gave way to glass towers and polished sidewalks. Her stomach flipped. She didn’t belong here. Not even for a second.
Finally, the car pulled into an underground parking garage beneath a towering building with mirrored windows that stretched into the sky. A private elevator awaited her. The driver motioned silently toward it.
Alessia stepped inside, alone. As the doors closed, she caught her reflection in the polished steel walls: anxious eyes, chapped lips, hair she’d tried to tame with drugstore mousse.
She looked like a girl about to make a deal with the devil.
When the elevator dinged, the doors opened to a vast, minimalist office. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in sunlight. A modern chandelier hung above a long marble table. The walls were lined with books, art, and silence.
And then she saw him.
Damian Blackwood.
He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that clung to a frame built of power and precision. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones sculpted, and his eyes — ice blue and unreadable — landed on her like a spotlight.
Alessia’s breath caught. She’d seen pictures of him before, of course. He was everywhere — Forbes, tabloids, gossip blogs. The cold billionaire with a tragic past and a heart made of steel. But in person, he was more intense than she’d imagined. More dangerous.
“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “You’re punctual. Good.”
She nodded, too nervous to speak.
“Have a seat.”
She obeyed, lowering herself into the leather chair across from him. He didn’t sit. He circled slowly around the table, watching her like a hawk.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, forcing her voice to stay even. “I received an email, but—”
“I need a wife,” he interrupted.
The words hit her like a slap.
“A what?”
“A wife. Immediately. For a period of one year.”
She stared at him. He wasn’t joking. His expression didn’t waver.
“I... I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to. All you need to know is this: my grandfather’s inheritance is locked behind a condition in his will. I must be married by my 31st birthday, which is in exactly six weeks, or I forfeit everything.”
He stopped in front of her.
“I don’t have time for games, relationships, or drama. I need someone who will look good on my arm, attend the occasional event, and sign a contract. That’s all. No romance. No affection. No... entanglements.”
Alessia’s mind was spinning. “And why me?”
“Because you have nothing to gain and everything to lose. I need someone who won’t fall in love with me. Who understands the rules and sticks to them. Your background check confirmed that you’re discreet, desperate, and — most importantly — untouched.”
She blinked. “You mean—?”
“A virgin,” he confirmed. “That’s a non-negotiable clause in the prenup.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. “That’s—none of your business.”
“It is,” he said flatly, “when I’m putting my name, estate, and assets on the line.”
She stood up abruptly. “This is insane. You can’t just buy someone’s hand in marriage like they’re some... item on a shelf!”
“I’m not asking for love, Miss Hart. I’m offering a transaction. You need money. I need a wife. You’ll be compensated handsomely — five hundred thousand dollars, plus full medical coverage for your mother and a relocation package at the end of our arrangement.”
Alessia’s legs wobbled beneath her. Half a million dollars?
“I’ll give you time to consider,” he said, finally sitting across from her. “But not much. If you agree, we marry by the end of the week.”
“And if I say no?”
His eyes locked with hers.
“Then I’ll find someone else. But you’ll walk away with nothing... and your mother will continue to suffer. You said in your application that she’s stage three. She’ll need aggressive treatment soon. Expensive.”
Her throat tightened.
“How do you know that?”
“I make it my business to know everything. That’s what billionaires do.”
He slid a folder across the table. She hesitated, then opened it. Inside was the contract. Neatly printed, full of legal jargon, but the key points were underlined.
* Marriage duration: 12 months
* No romantic involvement or intimacy
* Public appearances required
* Complete discretion
* Compensation: $500,000
* Immediate eviction relief and medical sponsorship
* NDA enforced for life
Alessia felt like the walls were closing in. This was madness. And yet...
She saw her mother’s face. Pale. Tired. Dying.
She saw the eviction notice. The empty fridge. The hopelessness.
And here was a way out. A year. One year of pretending to be someone’s wife. No love. No strings. Just survival.
Damian stood, straightening his cuffs. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. After that, the offer is off the table.”
She looked up at him. “Why don’t you just marry someone you know?”
“Because everyone I know either wants my money or already had me. I need someone clean. Unknown. Controlled.”
“And when the year ends?”
“We divorce. You walk away with your money. I walk away with my inheritance.”
He offered a hand to shake. “Do we have a deal?”
Alessia didn’t move. Her heart screamed no, but her silence was louder.
This man was trouble. But so was her reality.
And the price of saying no might be far worse than t
he price of saying yes.
- Writer
