The Billionaire's Contract Bride

Scrap Wood & Promises

The apartment was too small for five people. Especially when two of them were still beans.

Damian stared at the wall. Then at me. Then at my stomach.

“We need cribs,” he said. Like he’d just discovered gravity.

I laughed, hand on my bump. “Babies don’t need cribs for 7 months, Mr. Panic.”

He wasn’t laughing. He’d already measured the room 4 times with a tape he borrowed from the construction site.

“I need to build them,” he said. Dead serious. “Before they get here. Before anyone else can say I’m not ready.”

“Damian, we have $23 and a box of nails,” I said gently.

He kissed my forehead. “Then we’ll build with what we have.”

---

*3 Days Later - Construction Site Dumpster*

“Absolutely not,” I said, arms crossed, 7 weeks pregnant and already waddling.

Damian was elbow-deep in a dumpster behind his work site. Pulling out planks. Splinters in his hands.

“These are good wood,” he said, hauling out a 2x4. “Oak. From a demolished mansion. Same wood Black Tower desks were made from.”

“Damian Black, billionaire CEO, digging through trash for baby cribs,” I muttered. But I was smiling.

He climbed out. Covered in dust. Hair full of sawdust. Dropped the wood at my feet like an offering.

“For my dynasty,” he said. No shame. Just pride.

We carried it home. 6 blocks. Him carrying 90% of it. Me carrying the tape measure and his water bottle.

Neighbors stared. “That the broke CEO from the fire?”

He just nodded. “That’s me. Building for my kids.”

---

*That Night - Our Apartment*

The floor was covered in scrap wood. Tools borrowed from his boss. Instructions printed from the library computer. $0.10 per page.

Damian knelt on the floor. No shirt. Muscles straining. Hammer in one hand. My $9 ring on a chain around his neck, so it wouldn’t get scratched.

I sat on the couch, feet up, watching him.

“Measure twice, cut once,” he muttered to himself. CEO who used to measure billion-dollar deals. Now measuring crib slats.

“Need help, Mr. Carpenter?” I teased.

He looked up. Sweat on his brow. Eyes soft. “Only if you’re okay with me ruining it. I’ve never built anything that wasn’t meant to make money. Never built something meant to hold love.”

My throat closed. “You’re doing perfect.”

Hours passed. Sawdust in my hair. Him cursing when he hit his thumb. Me kissing it better.

By 2am, he had one crib frame done. Rough. Uneven. But standing.

He sat back on his heels. Stared at it. “It’s ugly,” he said quietly.

I got off the couch. Knelt behind him. Wrapped my arms around his chest. “It’s perfect. Because you built it.”

He leaned back into me. “In Chapter 3 I bought you a $3M necklace. You never wore it. In Chapter 14 I bought you a $9 ring. You never took it off.”

He turned. Cupped my face. Thumb on my cheek. “I’m starting to think you don’t want my money. You want my hands. My time. My broken pieces.”

I kissed his knuckles. Splinters and all. “I want the man who’d tear down a mansion to build a crib. That’s the man I chose in Chapter 10.”

The buzzer screamed.

Damian didn’t move. Just pressed his forehead to mine. “Let them wait. The world can wait. This can’t.”

Pounding. Isabella’s voice: “Damian! Code violation! You can’t build furniture without permits! CPS will take those babies!”

Damian stood. Slow. Walked to the door. Didn’t open it.

“Isabella,” he said through the wood. Calm. “In Chapter 10 I burned a billion-dollar company for her. In Chapter 18 I tore up $50K for them.” He paused. “Try me.”

Silence. Then her heels clicking away.

He came back. Knelt by the crib. Ran his hand over the rough wood.

“I don’t have money for paint,” he said. Voice rough. “Or a mattress. Or toys.”

I sat next to him. Put his hand on my stomach. Where both babies kicked at once.

“You have this,” I whispered. “You have us. You’re already their dad. The crib is just furniture. You’re their home.”

Damian closed his eyes. Breathed me in. Then pressed a kiss to my stomach. Right over the twins.

“Sorry it’s not marble,” he whispered to them. “Daddy’s broke. But Daddy’s here. Daddy built this with his hands. And Daddy would burn the world again if anyone touched you.”

He stood. Pulled me up. Led me to bed.

“No s*x,” he said before I could protest. “Doctor said rest. But I can hold you.”

He curled around me. One hand on my stomach. One hand holding my $9 ring.

“I’m scared, Ava,” he admitted into my hair. “Scared I can’t give them what they deserve.”

I turned in his arms. “They deserve you. The man who carries cement for them. Who digs through dumpsters for them. Who chooses us over everything.”

He nodded against my neck. Then whispered, “If they’re a boy and a girl… I want to name her after you. Ava. Because she’ll be as brave as her mom who chose a broke man.”

“And the boy?” I asked.

“Damian,” he said. “So he knows his name means ‘the one who tames’. Because you tamed me, Ava. And I hope he’s half the man you made me.”

He fell asleep like that. Hand on us. Sawdust on his skin.

Broke. Tired. Terrified.

But building.

Our empire. One scrap of wood at a time.