006
949 Words
Lena barely slept that night.
Every time she drifted off, Damon’s kiss haunted her like a ghost. The arrogance of him. The nerve. The maddening, confusing, infuriating fact that for one reckless heartbeat, she’d kissed him back.
She was up before dawn, pacing the enormous bedroom as morning light spilled through the floor to ceiling windows. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the quiet humming of staff beginning their day. The mansion was so big it felt like its own world , one she wasn’t sure she’d ever escape.
Her phone was still dead. Damon hadn’t given it back after cutting off her call with Riley. Bastard.
Lena was mid rant in her head when a soft knock sounded on the door.
Before she could respond, the door opened and in walked Damon Cross, dressed in a black suit that looked like sin and power had been stitched into every thread. His dark hair was perfectly in place, his jaw shadowed with the kind of stubble that looked like it had been sculpted by a god.
And of course, he smirked when he saw her glaring.
“You’re up early, Mrs. Cross.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He shrugged, stepping inside with a cup of coffee in one hand. “You want it or not?”
She hated him. And yet… the scent of rich, dark roast made her stomach grumble in betrayal.
With a scowl, she snatched the cup from his hand.
Damon chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
“Why are you even here?” she asked, cradling the coffee as if it might shield her from him.
“Because we have a meeting.”
“I’m not your wife, Damon.”
“Legally, you are. And if you want to leave this house anytime in the next six months without a pack of lawyers breathing down your neck, you’ll play the part.”
Lena’s stomach dropped.
“Wait ….six months? What the hell are you talking about?”
He crossed to a sleek black folder on the dresser, opening it and sliding out a thick stack of papers.
“A contract,” Damon said smoothly. “Six months. You stay married to me. You show up at public appearances, smile for the cameras, play house when necessary. In exchange, you walk away with a seven figure check.”
Lena nearly choked on her coffee.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably. But I’m also offering you a clean exit. Play the part, get paid, and disappear.”
Her hands trembled as she set the coffee down.
“And what happens if I refuse?”
Damon’s eyes cooled.
“Then you can explain to a very expensive team of my attorneys why you’re breaking your marital obligations, deal with public scandal when the press gets wind of our overnight wedding, and be stuck dragging this mess through court for the next year of your life. Oh ! And did I mention, it’ll ruin your friend Riley’s business too? One phone call and every vendor she works with drops her like a bad habit.”
Lena’s blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t.”
He stepped closer, voice low and lethal. “Try me.”
She hated him in that moment. Hated his cold logic, his ruthless calculation, the way he played people like chess pieces. And worse , she hated the part of herself that was actually considering it.
Six months.
One hundred and eighty days.
And she’d walk away a millionaire.
No more living paycheck to paycheck. No more worrying about her aunt’s hospital bills. No more small, desperate life.
“What’s the catch?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Damon smiled …..slow, predatory.
“No strings. No love. No expectations. But I don’t share. If we’re seen together, you play the part. You wear my ring, you stay in my house, and you don’t sneak off with anyone else. And on paper, you’re my wife.”
“And off paper?”
His gaze burned. “Whatever we are in private… depends entirely on you.”
Heat flared in her cheeks.
Lena grabbed the contract and flipped through the pages. Her eyes scanned clauses about public appearances, wardrobe budgets, press statements, the divorce agreement. The final payout made her head spin.
Seven. Figures.
“I’ll need a lawyer,” she muttered.
“Of course. You’ll meet with one today. Neutral third party. I don’t care how many dotted lines it takes , so long as you sign them.”
Lena’s pulse thudded in her ears.
“Fine,” she bit out. “But when the six months are up, I’m gone. I want it in writing.”
Damon reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pen, the Cross family crest engraved on the side. He placed it beside the contract.
“Then sign.”
For a long moment, she stared down at the paperwork, her heart thudding like a drum.
And then, with a sharp breath, she picked up the pen.
Her signature scrawled across the page.
When she finished, Damon leaned down, his mouth at her ear.
“Good girl.”
Lena shot him a glare. “You’re still an asshole.”
He smirked. “You’ll get used to it.”
Before she could snap back, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.
“I have a meeting. Be ready in an hour. You’re coming with me.”
“Why?”
“Because, Mrs. Cross people need to see us together.”
And with that, Damon turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lena sank onto the bed, her pulse still racing.
Six months.
God help her.
- Writer
