Chapter 2
1356 Words
The silence between them stretched like a tight wire—dangerous, taut, and seconds from snapping.
Calla stared at the man across the room, every instinct screaming for her to leave. To turn around, take the elevator, and disappear from his life the way she’d entered it—quiet, unnoticed, and forgettable.
But Damian Vale’s offer wasn’t forgettable.
“One year,” he repeated, with that same terrifying calm. “One hundred million dollars. In exchange, you’ll wear my ring, show up where I need you, and keep your mouth shut about everything else.”
Calla blinked. “Are you high?”
He didn’t flinch. “I’m practical.”
“And I’m the wrong person.”
Damian’s cold gaze didn’t waver. “That’s what makes you the right one.”
She laughed—sharp, disbelieving. “You want to marry a stranger to fix your problems?”
“I want to marry someone who has no ties, no motives, and nothing to gain beyond the money I offer. It makes this cleaner.”
“Cleaner?” Her hands flew to her hips. “I’m a human being, not a PR strategy.”
“That’s exactly what you’d be,” he said smoothly. “A placeholder. A face. A temporary answer to an inconvenient question.”
Calla’s heart raced. “And what question is that?”
His jaw tightened. “Who will inherit Vale Holdings after my father dies.”
Oh.
There it was.
Calla exhaled slowly, the pieces falling into place. Damian Vale—the infamous heir. His father, Harold Vale, was dying. The world knew it. Stockholders were panicking. Competitors were circling. And Damian? He was the last one standing between the empire and collapse.
And now, he wanted her to be his bride-for-hire.
She shook her head. “You’ve clearly got the wrong girl.”
“You have a clean record. No family ties. No social media. You’re practically invisible,” he said. “That’s not wrong. That’s perfect.”
“I’m not perfect,” she muttered.
“No, you’re flawed. That’s even better. People will believe it’s real if I marry someone no one saw coming.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “You’re insane.”
He shrugged, as if that didn’t bother him. “Possibly. But I don’t make mistakes when it comes to business. This isn’t a proposal—it’s a deal. Take it or leave it.”
She stared at him. “What happened to the actual woman you were supposed to marry?”
Damian’s eyes darkened. “She became… problematic.”
“Problematic how?”
“None of your concern.”
“Okay, well now it is my concern, because you’re trying to buy me like I’m a used car.”
“You’d be compensated well above market value,” he said dryly.
Calla scoffed and turned to leave.
“Fifty million upfront.”
She froze.
Her back stiffened. Her hands curled into fists.
“I can have the money transferred into your account by morning,” he continued, his voice like ice melting through steel. “Another fifty when the year is over.”
Her chest tightened.
Fifty million dollars.
Her mother’s hospital bills had tripled in the last year. The insurance refused to cover experimental treatment. She was running out of options. Out of time.
Calla swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I need twenty-four hours,” she whispered.
Damian didn’t blink. “You have twelve.”
Calla didn’t remember leaving the building.
One minute she was inside, and the next she was standing on the sidewalk, stunned and blinking against the harsh afternoon sun.
She barely felt the vibration in her phone.
Unknown Number:
If you choose yes, my driver will pick you up at 8 a.m. sharp.
If you choose no, I’ll never contact you again.
Either way, the choice is yours.
—D.V.
Calla stared at the message for a long time.
The choice is yours.
Was it?
She thought about her mother, lying in that sterile hospital room. Her mother’s soft voice saying, “Don’t worry about me, baby. Just live your life.”
What if this was her life now?
What if the only way to survive… was to stop dreaming of a normal future?
The next morning came too quickly.
Calla stood outside her tiny apartment in faded jeans and an oversized coat. When the black Bentley pulled up, her stomach twisted.
The driver stepped out, stone-faced. “Miss Monroe?”
She nodded silently and got in.
The ride was silent. Clean. No music. Just her thoughts, screaming at her.
When they arrived, the entire floor of Vale Industries had been cleared.
Damian waited in a navy three-piece suit, cool and unreadable.
“You came,” he said simply.
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“You got in the car.”
“I have questions.”
“Ask.”
“What happens if I fall in love with you?”
His brow lifted. “You won’t.”
“Nice.”
“You asked.”
“What about s*x?”
His jaw flexed. “Optional. Not required.”
She crossed her arms. “So what is required?”
He stepped closer. “One year of appearances. A ring on your finger. Silence in the press. You’ll attend events. Dinners. Be photographed on my arm. Pretend, convincingly, that you’re in love with me.”
“Pretend,” she echoed.
“Yes.”
“And after the year ends?”
“You disappear. With your money. And I marry someone else.”
Calla blinked.
Someone else.
“Is that your real plan?” she asked. “Marry someone else afterward?”
His eyes darkened. “That’s not your concern.”
“But it’s hers, isn’t it?” she whispered. “The ex-fiancée.”
His jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Did she think you loved her?” Calla asked.
“She thought wrong.”
“So why hasn’t she moved on?”
Damian was silent for a long moment.
Then he said the name like it tasted bitter in his mouth. “Celeste.”
Calla folded her arms. “Is she going to be a problem?”
Damian’s voice was ice. “She already is.”
Elsewhere, in a penthouse high above Manhattan, Celeste Blackwell sipped champagne while reading the headlines.
Billionaire Damian Vale seen entering his office with mystery woman.
No statement from the company. Could wedding bells be near?
Celeste’s fingers tightened around the glass until it cracked.
She didn’t bleed.
She never did.
“You think you can replace me with some nobody?” she whispered.
Her assistant looked up nervously. “Should I—?”
“Tell the press I’m unavailable for interviews.” Celeste smiled. “But leak that I’ll be attending the Vale Foundation Gala next week.”
“But Mr. Vale—”
“Will regret everything,” Celeste snapped. “And so will she.”
She stood and walked to the mirror, tilting her chin.
Let Damian pretend he was done with her.
He’d come crawling back.
They always did.
Especially when the new toy got broken.
Later that day, Damian and Calla sat across from each other at his private law firm.
The contract was twenty-two pages long.
Calla read every single word.
She asked questions. She marked lines. She refused to sign the NDA until her own lawyer reviewed it. Damian didn’t flinch once.
She was fire. He was frost.
By the end of the meeting, neither one had backed down.
“I want one more thing,” Calla said.
Damian didn’t look up. “Of course you do.”
“If your ex-fiancée causes problems, I get to walk away—no penalty.”
He paused.
Then nodded once. “Agreed.”
Calla picked up the pen.
Her hand hovered.
One year.
One lie.
One man she wasn’t supposed to feel anything for.
She signed.
Damian took the contract. His fingers brushed hers. No sparks. No warmth.
Just inevitability.
“Welcome to your new life,” he said softly.
“Mrs. Vale.”
- Writer
