Bound By His Will: The Cold CEO's Fake Fiancée

Chapter 2: Preposition

Damien stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the marble floor. “Thank you, Harrington. I’ll handle it.”

His voice was flat and controlled, the same tone he used in boardrooms when he was about to take down a competitor. The lawyer began to speak again, something about paperwork or timelines but Damien was already striding toward the door, his long legs covering the distance quickly.

The elevator ride down felt interminable as he stared at the polished steel doors, clenching his jaw so tightly it ached. Marriage. A fake one at that. He would find someone suitable, someone who understood the rules and wouldn’t expect anything genuine. Someone who could play the part without complicating his life.

When the elevator doors slid open in the ground floor lobby, there she was.

Evelyn White stood near a marble pillar, balancing two takeaway coffees in one hand and a stack of files in the other. She wore her usual simple black blouse and pencil skirt, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that somehow never looked severe on her.

After two years as his assistant, she had never once tried to flirt or linger too long in his office; she never asked for anything beyond what her job required. She simply showed up, got things done, and left.

Most days he barely noticed her efficiency; today, however, something about how she checked her watch and adjusted the coffees made him pause. She was… reliable effectively invisible in the best way possible: no drama, no expectations, perfect.

“Miss White,” he said as he stepped out of the elevator before its doors could close again. Startled for just a moment, she looked up and offered him that small professional smile she always did.

“Mr. Blackthorne,” she replied smoothly. “I brought your usual coffee. The files for the merger are all flagged and ready, three copies, color-coded as you prefer.”

She held out one of the coffees, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. He took it without responding; his mind was already racing ahead with possibilities.

They rode up to the penthouse office in silence at first, watching as the city shrank below them like a toy model. When they reached their sleek minimalist space overlooking downtown, Damien set down his coffee on the glass conference table and turned to face her directly.

“Sit down, Evelyn.”

She blinked at hearing her first name, it was rare for him to use it but complied by placing the files neatly before her and folding her hands in her lap while he remained standing with his hands tucked into his pockets, gazing out at the skyline for what felt like an eternity before speaking.

“I have a proposal for you,” he started, maintaining a calm and professional tone. “My grandfather’s will stipulates that I must marry within six months. Not just any marriage, I need to present a stable, loving fiancée to the board, my family, and the press. Everything has to appear genuine: cohabitation, public appearances, the whole act. In exchange, I’m offering a one-year contract worth eight million dollars, paid in installments. You’ll have full access to a luxurious lifestyle, wardrobe, travel, anything necessary to sell the story. You’ll move into the penthouse; we’ll share the space only for appearances. Separate bedrooms. No physical intimacy unless it’s required in public and even then, it remains strictly professional. No emotions involved, no inquiries about my personal life, and an ironclad NDA covering every detail. At the end of the year, you walk away wealthier than you could ever imagine while we both return to our lives as if none of this happened.”

He turned to face her now, expecting shock or perhaps greed or excitement. What he received was something entirely different.

Evelyn stared at him for what felt like an eternity as her expression shifted from confusion to disbelief and finally sharpened into something more intense.

“You’re serious,” she said slowly, her voice steady yet low. “You want me to pretend to be your loving fiancée? Me, the woman you once called ‘invisible’ in front of the entire executive team because I corrected a minor mistake in your presentation without being asked? That woman?”

She let out a short laugh that lacked any real amusement. “Mr. Blackthorne, with all due respect, you can’t be this desperate. There are models and socialites who would jump at the chance to play this role with you. Why me? Why now?”