THE BILLIONAIRE’S WIDOW CONTRACT

Prologue: (Damian’s “death”+setup mystery) DAMIAN DALE POV I was on my way to the office, my convoy moved through the rain. Black vehicles. No markings, just the hum of engines cutting through wet asphalt Inside the car, I was focused on my tablet, doing some research on Zara Bello, the girl that just published an article exposing my company without realizing the danger upfront. “Two minutes to drop point,” my security chief said through the walkie-talkie. I nodded and focused back on my tablet, not knowing that was the last calm moment. A bullet was shot, the convoy swerved hard, tires screeched against the floor, and a sudden downpour swept in. Another shot hit the vehicle, then another. Suddenly everything became noise, smoke, and broken glass. “AMBUSH! AMBUSH!” someone shouted. I was pulled down as the roof of the car buckled A flash hit, followed by a sharp impact on my side, then darkness. END OF DAMIAN POV FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES LATER Emergency light painted the rain in red and blue. Security was blocking access. “Hold the line!” a voice barked. “No civilians past this point!” “Any survivors?” one of them called out. Only static answered. The rain had turned heavier now, soaking everything, softening nothing. One of the medics hesitated for half a second and said, “It’s him,” he said quietly. An officer stepped forward with a biometric scanner. He placed the device near the body. “(match found)” the scanner read. Silence dropped instantly over the group. The officer exhaled slowly. “Damian Dale……confirmed.” No one moved, no one spoke. Then the medic stared at the body, then the radio crackled. “Time of death?” The medic stared at the body with a long pause, then said, “Damian Dale is deceased.” Far beneath the city, an elevator descended level after level until it opened into silence. A man stepped out, same face, same posture, same frayed collar, very much alive. DAMIAN POV Immediately I stepped out of the elevator, my butler released a gasp. “Sir, you were just confirmed dead.” I adjusted my cuff links. “Good,” I said. “Let them bury me.” “I want to see who comes to dig me up.” ELSEWHERE In a dim apartment an envelope slid through the mail slot a thick black paper sealed with precision On the front,one name…….. ZARA BELLO And beneath it YOU ARE REQUIRED AT THE FUNERAL OF DAMIAN VALE. DAMIAN POV. “Everything is proceeding as planned. The public will believe it within the hour,” my technician said. “Good,” I replied. Then I asked, “Was there anything unusual?” The technician hesitated. “No survivors, sir.” That wasn’t the question. I barked, “I didn’t ask about survivors. Check who didn’t react fast enough to my death.” He didn’t speak because he understood what I meant. The city had not been informed yet this feels strange cause news like this tend to spread like wildfire in this city. death travel faster than grief, but Damian vale name hasn’t reach the public not yet And still someone was already preparing his funeral.