Deceit

CHAPTER 2: THE CONTRACT

The car smelled like leather and power.

I sat as far from Kain Blackwell as the seat would allow, which was still too close.

Water dripped from my dress onto his black seats.

I didn’t apologize.

He’s the one who offered me a contract. Let him deal with the mess.

Kain didn’t look at me. His eyes were on his phone, thumb scrolling like the world wasn’t ending.

Like he hadn’t just proposed to a stranger in the rain.

“6 months,” he said finally, voice cutting through the sound of rain on the windows.

“That’s the duration of the contract.”

I hugged my arms around myself. My dress was plastered to my skin.

“Why me?”

His eyes lifted. Ice grey. No warmth.

“Because you’re desperate. Because you have nothing left. And because Daniel stole 4 million from my company last quarter.”

He paused.

“And because your face is all over the internet right now. Pity makes people donate. Pity makes stocks rise.”

So I’m a PR stunt.

The truth should’ve hurt. But honestly?

I was too numb to feel it.

The car pulled up to a mansion. Black gates. Security. Lights so bright it looked like daytime.

My old apartment was one room and a hot plate.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwell,” the driver said, opening my door.

I flinched at the name.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Kain cut in, stepping out with his umbrella. He held it over me without touching me.

“For the next 6 months. That’s the point of the contract.”

Inside, the house was cold. Marble floors. Glass walls. No photos. No warmth.

A woman in a suit was waiting with a folder.

“Mr. Blackwell. The contract, revised per your instructions.”

Kain took it and tossed it on the coffee table in front of me.

“Read.”

I sat. My hands were still shaking.

CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE

Between KAIN BLACKWELL and AISHA MONROE

Clause 1: Duration of 6 months. Commencing today.

Clause 2: Public appearances required. Hand-holding, photos, events.

Clause 3: No romantic involvement. No dating others. No kissing.

Clause 4: In exchange, Kain Blackwell will ensure the financial and social ruin of Daniel Okoye and Tasha Monroe.

Clause 5: Aisha Monroe will reside in Blackwell Estate. A monthly allowance of $50,000 will be provided.

Clause 6: Breach of contract results in $10,000,000 penalty.

Ten million dollars.

I don’t even have ten thousand.

I looked up. “This is insane.”

“Is it?” Kain poured himself whiskey. He didn’t offer me any.

“You want revenge. I want control. This is efficient.”

Efficient. Like I was a business deal.

Maybe I was.

“What about after 6 months?” I asked.

“You walk away. Rich. With your name cleared. With them destroyed.”

He took a sip.

“Or you can stay. Your choice.”

Stay? With him?

The thought sent something weird through my stomach. Fear? Or something else?

I flipped to the last page. There was a photo paper-clipped there.

My mom and dad. At a gala. 10 years ago.

Standing next to a younger Kain.

My breath caught.

“What is this?”

Kain’s jaw ticked. For the first time, his mask slipped.

“Nothing. Sign the contract, Aisha.”

He knew my parents.

Why does he have this?

“Did you—”

“Sign it,” he said, colder now. “Or get out. I don’t repeat myself.”

The rain was still hitting the windows.

My phone buzzed in my clutch. Daniel. 14 missed calls.

Tasha. 9 texts. “I’m so sorry, sis. Please talk to me.”

They don’t get to be sorry.

I picked up the pen.

My signature looked small next to his.

Aisha Monroe.

Kain took the contract, stamped it, and slid a black card across the table.

“This is yours. $50,000 a month. Spend it on whatever makes you feel human again.”

I didn’t touch it.

“Rule 3,” I said. “No touching.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Correct.”

He stood. “Your room is upstairs. Second door on the left. Staff will bring you clothes. Burn that dress.”

He turned to leave.

“Mr. Blackwell,” I called out.

He stopped but didn’t turn.

“Why are you really doing this?”

For a second, the house was completely silent.

Then: “Because I hate loose ends, Aisha.”

And he walked away.

I was alone.

In a stranger’s mansion.

Married to a stranger.

What did I just do?

I went upstairs. The room was huge. White sheets. Bigger than my whole apartment.

On the nightstand was a new phone. And a note in sharp handwriting:

Rule 2: Be ready at 8am. Gala. We go together. -K

I dropped onto the bed. The sheets smelled like him. Clean. Cold. Expensive.

6 months.

That’s all this is.

So why did my chest hurt when I thought about him walking away?

My phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

The text read:

“You signed with the devil. He’s the one who killed them. -T”

The phone slipped from my hand.

He’s the one who killed them.

Kain’s face flashed in my mind. The photo. The way he wouldn’t look at me.

What have I done?