Claimed By Contract

Chapter Two: The Terms

Emma Carter didn’t sleep.

She lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of their tiny apartment, replaying every moment of that meeting. Damien Cross — sinfully gorgeous, maddeningly smug, and richer than God — had offered her a deal that tasted like ash and temptation all at once. Her fingers still tingled from where he’d brushed them. Her thighs still pressed tight from the sound of his voice. And his words — that deep, wicked drawl — echoed in her skull like a curse:

You’ll be mine, Emma.

No. She couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t a fairytale.

It was a transaction.

And right now, she needed advice.

The morning sun barely filtered through the dusty curtains when she slid out of bed. Her mother was already in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the kind of tired grace that came from years of pretending everything was okay.

“You’re up early,” her mom said, not looking back.

Emma hesitated. “We need to talk.”

Her mother glanced over her shoulder, brow furrowing. “What is it? Is something wrong at school?”

Emma exhaled. This was harder than she thought. “I met someone. A businessman. He offered to pay off everything. All of our debt. The house. Eli’s surgery. Everything.”

Her mother stilled. Slowly, she turned to face her.

“But there’s a catch,” Emma added.

“There always is,” her mother murmured. “So what does he want? A kidney? Your soul?”

Emma gave a short, bitter laugh. “Close. He wants to marry me. For one year, it’s just business. But he… he wants more."

Her mother didn't react at first. She simply poured syrup over a pancake and placed the plate in front of Emma.

"Eat something."

"Mom—"

"I said eat. We’ll talk while you do."

Emma sat, stomach too twisted to enjoy the food. Her mother sat across from her, eyes sharp now, hands folded.

"How rich is he?"

"Filthy. He’s the CEO of Cross Enterprises."

“Do you love him?” her mom asked gently.

Emma scoffed. “No. God, no. I barely know him. He’s rude. Arrogant. He treats people like pawns.”

Her mother let out a low whistle. “And what does he look like?”

Emma blinked. “Seriously?”

Her mom shrugged. “If my daughter is going to sell her soul, I at least want to know if he’s hot.”

Emma flushed. “He’s… dangerous. Like a wolf in a suit."

Her mom went quiet again. “Then maybe that’s what you need, baby.”

Emma stared at her, heart twisting. “You’re not seriously considering this a good idea?”

“He’s offering to save us?”

Emma stared. “You can’t be serious”

“Do you know that we’re behind on rent, your brother’s surgery is scheduled in two weeks, and I’ve been hiding shut-off notices from you for three months?” Her mother’s voice broke on that last part, but she cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t have to drop out of college to pay for this. You're only eighteen, Emma.”

“That’s why I shouldn’t be married!”

“You’d be married on paper. It’s not real.” Her mom reached for her hand, squeezing. “You’d be helping your family. Just think of it like a… sacrifice. A temporary one.”

Emma looked down at their hands.

“I feel like I’m selling myself.”

“You’re not. You’re making a choice. A brave one.”

Emma’s jaw clenched.

“You always said I should marry for love.”

“And where did love find me?” her mother snapped, her voice cracking. “Your father left us with no money and Eli’s surgery hanging over my head. You can marry for love if it shows up—but what if it doesn’t? Will you just keep waiting? Sometimes we survive first… and if love comes, it comes later.”

There it was — the guilt.

Emma swallowed. “But what if he wants more than I can give?”

Her mother leaned forward, eyes fierce.

“Then take what he gives, and give nothing back. Protect your heart. You’re good at that.”

Emma didn’t respond. She didn’t trust her voice.

Damien was on the phone when she walked into his office that afternoon.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his gaze dragged over her slowly, darkening with approval.

She wore red. A tight, silky dress that hugged her hips and dipped low enough to draw attention to the curve of her body. She wasn’t sure if she wore it for power or punishment.

“I take it that’s a yes,” he said, voice curling around her like smoke.

Emma crossed her arms. “I have terms.”

His brows lifted. “Do tell.”

“I move in next week. You don’t own me. I’m not your plaything. And this doesn’t mean you can touch me whenever you feel like it.”

Damien stood, his slow, deliberate movements making her pulse skip. He walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her.

“You’ll play the wife in public,” he said. “You’ll sleep in my bed. But I won’t touch you unless you beg me to.”

Her breath caught.

“What if I never beg?” she asked.

He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.

“You will.”

Emma's knees nearly buckled.

He reached out, fingers brushing the bare skin of her thigh, just below where her dress ended. His touch was electric. A warning and a promise.

“You're not wearing anything under this,” he murmured.

She looked away, heart thudding.

He tilted her chin up with two fingers. “Is this your idea of power play, sweetheart? Or are you just aching for it?”

“You’re disgusting,” she whispered.

“You’re wet,” he countered.

Her cheeks flamed.

Damien stepped closer, trapping her between the wall and his body. He pressed his knee between her legs, parting them gently. She gasped.

“You can still walk away,” he said. “But if you stay, we seal this deal properly. Right now.”

Her lips parted, but her voice was gone.

He dipped his head, brushing his mouth against hers, slowly. But just as things ignited — his hand sliding up her thigh, his breath ragged against her mouth — he froze.

His hand trembled.

And suddenly, he pulled back.

Emma blinked. “What?”

He turned away, jaw tight.

“Change of plans,” he said flatly. “We sign the contract tomorrow.”

She stood there, lips swollen, chest heaving, and confusion burning.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

Damien glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. But in his eyes, something flickered. Fear.

Not of her.

Of what he felt.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Emma. This is still just business.”

But even as he said it, she could see it wasn’t true. His breath still shook. His fists were clenched. He wanted her.

And something about that terrified him more than he’d ever admit.

She left without another word.

And Damien Cross stood alone in his office, staring at the door long after it closed.

His heart thundered.

She’s just a deal, he told himself.

Nothing more.

But somewhere, buried deep in the cold corners of his chest, a voice whispered:

Liar.