CONTRACTED: His Dangerous Obsession

Six Months

Eighteen months later...

Phoebe sat in the civil registry with her hands folded in her lap, and for the fourth time that morning, she told herself that the reason she was there was simple.

It wasn't her plan to be in the civil registry about to sign papers that would make a stranger her husband for six months.

However, she knew that that was the only way out because she had spent the last twelve months watching her father grow thinner in front of her eyes. Lawyers had told her the same thing each time. The evidence was too strong for her father to be declared innocent. The case was complicated. It would take time and money that neither of them had.

Someone had directed her father to a name three weeks ago. Damon Ross. The man who was said to be powerful enough to make the problem disappear if you gave him something he needed in return.

The truth was that her father had come home with the offer and told her immediately that he was not considering giving his daughter to settle a debt he had never incurred.

Phoebe had been the one who said yes to Damon Ross's contract marriage. It would last for six months, and she would walk away free, her father's name cleared, and everything returned to normal. It was nothing more than a transaction, she told herself.

The door of the civil registry opened, and Phoebe looked up. The man walked in, and Phoebe's breath caught as she saw him.

She knew that face from eighteen months ago. She remembered him from that night she had tried to bury deep in her mind. That night that Ama had dragged her out after she caught Ethan with another woman on the bed. That night she had entered the wrong room.

“I apologise for the delay," Damon Ross said unhurriedly, his deep voice seeming to have brought her back to the present.

Phoebe glanced at her father sitting beside her. He was looking at his hands in his lap. The guilt was evident on his face, and he could not meet her eyes.

She was doing this for him, she told herself for the tenth time that day. She let out a deep breath and turned to the man who was walking towards her. She met his gaze when he reached the table.

He looked at her like he was meeting her for the first time.

"Damon Ross," he said.

"Phoebe Quinn," she replied.

The registrar cleared her throat and gestured for everyone to take their seats.

Then the registrar began. The process was smooth and steady. The registrar said everything that needed to be said, and both of them repeated it when required.

Phoebe signed her name where she was told to sign it.

Then it was done.

...

Outside, the weather seemed to be in support of the union as it cast a golden glow on the stairs. Phoebe adjusted the fabric of her dress, the warm sunlight too bright for the kind of day she was having

Her father walked up to her and put his arms around her, his chin resting slightly on the top of her head. She held him back and said nothing.

"You didn't have to do this," he said quietly.

"I know, Dad," she said, "but it's the only way out of this now. So it's okay."

He pulled back and looked at her face for a long time, scanning her face to check whether she was telling the truth about being okay. She gave him the most convincing version of fine that she had.

Her father held her at arm's length and looked at her face properly. "You look so much like your mother today," he said quietly.

Phoebe's throat tightened. She hated talking about her mother and had avoided bringing it up with her father.

"I'm sorry," her father said. "I'm sorry you're the one fixing this."

"Dad," she said and let out a quiet breath. "It's not your fault. Let's not talk about it, please."

He nodded slowly. Then his gaze slipped past her for a second before returning to her. "I did some research about him."

She looked at him. "Dad—"

"He's the Damon Ross," he said and held her gaze.

She understood what her father meant. Who didn't know the name Damon Ross and the effect of his name in a room?

She exhaled deeply. "It's just for six months, Dad. Then it's done."

He nodded. But he did not look entirely convinced.

Damon appeared beside them. Her father looked at him and said quietly, "Please take good care of her. She is my little princess."

Phoebe kept her eyes on the ground.

Damon held her father's gaze. "I will," he said.

Her father nodded once and stepped back.

Damon turned to her. "Shall we?"

She hugged her father once more and stayed longer than before. Then she withdrew, promised to visit often and then followed Damon to the car.

The driver opened the door. She got in. Damon came in from the other side, and the door closed, and silence enveloped them.

The car pulled out into the road.

Phoebe looked out the window, watching as the city moved past them. Then her gaze moved to her hands on her lap. After a second, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through it.

"Are you always this quiet?” Damon's deep voice broke the silence.

She stiffened, and her eyes darted towards the man seated close to her. She opened her mouth but hesitated. “No,” she finally said. “Not really,” she added in a low voice.

“Mhhm,” he responded dismissively. His eyes turned to her, assessing her for a few moments before returning to the view outside.

Realising that she was likely not to get much talk from him, she turned her face back to her phone, and the silence between them continued.

Damon glanced at her. “Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice casual.

She shook her head quickly. “No, I'm fine.”

However, just as quickly as she had said no, her stomach rumbled loudly, betraying her. She froze, and her cheeks quickly turned red as she glanced at him, mortified. “I…I’m sorry,” she muttered.

He was already looking at her. His lips curled up in amusement for the first time, the closest thing to a smile she had seen from him, “Next time, if you want to lie, make sure your whole body is in agreement,” he said with a faint smirk.

Phoebe pressed her lips together in embarrassment, refusing to react. She forced a small smile.

“The Kingsbridge,” Damon said to the driver.

“Okay, boss.” The driver responded and took the nearest turn.

She sighed and looked outside the window.

Then his phone rang.

Her head snapped back to him. She glanced at the ringing phone and at him, but he didn't move to pick up until the phone stopped ringing.

Her eyes narrowed, and just as she was about to turn to the window, it rang again.