Chapter Two: The Proposal from Hell
1246 Words
The cafe was almost empty when the call came in—except for the hum of a flickering light overhead and the tap-tap-tap of Aria Monroe’s worn-out heels as she rushed toward the back office, apron strings trailing behind her. Her hands trembled as she pressed the phone to her ear, dreading what she'd hear. Hospitals never called with good news. Not at this hour.
“Miss Monroe?” The voice on the other end was tight, formal. “Your father’s condition has deteriorated. If he’s to remain in ICU, the bills must be settled by Friday. Otherwise…”
The woman didn’t need to finish.
Aria’s chest tightened. She clutched the counter, knuckles whitening. “How much?”
There was a pause. Then: “$82,000.”
Her knees nearly buckled.
She hung up without responding, too numb to argue, too familiar with the routine to waste tears. A few months ago, she’d tried everything—charity applications, loans, extra shifts, even selling her mom’s wedding ring. But the money never lasted long. And now, the number was too big. Too impossible.
She made it back to her tiny apartment that night without remembering how. The silence was louder than ever. Her father’s old jacket still hung by the door. Her textbooks sat unopened on the table, reminders of a nursing degree she could no longer afford. The refrigerator buzzed in protest—empty, like her hope.
Aria dropped to the floor in front of the couch and let the darkness wrap around her.
But then came a knock.
Three sharp, commanding taps.
She froze. No one visited her at this hour. No one ever visited, period.
When she opened the door, the man standing there looked like he belonged in a billionaire’s boardroom, not on the threshold of her crumbling life. Tailored black suit. Steel-gray eyes. Not a single strand of his dark hair out of place.
“Aria Monroe?” he asked.
She blinked. “Yes?”
He extended a silver card. “You’re requested at Blackwood Tower. 9 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”
“Blackwood?” Her mouth went dry. “As in… Damian Blackwood?”
The man didn’t respond. He turned and walked away.
Aria stared after him, heart pounding.
Damian Blackwood was a myth in her world. A ruthless billionaire. CEO of BlackTech. Cold, calculated, and feared. He’d once bankrupted an entire chain of hospitals just to buy them out for less. He didn’t request meetings. He summoned people.
And no one ever said no.
The elevator doors opened to a marble lobby soaked in gold and glass. Aria felt like she’d stepped into another dimension—one where the air cost more than her rent. A woman in red stilettos and an icy stare led her through silent hallways until they reached a vast office lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.
He was there, of course. Seated behind a sleek desk, back straight, expression unreadable.
Damian Blackwood.
She’d seen his face in magazines and late-night news reels. But in person, he was more dangerous than the rumors had prepared her for. Sharp jaw, storm-gray eyes, and the kind of presence that made you forget how to breathe.
He didn’t stand. Just gestured to the chair in front of him.
“Sit.”
She did, gripping her purse like a lifeline.
He leaned forward, lacing his fingers. “I’ll be direct. I need a wife.”
Aria’s heart skipped.
He didn’t pause. “It’s for a business merger. My reputation must appear... stable. Controlled. Domestic. Investors are conservative. They want a man who can settle down.”
She swallowed hard. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“I don’t do romance,” he said, eyes cold. “Or emotional attachment. I want a contract marriage. One year. You’ll play the part. Smile for cameras. Attend dinners. Sleep in the same house. But the relationship will remain strictly professional.”
“And if I say no?”
He slid a folder across the table.
Inside was her father’s medical file. His bills. His hospital forms.
Aria’s blood ran cold. “How did you—?”
“I own half the board of the hospital,” he said. “I bought their debt last week.”
She stared at the papers, breath caught in her throat. “You... you bought the hospital’s debt to force me into this?”
“No,” he said coolly. “I bought the debt because I could. I’m offering you an opportunity. One year of your life. In exchange, your father’s bills are cleared, and he gets the best care money can buy.”
Aria stood, voice shaking. “This is blackmail.”
“No,” he replied. “This is business.”
She turned to leave.
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours,” he said, voice like ice. “Refuse, and your father’s life support ends on Friday.”
The walk back to her apartment felt like moving through fog. She passed food carts and kids in school uniforms, but none of it touched her. Her thoughts looped endlessly.
She could hate him. She did. But none of that changed the facts.
He owned the hospital.
He owned her.
Her phone buzzed with another hospital message. Urgent. Final notice.
She made it to her bathroom before she let herself fall apart. There, beneath the humming fluorescent light, she stared into the mirror and whispered the truth:
There was no one coming to save her.
So she had to save herself.
Damian didn’t look surprised when she walked back into his office the next morning.
He didn’t smile. Just stood, and offered her a pen.
“The contract outlines the terms. No intimacy. No real claims to assets. One year only. Violation of the terms results in legal action.”
She signed without reading the rest.
Her hand barely trembled.
“Good,” he said. “The wedding is in three days.”
The mansion was not a house—it was a cathedral of cold marble and silence. As soon as she stepped inside, the staff bowed and scattered like ghosts. A planner handed her a schedule of fittings and makeup trials. Her name—Aria Blackwood—was already printed on the wedding invitations.
It felt like being swept into a fairytale told in reverse.
She met him again on the rehearsal night.
He stood by the window, sipping scotch, looking like the villain of someone else’s story.
She approached slowly. “Is this all normal for you? Just... buying wives?”
“No,” he said. “Only this once.”
She laughed bitterly. “And why me?”
He didn’t look at her. “Because you have nothing to lose. And you’re not stupid enough to fall in love.”
Aria bit the inside of her cheek.
He was wrong about that last part. Not because she would fall in love.
But because something inside her already had.
Not with him. Not yet.
But with the fire of fighting back.
If she had to play the role of a billionaire’s wife, she would do it on her terms.
She’d fake the smile.
Wear the gowns.
Follow the rules.
But no matter how cold his heart was, she wouldn’t let him freeze hers in return.
Not now.
Not ever.
And if he thought he could control her… he was about to learn just how dangerous a desperate woman could be.
- Writer
