Chapter 2
1206 Words
Damien Sinclair and Adrian Marquez stepped out of the sleek black SUV, the hustle and bustle of Manila's streets an ever-present reminder of the city's relentless pace.
Damien's perfectly tailored charcoal suit seemed almost out of place amidst the ordinary chaos around them, but that was the nature of his world—he lived in a world where he dictated the rules, not the other way around.
The Ivory Spoon was a modest restaurant, a far cry from the high-end venues Damien was accustomed to. Its exterior was unassuming.
"You sure this is going to work?" Damien asked, his voice clipped, betraying his irritation. "If not? I punch you..." He adjusted his cufflinks as if the small inconvenience of dining here might somehow reflect poorly on him.
Adrian, ever the calm presence beside him, gave a reassuring nod. "It's where Ella works. The informal setting will make it easier to gauge her reaction. The goal is to make her feel at ease."Damien sighed, his frustration evident. "This whole situation is absurd. I don't see why I need to do this."
"Damien, what truly my works? Repeating the information why you need a wife? Not a real wife!"
"Okay!" he replied coldly.
Adrian, unfazed, led the way into the restaurant. The interior was warm and inviting. The aroma of garlic and freshly baked bread was both foreign and oddly comforting. As they were guided to a small booth, Damien couldn't shake the sense of unease that had settled in his stomach. He hates this.
Ella Monroe was a striking figure in the dimly lit room, moving with an easy grace that belied her obvious exhaustion. Damien studied her from a distance as she approached, her uniform neatly pressed despite the wear and tear of her long shifts. Her brunette hair was pulled back, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that made her look vulnerable and real.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Ella greeted with a calm, practiced smile, though her hands betrayed a hint of nervousness. "May I start you off with something to drink?"
Damien Sinclair's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. Was there recognition in her voice? Did she know who he was?
Women often faltered in his presence, enchanted by his undeniable allure, the whispers of his wealth, and the weight of his name.
But this one—she seemed unshaken, focused on her task. Did she truly have no idea who he was, or was she simply maintaining a professional distance?
Adrian broke the silence with a polite smile. "Water for now, thank you, Ms. Ella."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "How did you know my name?" she asked.
In truth, Ella had been the subject of Adrian's research for weeks. He’d followed her every move—tracking her social circles, uncovering her financial struggles, and dissecting her family history.
Adrian knew every detail about her life. She wasn’t just another waitress; she was the perfect candidate for the role of Damien’s contract wife, carefully chosen for reasons far beyond her knowledge. But he played it off smoothly.
"Your name tag," Adrian lied, flashing effortless smile.
Her lips parted in realization, her features softening. "Oh," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. She smiled, revealing teeth as white as clouds, her lips curving into a perfect, inviting shape. "I forgot I had one."
But Damien wasn’t moved. Her smile, no matter how perfect, failed to capture his attention. Her beauty, while undeniable, was of little consequence to him. He had seen countless women like her before—sexy, attractive, but ultimately irrelevant.
She didn’t spare Damien a glance. His thoughts spiraled into an irritation. Who did she think was more handsome, more attractive—him or Adrian? He could feel his ego flicker. Who was the wealthier one here? Who was the actual billionaire in the room?
What was with this woman? Did she truly not recognize him? Or was she deliberately ignoring the fact that he was Damien Sinclair—the billionaire magnate behind Sinclair Enterprises, a name that commanded attention wherever it was spoken?
Yet, here she was, acting as if he were just another man in a suit, indifferent to his presence. Maybe she was genuinely oblivious, unaware of the power and influence he held. Or his ruthless personality is visible?
Either way, he was intrigued.
Damien, barely glancing up from the menu, echoed the order. "Same for me."
Ella took their orders and moved away with a practiced efficiency. Damien watched her carefully, noting her composure and the subtle strain in her movements. There was something captivating about her—something that seemed out of place in the world of high stakes and even higher expectations.
Ella made her way to the kitchen, her steps confident but unhurried. Adrian leaned in, lowering his voice. "Remember, Damien, the goal is to make her comfortable."
Damien’s eyes stayed glued to Ella as she moved out of sight. "Do I look like I’m intimidating?" He frowned, genuinely puzzled. "I still don’t get why we’re dragging her into this. It feels... off."
Adrian chuckled, eyeing his Damien. "Honestly? You look like you're about to star in an Italian mafia film."
Damien shot him a glare, muttering under his breath. "Bastard."
Adrian smirked. "I mean it in a good way. You’ve got that whole brooding, billionaire thing going on. Trust me, she’s definitely noticing you."
Damien grumbled, crossing his arms. "She better. I don’t do this ‘mafia’ look for nothing."
"But honestly, her situation makes her ideal for this role. Desperate people make the best actors. She needs the money. That's the leverage we have." Adrian smiled, feeling confident.
An hour later, as the restaurant began to empty out, Ella returned, now dressed in casual jeans and a sweater. Her hair was still pulled back, but her expression had shifted from professional to weary. As she was about to leave, Adrian called her. She approached their table.
"What I can do for you, gentlemen," she asked. She looks so tired.
Adrian gestured for her to sit, his smile widening. "We have a proposition for you. It's a unique opportunity."
Ella sat. "A proposition? About what?"
Damien took over, his tone clear and authoritative. "We need someone to play a role—a temporary role, but one that comes with significant financial compensation. You would be pretending to be my wife."
Ella's eyes widened, a mix of shock and confusion crossing her features. "Pretending to be your wife? Funny!"
Damien nodded. "I'm not joking. Do you know who I am? This is for a business deal. The Montelucia royal family needs me to appear stable and respectable. A marriage would help with that."
Ella replied, "I know you as Damien Sinclair, but this is the first time I'm meeting you in person."
Desperation edged Damien's voice. "I need your help, Ella."
Adrian leaned in, his tone smooth and persuasive. "We understand this is unconventional, but the financial reward is significant—enough to cover your debts and then some."
Ella's reaction was one of disbelief. "I... I don't know if I can do this. It's... it's not just about the money. It feels wrong."
- Writer
