The Contract Between Us
905 Words
Chloe had never signed anything that made her stomach twist quite like this.
There it was — her name, scrawled in ink, right next to his. Damian Blackwood. Even his signature looked arrogant. Clean, slanted lines like he’d been practicing control since birth.
She sat across from him in his office, a place that felt more like a high-end lair than somewhere real people did work. Everything smelled like leather and cologne and decisions you couldn’t take back. The kind of space designed to make people feel small.
Damian didn’t even sit. He leaned against his desk, holding a glass of something expensive, like this whole situation wasn’t insane. Like proposing fake marriage to a near-stranger was just another bullet point in a spreadsheet.
“So,” she said, trying to keep her tone dry, “we’re engaged now?”
He raised an eyebrow like she’d asked something naive. “Technically.”
“Emotionally?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He didn’t smile, but his mouth twitched. “Emotionally, I’m unavailable. You knew that when you signed.”
Chloe huffed a quiet breath and stared at the contract again. The words on the page blurred around the edges.
She wasn’t new to pressure. She’d walked into boardrooms at twenty-five with men twice her age dismissing her, and still walked out with the deal. But this? This was different. This was her family’s survival hanging by a thread, and she’d just tied that thread to a man who looked like trouble and wore it like a second suit.
“How are we going public?” she asked. “A post? A photo op? Matching tattoos?”
Damian took a slow sip from his glass. “I was thinking we get caught.”
“Caught?”
He moved toward her — casually, deliberately — until he was standing just a little too close. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to look up. Her pulse picked up. She hated that he probably noticed.
“You and me,” he said. “Somewhere public. A little hand-holding. A glance that lingers too long. Let the story build itself.”
Her throat went dry. She didn’t do glances that lingered too long. She barely even let herself feel things these days.
“You make it sound easy,” she said.
“It can be,” he replied, voice lower now. “With practice.”
Her stomach flipped. She stood a little straighter. “What, you want to rehearse making googly eyes over coffee?”
Damian smiled, slow and unbothered. “If that’s how you flirt, Chloe, we may need a few more sessions.”
She stared at him. She wanted to roll her eyes, but the thing was — it was kind of funny. And maddening. And… unfairly hot. Ugh.
“Are there rules?” she asked, trying to redirect herself before her brain betrayed her any further. “For this… arrangement?”
“No dating other people. No surprises. Keep up the appearance.” He took another sip, eyes watching her over the rim of his glass. “And if you need to lie low for a while, you’ll stay at my place.”
Her brows shot up. “I didn’t agree to that.”
“It’s part of the package. Media scrutiny is worse when you give them space to guess.”
“Of course,” she said, voice thin. “Because pretending to be in love also comes with shared housing.”
He tilted his head. “I didn’t say love.”
That landed harder than it should have.
She stared at him for a beat, then shook her head. “You know, you’re disturbingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making insane things sound rational.”
He gave her that look again — the one that undressed, then appraised, then invited. “And you’re better than you think at matching me.”
For a moment, everything went still. The banter dropped. The mask slipped, just for a breath. And underneath all of it — the contract, the bravado — Chloe saw something else.
Tiredness. Purpose. Maybe loneliness.
“I’m not doing this to be clever,” she said quietly. “I’m doing this because I don’t want to lose everything my dad built. Because I don’t want to fail.”
Damian looked at her then — really looked — and for once, didn’t have a comeback. Just a nod. Small. Almost respectful.
Then, softer than she expected: “Neither do I.”
That was it. That was the most real moment they’d had — and it passed so quickly, Chloe wasn’t sure it had even happened.
She turned toward the door, her heart loud in her chest. But before she could leave, his voice stopped her.
“Chloe?”
She looked back. He was still near the desk, still impossibly put-together, but his eyes were… less sharp.
“When they see us,” he said, “I want them to believe I know you. That I’ve memorized the way you laugh. That I’ve seen you at your worst. And that I still want you next to me.”
Her breath caught. Her throat tightened.
“Do you believe it?” she asked.
His smile this time was small. Quiet. Not for show.
“I think I could.”
And that was the most dangerous thing he’d said yet.
- Writer
