Contracted to Desire

Smoke and Mirrors

Morning was supposed to bring clarity. Or so Chloe thought.

Instead, sunlight spilled across her sheets like an accusation. She lay in bed, one arm flung over her eyes, willing her pulse to slow. Last night had been a game—wasn’t it? Kiss the fake fiancé. Smile for the cameras. Let the illusion simmer just enough to be believable.

And then he’d walked her to her door. Said her name like it mattered.

And left.

Why did that feel worse than if he’d kissed her again?

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she cracked one eye open. A text. From Him.

Damian: We’re in the papers. Thought you’d like to see the PR miracle we pulled off.

Attached was a picture from the gala. Her and Damian on the red carpet. That damn kiss. The kind that made you believe in things. Lies, mostly.

The headline read:

BLACKWOOD & RAMSEY: BUSINESS POWER COUPLE OR SOMETHING MORE?

She groaned, tossing the phone on the bed. Business couple, sure. Something more? God, she hoped not. Or maybe she did. That was the problem.

She climbed out of bed and headed straight for coffee. Only after the first bitter sip did she feel brave enough to look at her messages again.

Damian: You free today? We need to go over the event schedule. There’s a board dinner Thursday. I need you to look at the guest list.

Damian: Also, the way you looked at me last night? If you ever want to make it more convincing…

She nearly dropped her mug.

He was teasing. Or flirting. Or both.

And the worst part was—so was the way her stomach flipped when she read it.

Chloe: I’ll be at the office by noon.

She hit send before she could regret it.

⸻

The Blackwood & Ramsey transition office was located in a sleek corner of the financial district, all glass walls and quiet money. Chloe stepped out of the elevator at 11:57 sharp, and his assistant—Sophie—barely looked up from her screen before waving her through.

“He’s expecting you.”

Of course he was.

Damian was at his desk, sleeves rolled up again like he was starring in a one-man play called Corporate Seduction. He didn’t rise when she entered. Just glanced up at her, slow and deliberate.

“Miss Ramsey,” he said with mock formality.

“Mr. Blackwood,” she replied, biting back a smile. “We’re really committing to the bit, huh?”

He stood, sliding a manila folder across the table. “This is the schedule. Three charity events, one fundraiser, two board appearances, and a gala in Geneva. All before the quarter ends.”

She sank into the chair across from him, flipping through the pages. “Geneva? You’re serious?”

“If we’re married, we travel. International appearances help with visibility. It’s about optics.”

“It’s about insanity,” she muttered.

He didn’t deny it.

A pause stretched between them, neither of them reaching for the papers again. The desk felt too large, the distance too small. She could smell his cologne—amber and smoke and something expensive. And every time their eyes met, she felt like they were toeing a line.

“We should talk about last night,” Chloe said finally.

“We kissed.”

“You kissed me.”

“I enjoyed it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she kept her voice steady. “It was… convincing. Maybe too convincing.”

“Do you want to set rules?”

“Yes. And boundaries.”

He stepped around the desk, leaning on the edge just close enough that her breath hitched. “Okay. Let’s make some.”

She blinked. “You’re agreeing? Just like that?”

“I’m not unreasonable. I know how dangerous this is.” He paused, eyes flicking to her mouth again. “But we still have to sell it.”

“And what if people start asking about the engagement? The wedding?”

“We plan one. That’s what people in love do.”

Her heart thudded. “We’re not in love.”

“No,” he said softly. “But we’re damn good at pretending.”

That was the danger, wasn’t it? How easy it was becoming to fake it. To lean into the magnetic pull between them. To want the lie to be real.

Chloe stood abruptly, grabbing the folder again. “We’ll review this. Together. Later. I have work.”

He let her go. Didn’t follow. But when she reached the door, his voice stopped her.

“Chloe.”

She turned.

“There’s no version of this where you walk away unchanged. You know that, right?”

She didn’t answer. Just left.

⸻

By the time Thursday rolled around, she was a bundle of nerves.

The Blackwood Industries board dinner was at a private venue overlooking the city, and this time, the guest list wasn’t full of friendly faces. These were the old-money investors, the sharks in suits. The people who could tank her father’s legacy—or preserve it.

And she had to convince every one of them that she belonged here. That she belonged with him.

Damian met her outside the venue in a midnight blue tux that shouldn’t have looked real. When she stepped out of her car, his eyes ran over her—slow, deliberate, not subtle.

She hated that it made her feel beautiful.

“You clean up well,” he said, offering his arm.

“Just trying to look like someone worth marrying.”

“You don’t need to try.”

She rolled her eyes—but her smile betrayed her.

Inside, the room buzzed with low conversation, clinking glasses, and the scent of money. Damian introduced her with practiced ease, letting his hand rest at her back just long enough for it to register. He was a study in control. So was she.

But god, the tension was unbearable.

They sat for dinner. Toasted with champagne. Fielded questions about how they met (“a private gala in Aspen”) and when the wedding would be (“next spring, small and elegant”).

And then, as dessert was cleared, one of the older board members leaned across the table, half-drunk and smiling.

“You two look so in sync,” he said. “Must be real love, eh?”

Damian didn’t miss a beat.

He turned to Chloe, took her hand, and smiled like a man who knew what it was like to fall in love slowly and then all at once.

“She’s everything,” he said simply.

And damn him—he meant it.

Or at least, it sounded like he did.

Chloe’s heart stuttered. Her mouth went dry. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Because if she did, she might say something true. Something dangerous.

⸻

Back at the car, after the dinner, Damian leaned against the door and studied her like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

“You handled yourself well,” he said. “They believe it.”

She exhaled, arms crossed. “Do you?”

His smile faded.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know where the lie ends anymore.”

Silence. Just the sound of traffic below.

Then Chloe stepped forward. “Then maybe we need to remind ourselves.”

He tilted his head. “Of what?”

“That this isn’t real.”

And she kissed him.

Harder than before. Sharper. No cameras. No crowd. Just her lips on his, saying this is fake and I don’t care.

He kissed her back like he wanted to prove it was real anyway.

When they pulled apart, she was breathing hard, eyes wide.

Damian’s voice was rough. “Do that again and I’ll stop pretending.”

She stepped back like he’d burned her.

He let her go this time, didn’t chase. Just opened the car door and said, “Get in, Chloe. Let’s go home.”