A Contract Written In Hate

A CONTRACT WRITTEN IN HATE Chapter One: The Price of Desperation SERENA VALE “The first time I met Damian Cross, he offered me a million pounds to marry him.” He paused, his cold eyes fixed on mine. “The second thing he offered me was a warning.” “Marry me, Miss Vale, and your brother gets a legal team capable of clearing his name. Refuse, and you're on your own.” I hated him instantly. But hatred was a luxury I couldn't afford. Not when my seventeen-year-old brother was being accused of a crime he swore he hadn't committed. Not when our family was drowning in debt. And certainly not when Damian Cross might be the only person who knew why my father's name had become a curse. Three days earlier, my biggest problem had been an overdue electricity bill. Then Noah called me at 2:17 a.m. “Serena, I need you to come home.” His trembling voice dragged me out of bed. “What happened?” “Please. Just come.” When I reached our apartment, I found him sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by legal notices and bank statements. A photograph of our late father lay among the papers. My stomach tightened. “Noah, what's going on?” “They're accusing me of stealing money from an account connected to the Vale Foundation.” His eyes were red. “They say I authorized the transfers.” “That makes no sense. You're seventeen!” “I know.” “Did you do it?” “No.” I believed him without hesitation. Our parents were gone, and Noah was the only family I had left. I would have fought the entire world for him. Unfortunately, the world didn't care how much I loved my brother. By the following afternoon, three lawyers had rejected us. One demanded a fee I couldn't afford. Another refused to continue after hearing our surname. The last man offered only one explanation. “Your father's reputation makes this case complicated, Miss Vale. I'm afraid I can't help.” My father's reputation. Even in death, the man couldn't escape whatever had destroyed our family. That evening, an anonymous message appeared on my phone. Stop asking questions about the Vale Foundation if you want your brother to remain safe. A second message followed. Your father made the same mistake. I called the number. Unavailable. My hands trembled, but fear quickly gave way to anger. Whoever was threatening my family had made one mistake. They had given me a reason to keep digging. I searched through old financial records until one name appeared repeatedly. Damian Cross. Billionaire businessman. Owner of Cross Meridian Group. The man whose company had acquired assets connected to the Vale Foundation after my father's death. He was also the last person mentioned in a document my father had signed before he died. I studied Damian's photograph on my laptop. He looked like the sort of man who never heard the word no. Unfortunately for him, I had run out of reasons to be polite. I sent his office an email requesting a meeting. I expected a rejection. Instead, his assistant called the next morning. “Mr. Cross will see you at three this afternoon.” For the first time in days, hope stirred inside me. I should have known better. --- Cross Meridian Group occupied the upper floors of a glass tower overlooking London. Everything about it screamed wealth, from the polished marble floors to the silent elevators. At precisely three o'clock, I stood before Damian Cross's office. His assistant opened the door. “Miss Vale. Go right in.” Damian sat behind an enormous desk, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. He didn't rise when I entered. His gaze travelled over me before settling on my face. “Serena Vale.” “Damian Cross.” “Sit.” I remained standing for another second before taking the chair opposite him. He returned to his paperwork. One minute passed. Then another. “Are you always this welcoming?” I asked. His eyes lifted. “Only when I'm expecting trouble.” “Then you must be delighted to meet me.” A faint smile touched his mouth before disappearing. “What do you want, Miss Vale?” “My brother is being accused of financial fraud. Your company's name appears in records connected to my father's foundation. I want answers.” “Answers about what?” “What happened to my family?” His expression changed. It was subtle, but I noticed the sudden stillness in his face. “You have your father's eyes,” he said. My fingers tightened around the strap of my handbag. “Don't pretend you knew him.” “I knew of him.” “That isn't the same thing.” “No,” he agreed. “It isn't.” I leaned forward. “If you know something about my father's death, tell me.” “Your father is not why you came here.” “Excuse me?” “You came because your brother is in trouble, your finances are collapsing, and everyone else has refused to help you.” Anger burned through me. “You've been investigating me?” “I investigate everyone who might become involved in my affairs.” “I'm not interested in your affairs.” “Not yet.” He opened a drawer and placed a black folder on the desk. “Inside is a proposal.” I glanced at it suspiciously. “What kind of proposal?” “Marriage.” For several seconds, I stared at him. Then I laughed. “You cannot be serious.” “I assure you, Miss Vale, I am.” “Why would a man like you want to marry a woman he barely knows?” “Because a marriage would solve a problem for both of us.” He pushed the folder toward me. “One year. A legally documented arrangement. You become my wife, attend public functions when required, and maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage.” “And in return?” “I will fund your brother's legal defence, arrange an independent investigation into the allegations against him, and settle the debts listed in the financial documents you submitted to my office.” My laughter died. “How did you get those documents?” “You attached them to your meeting request.” Of course I had. Desperation had made me careless. “And what do you want from me besides pretending to be your wife?” His gaze sharpened. “Your father kept records that disappeared after his death. I believe you may know where they are.” I thought of the old sketchbook locked in my bedroom drawer. My father had given it to me when I was sixteen. I had never imagined that his drawings and scattered notes might matter to anyone. “You want me to help you find something?” “I want you to tell me if you know anything about those records.” “And if I don't?” “Then we will have to find another way.” I studied him carefully. “You expect me to believe this is about business?” “I expect you to read the contract before deciding anything.” I opened the folder. The terms were clear. One year of marriage. A fixed payment. Public appearances. Confidentiality. Separate bedrooms. No obligation to develop a romantic relationship. At the end of the agreement, we would divorce. It was a marriage designed to convince the world while meaning nothing behind closed doors. I looked up. “And if I refuse?” “My offer disappears.” “And my brother?” “His situation remains what it is now.” There it was. He had dressed desperation in legal language and placed it on my desk. “You're taking advantage of me.” “I'm offering you a choice.” “A choice between marrying you and watching my brother's life fall apart.” His jaw tightened. “I didn't create your circumstances, Serena.” “No. You're simply making sure I remember how powerless I am.” For the first time, something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then he leaned back. “You have until tomorrow evening.” I stood, clutching the folder. “You're a cruel man, Damian Cross.” “And you're a woman who came here because she refuses to abandon her brother.” His words stopped me. I hated him for understanding. I hated him even more because he was right. --- I spent the night reading every clause and consulting an independent solicitor. I negotiated clearer payment terms, legal protection for Noah, and restrictions on Damian's access to my personal belongings. His legal team rejected some of my demands. I rejected several of theirs. By evening, we had reached an agreement. At 6:42 p.m., I returned to his office. Damian stood beside the window, watching the city below. “Have you made your decision?” “Yes.” He turned. “I'll marry you.” He didn't smile. “Then sign.” I sat and picked up the pen. “One year,” I said. “After that, we walk away from each other.” “Agreed.” “You don't control my life.” “I have no interest in controlling your life.” “That's the first lie you've told me today.” His expression remained unreadable. “Then perhaps you should pay closer attention to the truths I haven't told you.” I signed. Serena Vale. He signed beneath my name. Damian Cross. My future had just become a legal arrangement. “The legal team will contact you tomorrow,” he said. “Your brother's defence will begin immediately under the terms we've agreed.” I stood, relieved that Noah would finally have help. Then Damian spoke again. “There's something you should know about your father.” My hand froze on the door handle. “What?” “Your father was not the man you believe he was.” I turned slowly. “If you have something to say about him, say it.” “Ask yourself why his records disappeared. Ask yourself why everyone who knew him refuses to speak about him.” “You promised to help my brother. You didn't promise to insult my father.” “I'm not insulting him.” “Then what are you doing?” For the first time, Damian looked almost troubled. “Trying to stop you from making the same mistake he did.” I left without another word. I had signed the contract. Noah would have legal representation, and our financial problems might finally become manageable. So why did I feel as though I had just stepped into a trap? My phone vibrated as I entered the elevator. An unknown number. You shouldn't have married him. Another message appeared. Your father trusted a Cross once. It cost him everything. Then came a photograph. I nearly dropped my phone. It showed my father standing outside the Cross family estate, his expression serious, one hand resting on the shoulder of a much younger Damian. Beneath the photograph was a date. The night my father died. My breath caught. A final message appeared. Ask your new husband what happened that night. The elevator doors opened, but I couldn't move. Damian hadn't chosen me merely because he needed a wife. He knew something about my father. Something someone was willing to threaten my family to keep hidden. And now I had married the one man who might know the truth. END OF CHAPTER ONE