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1072 Words
The silence stretched between them like a tripwire.
Elara Quinn stared at Damon Voss as if he had just asked her to sell her soul — and maybe he had.
“You want me to marry you?” she repeated, as if the absurdity might shrink once said aloud. “Are you actually serious?”
Damon leaned against the edge of his mahogany desk, arms crossed, cool as ever. “Perfectly.”
Lightning cracked behind him, casting shadows across his sharp features. In the flickering light, he looked like a villain in a gothic novel—cold, unreadable, and somehow… magnetic.
Elara took a shaky breath. She was not going to be pulled into his gravity.
“You destroyed my first book deal,” she said. “You leaked my manuscript to the press, blacklisted me from three major publishers, and now you think I’ll say yes to playing house with you for a year?”
His expression didn’t flicker.
“That leak wasn’t me,” he said calmly. “But I did pull your book from the schedule because your editor pushed for a rewrite and you refused.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
“She told you what would protect her job,” Damon said, straightening. “And I made a business decision. It wasn’t personal.”
“It was my career.”
He shrugged, as if careers came and went like stock prices.
“Call it karma, then. Now I’m offering you a second chance. Your father’s company is drowning in debt. Your next manuscript is dead in the water. I can fix both problems in thirty seconds.”
“And all I have to do is become your wife,” Elara scoffed. “For a year. And then what? A quiet divorce in the tabloids?”
Damon walked to the window, hands in his pockets. “My grandfather’s will requires me to be married for a full fiscal year to inherit the final controlling shares of Voss Holdings. He believed it would ‘make me more human.’” The last part was spoken with a trace of disgust.
Elara almost laughed.
“Maybe he was onto something.”
He turned, eyes narrowing. “Say what you want. But the deal stands. You’ll get your book published—unedited. Your father’s company will be bought and stabilized under our media wing. You’ll walk away a best-selling author with millions in royalties and your family out of debt.”
“And all I have to do,” she said bitterly, “is sell my dignity.”
“No,” Damon said smoothly. “Just your signature. And maybe your weekends.”
Elara's jaw clenched.
She hated him. God, she hated how calm he was. Like this was just another line item on a spreadsheet. Like her life was nothing more than a merger to him.
But that was the thing about Damon Voss — he always offered you what you wanted most… at a price you didn’t want to pay.
She turned away, arms crossed, her thoughts racing.
Her father was months behind on hospital payments. The staff was threatening to pull care. If this deal could save him — save everything — did she have a choice?
“You said one year,” she asked quietly. “What are the conditions?”
He looked almost pleased. Like a chess piece had just moved in his favor.
“One year of marriage. Public appearances as my wife when required. A prenup, of course—ironclad. No intimacy unless mutually agreed.”
She raised a brow. “Is that your way of saying I’m allowed to keep my underwear on?”
A smirk ghosted across his face. “Only if you insist.”
God, he was infuriating.
“And what happens if I break the contract?”
“You don’t get the money. Your father’s company stays in debt. And your name stays off every major publishing list in New York.” He stepped closer. “But if you follow the terms, everything you want is yours. Freedom. Recognition. Legacy.”
Elara swallowed hard.
She’d spent six years trying to claw her way back after the fallout from her first book deal. Six years of rejection letters, failed pitches, and doors slammed in her face. And now the man responsible for it all stood before her, holding out a golden ticket—with barbed wire wrapped around it.
“I want it in writing,” she said finally. “Every term. No surprises.”
“You’ll have it by morning.”
“And I get final editorial control of my book. No rewrites. No censorship.”
He nodded. “Done.”
She hesitated. “And my father’s company? You don’t dismantle it.”
“I’ll restructure it, not gut it. It’ll still carry your family’s name. That’s non-negotiable—on my end.”
She stared at him.
This was real.
It wasn’t some twisted joke or power play. Damon Voss, the man who had once crushed her career with a single decision, was now offering her a chance to reclaim everything — by becoming his wife.
It was madness.
But maybe madness was exactly what she needed.
“Elara?” he said, voice low. “Yes or no?”
She took a deep breath, rain still dripping from her clothes, her heart pounding against her ribs like a warning.
“This doesn’t make us even,” she said, stepping forward. “You’re still the villain in my story.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“Then I suggest,” he said, “you write a hell of a redemption arc.”
She held out her hand.
He took it.
The deal was made.
Three Days Later
The wedding was quiet.
No guests. No vows. Just signatures on legal documents and a cold exchange of rings in the Voss family penthouse, with a lawyer and a notary as witnesses.
Elara wore a simple ivory dress and a forced smile.
Damon wore a tailored suit and an unreadable expression.
There were no photographs. No cake. No kiss.
Only a contract — sealed in ink and silence.
As they walked out of the boardroom-turned-makeshift-chapel, Damon leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.
“Welcome to the rest of your year, Mrs. Voss.”
She turned her head slightly, her voice like ice.
“Don’t get comfortable.”
- Writer
