One year,no love

Chapter one :the contract

Aria’s POV

The bill feels like it’s burning through the cheap wood of the kitchen table.

$47,000. Due in 72 hours.

If I don’t pay it, Liam’s treatment stops. If his treatment stops, he won’t make it to his 15th birthday. It’s that simple, and that cruel.

I’ve read every line three times—front and back. I’ve searched for a mistake, a typo, a clause I could challenge. There’s nothing. Just numbers that don’t belong in my world. Numbers for people who don’t count every hour they work just to afford groceries. Numbers for people who take vacations and worry about stock portfolios, not whether their little brother will see another winter.

My hands won’t stop shaking. I tell myself it’s the caffeine. It isn’t. It’s fear. Cold, sharp fear that sits in my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

The orphanage stipend ended when I turned 21. Overnight, I went from being a ward of the state to being on my own, with a sick sibling and no safety net. My two shifts at the diner cover rent, electricity, and ramen that tastes like salt and regret. There’s nothing left. No savings. No family. Just me, Liam, and a hospital that won’t wait.

I used to believe that if I worked hard enough, things would get better. That’s what they tell you when you grow up in the system. Work hard, keep your head down, and life will give you a chance. Nobody told me the chance would cost $47,000.

A sharp knock makes me jump, and I nearly knock the bill to the floor.

“Miss Vale? Mr. Blackwood is waiting.”

Damien Blackwood.

I’ve said his name in my head a hundred times since I sent the first email. CEO of Blackwood Corp. Wealth beyond anything I’ve ever seen. Cold. Ruthless. The kind of man who buys buildings the way others buy coffee.

He’s the only one who replied. Out of 47 desperate emails, 47 calls to assistants who hung up, 47 times I said “please” to people who didn’t care—he replied. His email had no greeting, no sympathy. Just one line: Come to my office at 8 PM. Don’t be late.

I don’t know why. Right now, I don’t care. If he’s offering a loan, a job, or something illegal, I’ll take it. Liam’s life isn’t a negotiation.

His penthouse is on the 60th floor. The elevator ride up takes longer than most of my conversations in a week. The mirrors inside make me look small, tired, out of place. My uniform from the diner is still on me because I came straight from my shift. I don’t have time to change. I don’t have time for anything.

When the doors open, the air changes. Quiet. Expensive. It smells like cedar, money, and a life I’ll never have. The hallway is silent except for the echo of my shoes on marble. A woman in a tailored suit checks my name on a tablet without looking up.

“Follow me,” she says.

His office is all glass and steel. No pictures. No warmth. Just a desk that costs more than a car I’ll never own, and a view of the city that makes everyone below look insignificant.

He doesn’t stand when I enter. He doesn’t offer water. He doesn’t pretend.

Damien Blackwood is younger than I expected. Early thirties, maybe. Sharp jaw, dark hair cut short, a suit that probably costs more than my annual salary. His eyes never leave mine. They’re gray, like storm clouds right before they break.

He slides a folder across the glass. The sound is soft, but it feels like a gunshot.

“One year,” he says. His voice is low and precise, the kind used to being obeyed the first time. “You marry me. Publicly. No love. No intimacy. You play the role of my wife.”

I swallow. My throat feels dry. “And in return?”

“In return, I will cover your brother’s treatment in full, for life. The best specialists. Experimental trials. Whatever it takes.”

It sounds too easy. Because it is. Nothing this good comes without a price, and I’m not naive enough to think I’m the exception.

“Why me?” I ask. “Why help me?”

His jaw tightens. For the first time, something flickers in his expression—annoyance, or maybe discomfort.

“That’s not part of the deal.”

“Everything about this is a deal,” I snap, and immediately regret it. People don’t snap at Damien Blackwood and walk away unscathed. I’ve read the articles. The man doesn’t lose.

He doesn’t flinch. “You’re right. It is a deal. Take it or leave it.”

My mind flashes to Liam—his thin face in the hospital bed, the way he jokes to keep me from crying, the way he whispers, ‘Don’t worry, sis,’ when he’s the one who should be scared. He draws pictures for the nurses. He still believes in superheroes. If I walk out of this room, that ends.

I look down at the contract. The paper feels heavy. Real. The language is dense and legal, full of clauses about confidentiality, public appearances, and penalties I don’t fully understand. One clause is highlighted in yellow: Term: 365 days. No cohabitation beyond public engagements. No physical intimacy. Breach results in immediate termination of financial support.

One year.

No love.

No intimacy.

I can do one year. I can smile for cameras, attend galas, and pretend to be the perfect wife to a man I don’t know. I can do anything for one year if it means he lives.

I reach for the pen. My fingers are cold. The metal feels foreign against my skin.

“One year,” I say aloud, as if saying it makes it real. “No love.”

Damien watches me. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. Something sharp and guarded, as if I’ve said something he wasn’t prepared for.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he says quietly.

The pen meets the paper.

The ink is black. Final.

There’s no going back now.

Outside, the city keeps moving. Lights flicker. Cars honk. People live their lives without knowing that one signature in a glass tower just changed everything for two people they’ll never meet.

When I look up, Damien is already standing. The meeting is over. The deal is done.

“Ms. Reyes will take you to your new residence,” he says. “We will announce the marriage tomorrow.”

New residence. Right. I don’t have a home anymore. I have a contract.

I stand on shaky legs and nod. My voice won’t work, so I don’t try to speak.

As I follow Ms. Reyes out, I glance back once. Damien is already looking at his computer, as if I was never there. As if I’m just another transaction closed for the day.

Maybe I am.

But Liam will live.

And that’s all that matters.

The elevator doors close, and I let myself breathe for the first time in hours.

One year.

I can survive one year.

Even if it kills me.