The Wrong Man’s Fiancée
990 Words
Damon’s POV
"She called," Marcus said.
Damon looked up from the contract on his desk.
"Ivy Marchetti. Thirty-six hours after the meeting." Marcus placed the call log on the desk. "She agreed. Said she had conditions and wants to meet at nine tomorrow."
Damon glanced at the call log. Thirty-six hours. Half the deadline is still remaining.
"Twelve hours early," he said.
"Desperation," Marcus replied.
Damon said nothing. He studied the call log for a moment longer, then set it aside and returned to the contract.
"Schedule nine o’clock."
Desperation.
It made sense. Her father’s company was collapsing. The deadline was closing in. A woman in her position calling early meant she had calculated every option and found none.
That was what the facts said.
He filed the meeting under routine and went back to work.
He thought about it three more times before midnight.
There was something about the call that didn’t sit cleanly within that conclusion. The steadiness of her voice when she said she had conditions. Not the voice of someone cornered.
The voice of someone who had decided.
He set the thought aside and went to sleep.
The next morning, he was in his office by seven.
The engagement documents had already been prepared. Everything was clean, controlled, and efficient.
Julian had been briefed.
"She’s actually agreeing?" Julian had asked over the phone.
"Within the deadline. Yes."
A pause. "She didn’t seem like the type to just agree to something like this."
"She doesn’t have a choice."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"If you say so."
The call ended.
Damon didn’t think much of it.
The engagement was announced within days.
It moved quickly. That was the point.
The Blackwood and Marchetti names together generated exactly the response he expected. Headlines shifted. Speculation softened. Julian’s scandal began to disappear under a new narrative: stability, alliance, future.
Efficient.
Controlled.
Handled.
Damon observed it all from a distance with quiet satisfaction. His strategy had been well executed.
The engagement party was held at a private estate just outside the city.
He attended because his presence was required.
Three hundred guests. Industry figures, political connections, old money, new money. All of them were there to witness the alignment of two names that mattered.
Damon stood near the back of the room, a glass in his hand, watching.
Julian stood at the center of it all.
Relaxed. Smiling. More at ease than he had been in months.
Good.
That was the point.
Then Ivy arrived.
Damon hadn’t seen her since the meeting.
He saw her now.
She wore red. Not soft. Not delicate. Something structured, deliberate. A dress chosen with intention, not decoration. Her hair fell over one shoulder, her posture straight, controlled.
She moved through the room like she belonged there.
Like she had always belonged there.
She was not searching.
She was not uncertain.
She was not looking at Julian.
She was simply… arriving.
Her expression was composed. Completely composed. Damon watched closely, searching for a c***k, a hesitation, something beneath the surface.
He found almost nothing.
Only that same distant stillness in her eyes.
As if part of her was somewhere else entirely.
She reached Julian.
Julian smiled at her, easy and warm, leaning in to say something low. Ivy’s lips curved slightly in response.
Polite.
Measured.
Perfect.
The announcement was made shortly after.
Glasses were raised. Cameras flashed. Their names were spoken together with approval and expectation.
Julian took her hand.
Damon watched.
Her fingers rested in Julian’s like it meant nothing.
Like it meant everything.
The party unfolded.
Music. Laughter. Conversations layered with implication.
Damon moved through it as required. Spoke when necessary. Smiled when expected.
He watched Julian.
His brother stayed close to Ivy, a hand occasionally at her back, leaning in, speaking low. She responded every time. Smooth. Controlled. Exactly what the arrangement required.
She was very good at this. Better than he had anticipated.
At one point, Julian said something that made her laugh.
A real laugh.
Small. Unplanned.
Julian looked pleased with himself.
Damon set his glass down. He couldn't bear it anymore.
He walked out.
Through the main hall, down the corridor, into a quieter part of the estate. He found a bathroom at the end and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Silence.
He stood at the sink.
Turned on the cold tap.
Water ran over his hands.
He stared at his reflection.
Breathed.
And then, without fully deciding, he pulled his hand back and drove his fist into the mirror.
The c***k spread instantly.
His reflection fractured into sharp, broken pieces.
Blood gathered across his knuckles.
He looked at it without expression.
Then put his hand back under the water.
What he felt was not complicated.
It was not something he could justify.
He did not want Ivy Marchetti standing at his brother’s side.
He did not want Julian’s hand at her back.
He did not want her name tied to his brother’s in contracts, headlines, or expectation.
He did not want her there.
He wanted her somewhere else.
He turned off the tap.
Wrapped his hand in a towel.
Stood in the quiet, the sound of the party faint beyond the walls.
Three hundred people celebrated.
His brother with his fiancée.
His future sister-in-law.
Damon looked at the largest unbroken piece of the mirror.
His own eye stared back at him.
He had made a mistake.
Not the arrangement.
Not the strategy.
But something else.
Something precise.
He had placed Ivy Marchetti inside his world.
And positioned her beside the wrong man.
He straightened his jacket. Disposed of the towel and walked back into the party.
He smiled when required and spoke when necessary.
In the car, he had only one thought.
He thought about her.
The way she stood.
The way she moved.
The way she laughed.
Damon couldn't stop picturing her face.
Soon Damon realised:
He wanted her closer, he wanted her… to himself.
- Writer
