Chapter 6
1229 Words
…
Elena's POV
The walls of her hospital room had never felt so suffocating.
Elena stood by the window, staring out at the parking lot below where families came and went, doctors hurried, and the world continued spinning as if nothing had shattered inside her.
She glanced down at the two things lying on her bedside table — the divorce papers and the business card Damian Blackwood had given her.
One represented everything she had lost.
The other, something she couldn’t define yet.
Her fingers hovered over the card again, tracing the embossed silver letters like a secret she wasn't sure she was allowed to want.
Damian Backwood.
Billionaire, stranger with unexpected comfort.
And now, her only way forward?
Her thumb trembled as she picked the card up, flipping it between her fingers.
Could she really say yes?
The offer was clean, emotionless on the surface, marriage for mutual benefit. She'd get privacy, power, resources, a shield from Nathan and Clarissa’s betrayal.
In return, Damian would gain stability. Custody for the child who had lost everything and leverage over the family empire clawing at his position.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t romantic.
But it was survival.
And somehow, it felt safer than anything else in her life right now.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the softness of the sheets at odds with the weight in her chest. Her mind went back to Nathan and Clarissa. The fake concern, the folder handed to her like a gift.
They smiled and hugged her.
Then handed her papers that spelled abandonment.
They thought she would crumble quietly.
Elena’s jaw tightened.
She had crumbled? Yes. But quietly? No more.
Her phone buzzed.
It was Nathan again. A message.
"Have you signed it yet? Just let me know when you're done."
No greetings. No emotion.
Just impatience.
Elena didn’t respond.
She opened her drawer and pulled out the pen the nurse had left earlier. Her eyes drifted to the papers, and for a brief second, she considered signing them, just to be done with it once and for all.
But something stopped her.
Damian.
That quiet afternoon in the garden. The way he’d handed her muffins without asking for anything in return.
The way he spoke about Emma. Not like a man doing his duty, but like someone trying to hold his world together with trembling hands and iron will.
He hadn’t promised love. He hadn’t even offered comfort. But in his silence, there was something else.
Respect.
He saw her, not as a victim, not as a patient, but as a woman with choices left.
Her fingers moved with unexpected certainty as she unlocked her phone.
She dialed the number on the card.
It rang once. Twice. Then—
“Damian Backwood.”
His voice was low and professional, until he realized who it was.
“Elena?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
A pause. “You called.”
She looked down at her lap. “I did.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t rush her. Just waited.
She exhaled. “I want to do it. The contract. Marriage. Whatever terms you have, just send them over.”
Another pause. Then a quieter tone. “Are you sure?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I need a way forward. And this might be the only one left.”
“I’ll take care of everything,” he said. “We’ll keep it clean and controlled. No one will touch you, Elena.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Thank you.”
Another long breath passed between them.
“I’ll send my lawyer,” Damian said, voice gentler now. “You won’t have to lift a finger. Just focus on whatever you need to survive.”
She felt her eyes sting. No one had said that to her in weeks.
Survive.
The call ended quietly.
Elena stared at the phone a moment longer before slipping it under her pillow next to the divorce papers.
…
Damian’s POV
He hadn’t moved in ten minutes.
Damian sat at the edge of his desk, phone still in his hand, the call with Elena playing over and over in his mind.
She’d said yes.
She’d agreed.
And not with desperation or emotional breakdown, but with the quiet steadiness of a woman who had been broken and chose to stand anyway.
He didn’t know what unsettled him more. How much he wanted to protect her or how much he wanted to see her rise.
The intercom on his desk buzzed.
“Mr. Blackwood, Veronica Longard is here. She says it’s urgent.”
Damian’s jaw tensed.
“Send her up,” he said coldly.
A few moments later, the glass door of his office opened and Veronica swept in like she owned the place, blonde waves perfectly arranged, red lips curved in a smile that never reached her eyes.
“You’ve been dodging me,” she said, placing her designer bag on his conference table.
“I’ve been busy.”
“With whom?” she asked, stepping closer. “The board says you’re taking personal visits. Late-night meetings and your grandmother says you're stalling the engagement announcement.”
Damian stood, towering over her.
“I don’t owe you answers, Veronica.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You owe the company stability. You owe your family peace of mind.”
He tilted his head. “You want a merger. Not a marriage.”
“I can give you both,” she said smoothly. “And you know it.”
Damian walked past her, grabbing a folder from his desk. “Too late.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m getting married,” he said without turning around.
Veronica’s breath caught. “To who?”
He turned slowly to face her.
“Elena Morgan.”
Silence.
Veronica’s face stiffened, her mask cracking just slightly. “That cancer patient? The one I saw you visit last week?”
“Were you keeping a watch on me?”. He asked, visibly annoyed.
Veronica didn't answer. “This is ridiculous. What will the board say? What will your grandmother say”
“I’ll handle them,” he snapped. “You’re not my problem, Veronica. You never were.”
Her voice rose. “You think this will protect you from the board? From your relatives?”
Damian stepped forward, voice low and lethal. “Let them try. Let the board whisper.”
Veronica’s expression twisted into disbelief.
“You’re actually going through with it,” she said. “She doesn't suit you.”
“I don't think so,” Damian said, walking her to the door.
And with that, he opened the door and waited for her to walk out.
She did but not without one last glare.
“This isn’t over.”
Damian shut the door behind her, locking it.
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
He stared out the window, the city lights burning against the twilight sky.
Elena was no longer a stranger.
She was his next move.
And this time, he wasn’t playing defense.
…
At that exact moment, Elena sat in her hospital bed, signing her name on the papers Damian’s assistant had just delivered.
The contract marriage was no longer an idea.
It was happening.
And neither of them knew just how much it changes everything
- Writer
