Chapter 2- The Meeting.
1994 Words
Aria sat in her office with her eyes on the documents before her but her mind far away. Yes, she had accepted to meet up with Damain Wolfe but she knew deep down in her heart that it was an impromptu decision which she had started to regret.
She couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that enveloped her at the thought of getting married to Damain, knowing fully well that Damain had an ulterior motive for wanting to get married to her.
“Damn the consequences”. She muttered. She was ready to do anything to save her father's life and business empire, even if it meant dining with the devil.
“And why is your facing like that baby girl? You literarily look like a scarecrow”. Sophia Lane, her best friend, asked.
She had stepped into the office a while ago and was amazed to find her best friend looking as if the whole world was on her shoulder.
“Hey girlie”. Aria tiredly greeted, standing up from her chair to hug her best friend.
“Still on the Wolfe issue?” Sophia asked.
Aria nodded, too confused to say a word.
“I guess you will have to go and see him after all. We can't afford to let all your father's hard work go down the drain.”
“I know, but I think this isn't just about Damain wanting to get married to me. It seems deeper than that. And Evelyn can not be trusted”. Aria stated.
Sophie sighed, not knowing what to say.
—------------------------------------------------------
The Wolfe Estate rose like a fortress over the city, a monolith of glass and stone carved into the mountainside. As the car slowed at its gates, Aria adjusted the hem of her coat as she stepped out of the sleek black town car with her fingers tightened around her clutch. Not from fear—she wouldn’t give him that but from the weight of what she was walking into.
This wasn’t a dinner invitation.
It was a negotiation with the devil.
She’d spent the entire drive rehearsing what she’d say, how she’d stand her ground, how she’d look him in the eye and not flinch. This wasn’t just another rich man throwing his weight around. This was Damian Wolfe. The name alone sent tremors through the business world. Ruthless. Brilliant. Untouchable. And now, for reasons still unclear, he wanted her.
The butler led her through long, echoing corridors of obsidian marble and minimalist art that probably cost more than her father's estate. She didn’t bother admiring it. She wasn’t here to be dazzled.
He was waiting for her in a room that looked more like a lair than a study—dark wood, leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the stormy sky outside like a painting, and the man standing in front of them looked carved from the same shadows.
Damian Wolfe.
He didn’t turn at the sound of her heels.
“You’re late.”
Aria’s voice was flat. “Traffic”.
Still, he didn’t look at her. “That’s not an excuse I accept.”
She moved further into the room, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Then I suggest you get used to disappointment.”
He turned, slow and deliberate, like a man who never rushed for anyone.
And gods, he was beautiful in the most terrifying way. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline dusted with stubble, eyes so pale they were nearly silver. There was no warmth in his gaze. Just calculation.
She expected arrogance. She expected cold. But nothing prepared her for the way his eyes fixed on her—like a man measuring a weapon, not a woman.
“You said you had a proposal.”
“I do.” He crossed to his desk, pulled out a folder, and placed it in front of her without ceremony. “Cut to the chase. You already know my proposal. Marry me.”
The words hit harder than she expected even though she already knew what he wanted.
Aria arched a brow. “I thought you wanted to rescue my father’s empire. Not mock it.”
“This is a solution,” he said. You want your family’s name intact. I need a wife. We help each other.”
She didn’t reach for the folder. “Why me?”
A beat of silence passed. Then, too smoothly, he said, “Because you’re the only one who checks every box.”
Something in his tone made her skin crawl. “What boxes are those?”
“Pedigree. Poise. And a past that ties you to mine in ways the press would kill to uncover.”
Her pulse kicked. “Is this about my mother?”
He didn’t answer.
“This isn’t about revenge,” he answered.
Too quickly
Which meant it was.
And that scared her more than if he’d admitted it outright.
“One year,” he continued. “You play the role. Convincingly. In exchange, your father’s debts disappear. Your company is reborn. And when it’s over, you walk away clean.”
“How clean?” she asked. Because I don’t do chains. Not golden ones. Not diamond ones.
“You’ll have your freedom,” he said. “But you’ll earn it.”
She opened the folder.
Her name was already typed into the contract.
A space waited for her signature.
She read it carefully. No romantic obligations. No physical demands. One year of public appearances, press statements, and convincingly staged affection.
In return? Wolfe Industries would swallow Sinclair Holdings' debts. Her father would avoid prosecution and get full medical treatment. And her family name—what was left of it—would survive.
It was cold. Calculated.
And impossible to refuse.
Still, she looked up and said, “I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”
“One: I don't answer to you. I wear what I want. I speak when I want. And I’m nobody’s doll.”
His expression didn’t flicker. “I wouldn’t waste the effort trying.”
“Two: you lie to me, this deal ends. I don’t care what it costs me.”
His gaze shifted—just slightly.
Noted.
“Three,” she added, stepping close enough to smell the scotch on his breath, “If I find out there’s more to this than you’ve told me—more to your reasons—this entire facade burns.”
He leaned forward. “You’ll need thicker skin, Mrs. Wolfe.”
“I’m not your wife yet.”
“Then sign.”
But before she could, the door burst open.
Elise, his assistant—always composed, always cool, looked shaken. She held a tablet out to Damian, her knuckles white.
His eyes scanned the screen. His jaw tightened.
“Leave us,” he said.
Elise hesitated. “You should see this first.”
“I said leave.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Aria crossed her arms. “What was that about?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
She arched a brow. “That’s twice you’ve lied to me in under ten minutes. Not a good start. “Is it her?”
Silence.
“Your ex. The one the tabloids say disappeared.”
Still nothing.
“Is she back?”
Finally, he looked at her. And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes that wasn’t control or contempt.
Fear.
“Sign the contract,” he said again. Or leave. But if you leave, your father won’t survive the month.”
Anger burned up her spine. She hated him for using her. Hated herself more for needing him.
She signed.
The moment her name was inked, the air between them changed.
Damian took the folder, slid it into a drawer, and looked at her with something unreadable in his eyes.
He retrieved a black velvet box from his desk.
Inside, a ring.
Not a diamond.
A ruby.
Deep red. Like blood.
“Not traditional,” he said. “But it felt… appropriate.”
She stared at it. “What does it symbolize?”
He slid it onto her finger. “Power. Pain. And loyalty.”
Aria pulled her hand back like it burned.
He smiled faintly. “The wedding is Friday.”
“That’s four days away.” Aria muttered
“Plenty of time to learn how to smile.”
“Welcome to the wolf’s den, Aria.”
That night, Aria didn’t sleep.
The ring sat on her dresser like a curse. She paced her apartment, trying to make sense of what she’d done.
Just before dawn, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
Then answered.
A distorted voice crackled through. Male. Unfamiliar.
“You don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Who is this?”
“You just stepped into something bigger than your father’s company. Bigger than your name.”
Aria’s breath caught. “What are you talking about?”
“She died knowing less than you do now.”
The call dropped.
She stared at the screen, her blood ice-cold.
She.
Her mother?
A sudden memory surged—hushed arguments late at night. A strange man watching their house for weeks before the accident. Her mother’s eyes full of fear. She never explained.
And then the crash.
They said it was the brakes. That it was an accident.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if her mother hadn’t just died?
What if she’d been silenced?
And what if Damian Wolfe knew why?
She looked down at the ruby, its crimson facets catching the first light of dawn.
She thought she’d sold her soul for survival.
But maybe… she’d just bought a front-row seat to the truth.
Whatever it cost.
—------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, everything moved fast. A town car picked her up. She was taken to a private boutique, and styled like someone who belonged on magazine covers.
Damian’s assistant, Elise, who was far too poised and polite, handed her a tablet with a schedule.
“Your first public appearance is at the Delacroix Gala this Friday. The press already has the story. You and Mr. Wolfe are very much in love.”
Aria laughed. “They’ll see through that in two seconds.”
Elise gave a knowing smile. “Not if you play the part well.”
That evening, she was taken to the Wolfe penthouse. Damian was already there, seated with a tumbler of something dark in hand.
He looked at her, then nodded once.
“You clean up well.”
“I’m not here to be your trophy.”
“No,” he said, rising. “You’re here to be my wife.”
He walked over, handed her a velvet box. Inside, a diamond necklace shimmered like ice and fire.
She stared at it. “This could feed a family for a year.”
He took her arm without asking and turned her around, fixing the necklace onto her neck. His touch was colder than she expected.
“We’re not a love story, Aria. But we will be believable.”
“And if I’m not good at pretending?”
His eyes met hers. “Then I suggest you get good.”
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down her spine. Not threatening. But final.
She pulled her body out of his reach and looked out the window, the city glittering below.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this.”
“I don’t owe you that.”
“You’re asking me to give up my life for one year.”
“And I’ve paid handsomely for it.”
She turned to face him. “There’s something personal about this. About me. Isn’t there?”
He said nothing.
But in the silence, she found her answer.
He didn’t want a wife.
It was deeper than that.
And she had just stepped into the middle of it.
- Writer
