The Contract
1235 Words
Damien’s voice on the phone was colder than she remembered.
“Hello, husband.”
Silence. Then a sharp exhale. “Who is this? And how did you get this number?”
Evelyn leaned against her dorm desk, heart pounding. She could picture him on the 40th floor of Blackwood Tower, tie loosened, eyes narrowing the way they always did when he was suspicious.
“Evelyn Carter,” she said calmly. “We’re supposed to meet in 12 minutes at Central Library. I’m the girl who told you not to bring Linda.”
Another pause. Longer this time. She could hear the faint tapping of his fingers on his desk—an old habit he had when he was deciding whether to hang up.
“You’re insane,” he said finally. “But fine. I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
Evelyn set the phone down and exhaled slowly. One step down. He hadn’t dismissed her outright. In her past life, he wouldn’t have even taken the call.
She changed quickly—simple white blouse, black trousers, no jewelry. Nothing that screamed ‘desperate girl trying to impress a billionaire.’ She needed him to see her as an equal. Or at least, as someone dangerous.
---
Central Library smelled like old paper and dust. At 5:58 PM, Damien walked in.
He looked exactly the same. Tall, broad shoulders, tailored black suit that cost more than her entire tuition. His eyes swept the room until they landed on her.
For half a second, something flickered in his expression. Recognition? Confusion? She couldn’t tell.
“You,” he said, stopping in front of her table.
“Me,” she replied, standing. “Sit down, Mr. Blackwood. We have a lot to discuss.”
His jaw tightened. “You know my name. I don’t know yours.”
“Evelyn Carter. And you will. Because in three years, you marry me, cheat on me, and watch me die.”
The words hit like a slap.
Damien’s face didn’t change, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s the truth.” She slid a manila folder across the table. “Inside are emails, dates, names. Things that haven’t happened yet. But they will, if you keep doing what you’re doing.”
He didn’t open it. Not yet. His eyes stayed on her face, studying her like she was a problem he needed to solve.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Evelyn met his gaze. In her past life, she’d never been able to hold his stare for more than a few seconds. She’d always looked away first, afraid of what she’d see.
Now she didn’t blink.
“I want my life back,” she said. “And I’m starting with you.”
Damien’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You want money? Blackmail?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want a contract marriage.”
That got a reaction. His eyebrows rose a fraction. “Excuse me?”
“A contract marriage,” she repeated. “One year. We marry publicly. I get protection and access to Blackwood’s resources. You get a wife who can help you avoid the Vance Corp disaster in October.”
“Vance Corp?” His voice dropped, dangerous. “How do you know about that?”
“Because in my timeline, you signed the deal. It bankrupted you in 18 months.” She leaned forward. “I can stop it. But only if we’re married.”
Damien stared at her for a long time. The library was quiet around them, students flipping pages, the faint hum of the AC filling the silence.
“You expect me to believe you’re from the future?” he said finally.
“No.” Evelyn smiled without humor. “I expect you to believe the password to your private server is _Lilac1910_. Your father’s birthday and your mother’s maiden name.”
His expression shuttered instantly.
Only three people knew that password. His father was dead. His mother hadn’t spoken to him in years.
He reached for the folder.
Evelyn didn’t breathe as he opened it. Photos, printouts, emails—all things that hadn’t happened yet. The acquisition agreement with Vance Corp, marked with notes she’d written in the future. The internal memo about the data breach. The text message Linda would send him the night she framed Evelyn.
He flipped through it faster and faster, his face growing darker with every page.
When he finished, he closed the folder and looked up.
“If even half of this is true,” he said quietly, “you’re the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”
“Good,” Evelyn said. “Then you understand why we need each other.”
Damien leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “A contract marriage. One year.”
“Yes.”
“What do I get out of it besides avoiding bankruptcy?”
“You get a wife who won’t betray you. Who won’t lie to you. And who can help you destroy the people who are trying to destroy you.” She paused. “And you get to keep your reputation intact. No scandal, no messy divorce. Just business.”
“And after one year?”
“We divorce. Cleanly. No claims on your assets. No public drama.”
Damien was quiet for a long time. Evelyn could see the war behind his eyes—logic versus suspicion, self-preservation versus pride.
Finally, he nodded once.
“Draft the contract,” he said. “My lawyer will review it. If it’s airtight, we sign in three days.”
Evelyn felt something like relief flood through her. It wasn’t trust. Not yet. But it was a start.
“One condition,” she said before he could stand up.
Damien stopped. “What?”
“Stay away from Linda Wells.”
His jaw clenched. “She’s my assistant.”
“She’s a liar. And she’s dangerous.” Evelyn’s voice was low, deadly serious. “If you want this to work, you cut her off. Now.”
Damien studied her for a long moment. Then he stood, towering over her.
“I’ll consider it,” he said.
That was all she was going to get tonight.
As he walked away, Evelyn sank back into her chair, her legs shaking.
She’d done it. He’d agreed.
But the hardest part was still ahead.
---
Three days later, Evelyn signed the contract in Damien’s lawyer’s office.
The room was cold, sterile, filled with the smell of paper and ink. Damien sat across from her, his expression unreadable.
“Do you understand what you’re signing?” his lawyer asked her.
Evelyn nodded. “I do.”
She signed her name in sharp, deliberate strokes.
Damien signed a moment later.
When it was done, he looked at her across the table.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwood,” he said. His voice was neutral, but his eyes were sharp.
Evelyn met his gaze.
“Don’t regret this, Mr. Blackwood,” she replied.
He didn’t answer.
But she saw it—the flicker of something in his eyes. Curiosity. Wariness. Maybe even interest.
Good.
Let him wonder what she was planning.
Because this time, she wasn’t the girl who got left behind.
She was the one holding the knife.
---
- Writer
