Chapter 2: Welcome Home, Mrs. Cole
1054 Words
I didn’t take his hand.
Damien’s eyes narrowed, just for a second. Like he wasn’t used to people saying no.
Then he shrugged and dropped his hand.
"Suit yourself," he said. "But we’re leaving. Now."
He walked out of the diner without looking back.
And like a fool, I followed.
Outside, a black Maybach was waiting. Driver holding the door open.
People on the sidewalk were staring. Taking pictures.
Because of course the billionaire CEO of Cole Corporation would cause a scene at 2PM on a Tuesday.
"Get in," Damien said, already seated inside.
I slid in, clutching my purse like it was a shield. The leather seats smelled like money and power.
The divider went up with a soft click. Now it was just me and him. And the 2 billion dollar secret between us.
For a full minute, neither of us spoke.
"You drugged me," I finally said. My voice shook but I forced it steady. "In Vegas. That’s the only explanation."
Damien laughed. It was low, dark, and completely infuriating.
"I don’t need to drug women, Ava. They come willingly."
"Not to a courthouse chapel at 3AM."
"Fair point." He turned to face me fully. His eyes were the color of a storm. "We were both drunk. Stupid. Young.
The lawyers called it a 'mutual mistake'. I called it a problem that needed fixing."
"By threatening my family?"
"By protecting my company." His jaw ticked. "My board found out about the marriage.
They think I’m unstable. That I can’t run Cole Corp if I can’t even handle my personal life.
So we stay married for 6 months. Public appearances. One interview. Then divorce. Clean."
"And the 2 billion?"
"Penalty clause." He said it like he was talking about coffee. "If either of us backs out before 6 months, we pay it.
Don’t worry. I have no intention of paying."
"And I do?"
"You signed it," he said simply. "So yes."
The car glided through traffic. I watched the city pass by through tinted windows.
This was my city. But right now I felt like a stranger in it.
"Why me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Of all the women in Vegas, why me?"
Damien was quiet for a long time. Then: "You laughed."
"What?"
"At the chapel. The guy before me was crying. The girl before you was taking selfies.
You laughed and said ‘well, this is a bad decision’. And you meant it."
Something flickered in his eyes. "I was tired of people lying to me."
I didn’t know what to say to that.
The car stopped in front of a building that looked like it touched the clouds.
Cole Tower. 53 floors of glass and steel. My neck hurt just looking up.
A doorman opened my door.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Cole," he said with a deep bow.
I almost threw up right there on the marble steps.
The elevator ride was silent. 53 floors. It felt like 53 years.
When the doors opened, my breath caught.
Damien’s penthouse was bigger than my entire apartment building.
Floor to ceiling windows. White marble floors. Art that probably cost more than my college tuition.
And it smelled like him. Expensive cologne and something darker.
And waiting inside was a woman in a black suit, holding a tablet. Perfect hair. Perfect posture.
"Mr. Cole," she said. "The prenup amendments are ready. And Vogue wants confirmation for the gala."
"Tomorrow at 8,"
Damien replied without looking at her. Then his eyes found mine. "You’ll need a dress."
"I’m not—"
"You are," he cut me off. "You’re my wife, Ava. People expect to see you on my arm."
"Then get a fake wife. An actress."
"I did," he said quietly. "She quit when she saw the penalty clause."
That shut me up.
The assistant lady cleared her throat. "Shall I show Mrs. Cole to her room?"
"She’s not staying in a guest room," Damien said. "She’s staying in the master. With me."
My head snapped up so fast it hurt. "Excuse me?!"
"Clause 4B," he said, pulling out his phone. "‘Spouses shall cohabitate in shared residence to maintain public image of marriage.
Separate bedrooms may raise questions from press and board members.’"
"That’s not legal!"
"It is if you signed it." He showed me the contract. My signature was there.
Looping, drunk, and definitely mine. Next to his sharp, angry scrawl.
I sank onto the nearest couch. It was probably worth more than my car.
"This is insane," I whispered. "I have a job. Friends. A life."
"You had a job," Damien corrected. "Now your job is being my wife."
"For 6 months."
"For 6 months," he agreed. Then he softened. Just a little. The storm in his eyes calmed.
"Look. I’m not a monster, Ava. I didn’t ask for this either.
But we’re in it now. So we play the game. You do what you need to do, I do what I need to do,
and in 6 months we both walk away rich."
Rich. The word echoed in my head.
My mom’s hospital bills. $40,000 and counting.
My little brother’s tuition. Due next month.
The debt collectors calling my phone at 7AM.
All the debt I’d been drowning in for years.
"Fine," I said. My voice barely above a whisper. "6 months."
Damien’s expression didn’t change but something in his eyes did. Relief? Victory?
"Good. Selena will take you shopping. Gala is tomorrow. Black tie." He turned to leave, then stopped at the door.
"And Ava?"
"What?"
"Don’t try to run. I’ll find you."
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
And just like that, I was alone.
Alone in a 20 million dollar apartment.
Alone with a contract I didn’t remember signing.
Alone with a man who could destroy my family with one phone call.
I walked to the windows. 53 floors up. The entire city spread out below me.
From up here, everything looked small. My problems. My life. Me.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Message: Welcome to Cole Tower, Mrs. Cole. Your shopping appointment is at 4PM. Driver will be downstairs.*
I sank to the floor.
Married to a man I didn’t know.
Trapped in a deal I couldn’t escape.
With 6 months to survive him.
God help me.
- Writer
