Chapter2:The Folder
563 Words
Ava didn’t go back to her desk. Not right away.
She walked straight into the executive lounge, locked the door behind her, and dropped the folder onto the coffee table like it had personally offended her.
What the hell had just happened?
She stared at it. Plain black cover. No name. No label. Just… sitting there like it held the keys to a bomb.
Her heart wouldn’t slow down.
She ran a hand through her hair, pacing. The room was quiet—too quiet. No phones ringing, no assistants buzzing, no Damien Blackstone looming behind his desk barking about deadlines. Just her, the folder, and a million what-ifs slamming through her skull.
A year.
A fake marriage.
To her boss.
Her ice-cold, emotionally allergic, untouchable boss.
No strings, no expectations. Just signatures, photo ops, and a fat check at the end.
It sounded like something out of a bad soap opera.
But the worst part? The absolute worst, most soul-splitting part?
She wasn’t immediately saying no.
Ava dropped onto the leather couch and opened the folder.
First page: Marriage Contract. Real legal jargon. Real lawyers. Real everything.
The terms were ridiculous in how clean they were. No intimacy required. Joint public appearances. Pre-nups so ironclad it was like reading a prison sentence wrapped in silk. And then there was the payout.
Seven figures.
Not even a round one. It was some oddly specific amount she couldn’t wrap her head around. Enough to pay off her student loans, her parents’ mortgage, and still leave enough to disappear off the grid for the next decade.
He’s insane, she thought. And you’re considering this. What does that make you?
She leaned back, eyes closed.
Her life wasn’t glamorous. She worked fifty-hour weeks, barely had time to see friends, and hadn’t dated seriously in over a year. Damien had become the center of her routine—his voice in her ear, his demands shaping her day. And as much as she hated to admit it… he trusted her. In his weird, calculated way.
He didn’t micromanage her. Never hovered. Just expected her to be excellent. And she was. Always.
But this?
This was personal. This crossed every professional boundary in existence. And she didn’t know if she could come back from it.
A knock on the lounge door made her flinch.
“Ava?” It was Margo, one of the assistants. “Mr. Blackstone’s heading out early. He said to tell you there’s no rush.”
No rush. Right. Just a life-altering proposal sitting in her lap like a loaded gun.
“Thanks,” she called back, her voice tight.
She waited until Margo’s footsteps faded, then stood. She gathered the folder back into her arms like it was something fragile. Dangerous.
Her phone buzzed again.
Dinner tonight. My driver will pick you up at seven. We can finalize the terms. —D.
She stared at the message.
He wasn’t asking.
He never did.
Ava didn’t reply. Just tucked the folder under her arm and walked out of the lounge like she hadn’t just been asked to marry a man who barely smiled.
As she passed the glass windows, she caught her own reflection composed, calm, efficient.
Exactly how he liked her.
She wondered what Damien Blackstone would do if he realized the storm he’d just unleashed.
And worse what she might do if she said yes.
- Writer
