A Deal With The Billionaire

Chapter two

Chapter Two – Public Lies, Private Sparks

The contract was thicker than a dictionary.

Amelia sat at the long glass conference table, staring at the pile of neatly bound papers that Damian’s legal team had placed before her. The firm black letters seemed to swim on the page, each clause tightening around her neck like a noose.

“Standard non-disclosure agreements. Behavioral expectations. Financial terms. Nothing unusual,” said Damian’s lawyer, a man in his fifties with silver hair and glasses perched at the tip of his nose. He pushed the papers toward her with an expressionless calm, as though he wasn’t asking her to trade her life for a six-month illusion.

Amelia swallowed. Her fingers brushed the smooth paper, trembling. “Nothing unusual?” she echoed, her voice tight.

From the head of the table, Damian chuckled. The sound was low, mocking, yet somehow dangerously compelling. “Don’t look so frightened, Miss Dawson. No one’s asking you to sign your soul away.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “Aren’t you?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. His smile widened, sharp as a blade.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Clause twelve, Miss Dawson. Attendance at public events is non-negotiable. Clause seventeen, living arrangements. You’ll reside at Mr. Weston’s penthouse for the duration of the agreement.”

Amelia’s head shot up. “Live with him?”

Damian leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the armrest, watching her with a predator’s ease. “Of course. What sort of engagement would it be if my fiancée lived across town in a shabby little apartment? The public expects authenticity. They’ll look for cracks. And I don’t tolerate cracks.”

Her pride bristled at his casual insult, but she bit her tongue. She needed this deal. She needed her father’s hospital bills paid, the bakery saved, and her mother’s legacy intact.

Still, the thought of living under the same roof as Damian Weston, this arrogant, magnetic, infuriating man, made her skin prickle with equal parts dread and something else she didn’t dare name.

The lawyer slid a sleek pen toward her. “If the terms are acceptable, please sign here.”

Amelia’s gaze drifted back to Damian. His dark eyes locked on hers, steady and unyielding. There was no softness in them, no mercy. But there was heat. An intensity that burned through her defenses, daring her to back down.

Her chest rose and fell, her heart a frantic drum. Slowly, she took the pen. Her hand shook as she scrawled her name across the line.

Amelia Dawson.

Her fate was sealed in black ink.

“Good girl,” Damian murmured, almost too low for anyone else to hear.

Her cheeks flushed hot. She snapped the pen down onto the table, glaring at him, but he only smiled, satisfied, smug, and victorious.

By the time evening fell, Amelia regretted every second of her decision.

“Try to smile,” Damian said as he fastened the clasp of the diamond necklace around her throat.

She flinched at the cool brush of his fingers on her skin. They stood in the grand foyer of his penthouse, which was less an apartment and more a palace carved from glass and steel. The sweeping view of the city glittered behind them, while soft golden light poured from chandeliers overhead.

“I don’t see why I need this,” Amelia muttered, tugging uncomfortably at the elegant gown that his assistant had chosen for her earlier that day. It clung to her curves like liquid midnight, the neckline daring, the slit scandalously high. She had never worn anything so expensive in her life, and it made her feel both powerful and utterly exposed.

Damian adjusted the necklace, his knuckles brushing against her collarbone. The diamonds caught the light, dazzling, blinding. “Because tonight, the world meets my fiancée. And my fiancée doesn’t hide in cardigans and dusty skirts. She shines.”

Amelia turned to face him, her heart thundering at their closeness. His suit was perfectly tailored, the black fabric hugging his broad shoulders, his crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to tease danger. He looked devastating, untouchable. And she hated that some small, traitorous part of her couldn’t look away.

“I’m not your doll,” she said, her voice low.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe even admiration—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “No,” he said. “You’re my weapon. And tonight, we win.”

The gala was a sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos, with laughter and champagne bubbling through the air. Amelia clung to Damian’s arm as they stepped onto the red carpet, flashes from cameras exploding around them like gunfire.

“Mr. Weston! Who’s the lucky lady?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Damian, is this your mysterious fiancée we’ve heard about?”

Questions flew from all directions, but Damian didn’t flinch. He pulled her closer, his hand firm at the small of her back, his lips curling in that infuriatingly confident smile.

“Yes,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying above the chaos. “This is Amelia. My fiancée.”

The word rolled off his tongue like honey laced with poison. Amelia forced herself to smile, though her cheeks ached and her heart pounded loud enough she was sure the reporters could hear it.

Inside, the ballroom sparkled with chandeliers and music. Couples swayed on the dance floor, while waiters drifted with silver trays of champagne. Amelia tried to steady her breathing and tried to remind herself this was all pretend, all part of the contract.

But when Damian leaned close, his breath warm against her ear, all rational thought scattered.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured. “Though the trembling hands give you away.”

She jerked back, glaring at him. “Maybe because I’m not used to lying for a living.”

He smirked. “You’ll learn.”

Before she could retort, a tall, elegant woman approached. She was stunning, with icy blonde hair swept into a chignon and a gown that screamed old money. Her lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Damian,” she purred. “You didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

Damian’s smile tightened. “Amelia, this is Victoria. An old… acquaintance.”

Amelia caught the subtle edge in his tone and felt her stomach twist. Victoria’s gaze swept over her slowly, disdain dripping from every glance.

“How… charming,” Victoria said at last, though her smile suggested she found nothing charming at all. “I never thought you’d settle down, Damian. And with…” Her eyes flicked over Amelia’s dress, her hands, her very being. “Well. Congratulations.”

Amelia forced a polite smile, but inside, she burned. She knew what Victoria saw: a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, dressed up in borrowed diamonds, playing pretend in a world she didn’t belong to.

Damian’s hand tightened on her waist. “Believe me, Victoria,” he said smoothly, his eyes locked on Amelia’s. “When you find the right woman, settling down isn’t so hard.”

His words sent a strange shiver down Amelia’s spine. For the cameras, for Victoria, for the entire glittering ballroom, they played their parts. But beneath the mask, something electric pulsed between them, something neither of them could control.

And Amelia couldn’t help but wonder if this deal with the devil was more dangerous than she’d ever imagined.