Chapter 3_The Contract

Rebecca’s POV

I stood frozen in Damon’s apartment. My heart thumped in my chest like a frantic drum, and every instinct screamed that what he had just said was impossible, cruel, and unreal.

“I’m… getting married?” My voice was barely a whisper, breaking under the weight of disbelief.

Damon’s expression remained calm, even detached. There was none of the warmth I had once clung to, none of the gentle affection I had believed in. The man I had loved, the man I had built my life around, had vanished. In his place was someone unfamiliar and terrifying.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ve arranged it. You leave soon. That is all.”

I shook my head violently, my knees nearly giving way. “No. I… I don’t understand. Who is he? Why me? What—what does this even mean?”

He exhaled, a slow, deliberate sound that carried the weight of authority. “Someone powerful wants you. It is… an opportunity. You will have a new life. Consider it a favor.”

The words hit me like stones. My throat burned. My feet trembled so badly that I nearly dropped to the floor. I had survived hunger, beatings, and the streets themselves, but this… this was something else entirely. This was a complete unraveling, a final theft of what little control I had left.

“I… I can’t do this,” I whispered, my voice raw. “I… I don’t want to leave. I don’t want… any of this.”

“You have no choice,” he said firmly. His tone was not cruel, not even angry, it was indifferent. And that indifference was far worse. “You will leave. You will go. It is not negotiable.”

I staggered back, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet, and sank onto the couch, my hand clutched to my chest. The room swirled around me. I wanted to cry, to scream at him, or pick my things and run but the words that might have escaped my lips had been strangled by the realization that resistance was futile. I was being sold. Again. Only this time, it was final.

“Why?” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “Why are you doing this? I… I thought you loved me.”

Damon chuckled, low and humorless. “Love is irrelevant. Survival is what matters. You understand that, don’t you? I saved you before. I will do so again. This… this is merely another step in ensuring it.”

I wanted to collapse, but the floor had never felt so distant. I was trapped in disbelief, the weight of betrayal pressing down on me like a physical force. My life, fragile as it had always been, had been folded neatly into someone else’s plan, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Then he set a folder on the table. I didn’t want to look at it, but my curiosity, mixed with a twisted sense of dread, forced my eyes to meet the stark lettering on the cover: 'Bride for Rent'.

“You will read it,” he said, his voice calm. “It outlines the terms. You are to understand your position fully before you leave.”

My hands shook as I opened the folder, the crisp paper smooth under my fingers, every clause a cold knife slicing into my heart. Each line made my stomach churn: the obligations, the rules, the stipulations that left me with nothing but obedience. I had expected control, but not this… total, suffocating erasure of autonomy.

Five years. No leaving. No questioning. No intimacy except as dictated. Your life will exist solely for him.

I dropped the folder onto the coffee table, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. My hands were shaking so violently that I could hardly steady myself. “I… I can’t…” I whispered, though the words felt hollow even to me.

“You can,” Damon said, his tone final. “You will. There is no alternative. You survive by obeying. That has always been true, hasn’t it?”

I wanted to scream at him and fling the folder across the room so that the pages would tear in a futile protest. But even as rage burned through me, the memory of pain, of hunger, and of fear, held me captive. Survival had always demanded obedience. And now it demanded it once again.

I barely registered when the knock came at the door. Rowan. The man whose presence I had never met, whose reputation I didn’t know, but whose name had been whispered in Damon’s instructions. I had no energy left to feel anything but numbness.

“Time to go,” Damon said simply. “Rowan will escort you. Make sure you understand the terms. There will be no mistakes.”

I rose mechanically, unable to speak, unable to process the finality of my existence. My body felt heavy, my legs trembling as I followed him to the door. Every step was surreal, as if I were moving in a dream too cruel to be real.

Rowan entered quietly, his tall, composed figure filling the doorway. He carried himself with calm authority, nothing in his posture hinting at cruelty, but everything hinting at expectation.

“Are you ready?” His voice was even, neutral, and steady.

I nodded dumbly, unable to form words. My throat was raw, my chest tight, every part of me coiled with fear and disbelief. I had no strength left to argue, to resist, or to protest.

The walk to the car was silent, each step echoing in my skull. I kept my eyes down, gripping my bag as if holding it could anchor me to some fragment of my former life. The streets blurred past, shadows stretching long in the fading light.

Rowan opened the passenger door, and I slid inside almost automatically. The seatbelt clicked, and the engine hummed to life. For a while, neither of us spoke. I stared at the blur of lights outside, my mind a chaotic storm of terror, confusion, and grief.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “For the next five years, you will be Rebecca Smith.”

The words hit harder than any blow Damon had ever delivered. My body went rigid, then trembled uncontrollably. Five years. My name, my identity, my very existence folded neatly into a life I had never chosen.

I sank into the seat, pressing my hands against my face, tears sliding down my cheeks despite my desperate attempts to hold them back. A strange numbness settled over me, heavy and oppressive. My past, my pain, my fleeting illusions of love—all seemed swallowed by this new, crushing reality.

The car carried me onward, and the estate, vast, shadowed, and indifferent, waited to receive me. My life had been stripped away, my autonomy erased, my future folded neatly into a five-year contract.

For the next five years, I would be Rebecca Smith.