CHAPTER 3:TRAPPED AND SIGNED

Selene stood gazing up at Lancaster Tower—its narrow steel body slicing into the evening sky, the penthouse crowning its top like a throne.

She stepped inside the lobby, heart pounding, heels clicking sharply against the glossed marble floor.

The receptionist barely glanced her way before pressing a button. Her sharp look screamed cold professionalism.

The elevator opened as if it had been waiting just for her. Selene stepped in. The doors closed behind her—and her stomach churned.

She was walking right into the lion’s mouth.

When the penthouse elevator doors opened, she gasped.

Glassy windows framed perhaps the best view of the New York skyline. The city lights glimmered like scattered stars.

The space itself? Breathtaking. Glossy furniture. Black marble floors. Everything whispered wealth and untouchable power.

Damien Lancaster stood by the windows, a whiskey glass in hand, like a man who ruled it all.

Her footsteps made him turn. His dark eyes found hers, and for a moment, they hinted at amusement.

Selene clenched her fingers tightly around her purse.

Damien set his drink down and stepped closer.

His presence—so controlled, so close—it felt suffocating.

“Sweetheart, talking’s done,” he said, calmly.

Selene swallowed hard, but she kept her chin high.

“Damien, what do you really want?” she asked.

He took another step forward, gaze locked with hers.

Selene let out a breathless laugh, like she couldn't believe this was real.

“Damien?”

He ignored the question.

“Money’s something you need,” he said. “For my reputation? I need a wife. A respectable one.”

Selene shook her head, confused.

“Give it some thought,” Damien added smoothly. “It could be risky... not to.”

Then he turned, grabbed a thick folder from his desk, and tossed it onto the table between them.

“That’s all you owe, I reckon,” he said. “Debts. Lawsuits. Interest rates. They’re drowning you, aren’t they?”

Selene gasped.

Everything was right there—overdue bills, legal notices, threat letters—each page a reminder of how trapped she truly was.

Voice trembling, she looked up at him.

Damien’s smirk deepened.

He pulled out another file and tossed it beside the first.

A contract.

Selene pushed the papers away like they might burn her.

“Nah,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Damien leaned back on the couch, face unreadable. Cold.

“Refuse at your own risk,” he said, calmly.

He pulled out yet another document.

“Your apartment lease. You know your landlord’s been itching to evict you, right?”

He tilted his head.

“Rumor is I might’ve just made a bid.”

He smirked.

“Withdraw that offer, and you’ll be homeless come tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

His face hardened. “Wouldn’t I?”

The evidence was all there. Her hands shook.

The apartment wasn’t even the worst of it.

She owed money to dangerous people.

There was an ongoing legal case.

Rising interest rates made it all worse.

This wasn’t a proposal. It was blackmail.

He didn’t offer a deal—he held a loaded gun to her life and waited.

Fight back, her mind screamed.

But fight what? Where could she even go?

Selene slowly sank into the leather chair across from him, drained.

“So what’s in it for you?” she asked.

Damien leaned forward, fingers tapping the contract.

“A wife sounds helpful right now,” he said. “A partner to stand by me at events, smile for the cameras, play the perfect wife... that’s someone I need.”

He looked away briefly. His voice dipped lower.

“And how about you? You already know what to do, right? You’ve stood with me once.”

Selene clenched her fists.

She had no options.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the pen.

“So... what’s the deal?” she asked.

“Simple,” Damien said, flipping to page one and pointing.

“You’re moving into my place—tonight. You’ll attend public events, act like my wife, and follow the rules. Be true to them.”

He looked into her eyes.

“But most importantly...”

Selene opened her mouth but paused as Damien said it.

“One year.”

That was the deal.

“Just one year,” he said softly.

Selene swallowed hard. Her hand shook as she finally signed her name at the bottom of the contract.

Once the ink dried, Damien leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.

“I knew you’d see reason,” he murmured.

He took the contract from her hand, a smirk playing on his lips as he slid it into a drawer.

A lump rose in her throat. She gulped hard.

His eyes were dark now. Icy.

He buttoned his suit jacket like it was just another business win.

“Time to pack your things,” he said. “You’re moving into my penthouse tonight.”

Selene stiffened.

“I thought... I might at least have tonight to think.”

Damien tilted his head, amusement flashing in his eyes.

“I want my wife next to me,” he said.

It wasn’t a request. It was possession.

Selene lifted her head slightly, finding strength in defiance.

“I... I need to speak to a friend,” she said.

Damien raised an eyebrow. Then, surprisingly, he shrugged.

“Guess you deserve to know what you’re walking into. Do what you must. Be ready by eight.”

When Selene left the office, Natasha glanced at her with concern.

Behind Selene’s calm steps and straightened spine...

She already knew:

There would be no escape.