CHAPTER 6 — THE PROPOSAL

The moment Damian Blackwood stepped into Emma’s hospital room, the air tightened, like the walls themselves straightened their posture. His presence didn’t belong here, in this soft place where fear lived in monitors and quiet prayers, He was angles, steel, power.

Arielle rose slowly from her chair, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

Damian didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted to Emma on the bed, her small body curled, her breath shallow, her skin pale in a way no child’s skin should ever be.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his expression.

Not pity,

Not sympathy,

Something colder, Calculating.

Like he was assessing a problem.

Then it was gone.

He turned back to Arielle.

“I need a word,” he said.

Arielle’s body tensed. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Then I’ll speak here,” he replied coolly. “This won’t take long.”

Dr. Wilson stepped forward, sensing tension. “Is everything alright?”

Damian didn’t even look at him. “We need privacy.”

And the shocking thing was,

Dr. Wilson obeyed.

The nurses exchanged uncertain looks but followed him out.

Within seconds, the room cleared, leaving only the two of them, and the soft, rhythmic beeping of Emma’s heart monitor.

Arielle folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“I swear, if you’re here to threaten me again, I,”

“I’m not here to threaten you,” Damian cut in, his tone clipped but… different. Less venomous. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

Arielle blinked. “An offer?”

He stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets, polished shoes silent on the hospital floor.

“You overheard something you shouldn’t have,” he said. “And I realized something afterward.”

She swallowed nervously. “Realized what?”

“That you’re desperate.”

Her breath caught. “Excuse me?”

He ignored her indignation.

“You’re desperate for money. Desperate to save your sister.”

He glanced at the machines beside Emma.

“You need resources you cannot acquire in time. Even if you worked three jobs for ten years, you wouldn’t come close.”

Arielle felt her cheeks heat with anger and shame.

“You don’t know me,”

“I know enough,” Damian said. “I know that you will do anything for Emma. That you have no support, no financial cushion, no insurance capable of handling what’s coming.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

He wasn’t wrong.

That made it worse.

He studied her face, voice steady.

“And I also know you don’t have the luxury of pride.”

Arielle stepped forward, anger flashing through her grief.

“You have no right,”

“Stop talking,” Damian said quietly.

The command stole her words.

He held her gaze with chilling certainty.

“I need something, You need something, This is simple math.”

Arielle stared at him, her pulse racing.

“What do you need?” she asked, though she already knew.

Damian exhaled slowly, as though preparing himself to say something distasteful.

“A wife.”

Arielle’s heart stumbled.

He continued, voice level and cold.

“A legally binding marriage, Temporary, Public, Convincing, Long enough for the board to finalize my position at Blackwood Enterprise.”

Arielle’s stomach twisted.

“You’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

His expression didn’t shift. Not even a twitch.

“In exchange,” he added, “I will take care of your sister’s medical needs, All of them and I'll be paying.”

Arielle’s breath caught.

“All…? You mean?”

“The bills. The transplant. The recovery. Whatever she requires.”

For a moment, the world blurred around her.

The weight of that promise, Emma’s chance to live, tightened her chest until she felt dizzy.

“But why me?” she whispered. “You barely know me. You don’t even like me.”

“Because you’re convenient,” Damian said without hesitation.

“You have no wealthy family to interfere. No social circle to investigate me. No hidden agenda. And most importantly”

He glanced again at Emma.

“You have motivation. Strong motivation. Which makes you reliable.”

Reliable.

Convenient.

Desperate.

The words stung like acid.

“And what do I have to do,” Arielle asked, voice small, “if I agree?”

“Live with me,” he said.

“Move into my penthouse.”

“Appear in public as my wife.”

“Attend events. Sign a contract with strict terms.”

“And,”

His eyes held hers, unblinking.

“Never mistake this for anything emotional. This is not romance. This is not affection. This is not a fairytale.”

Her throat tightened.

“This is a transaction,” Damian said.

“You and I are entering mutually beneficial business. Nothing more.”

Arielle’s fingers curled at her sides.

“And if I say no?”

“Then Emma’s hospital debt grows. Her condition worsens. And you lose the only viable chance to save her.”

Arielle inhaled sharply, as if stabbed.

“You’re using her to manipulate me.”

He didn’t deny it.

“Leverage is leverage.”

Her voice broke. “She’s eight years old.”

“And I’m not a charity,” Damian replied coldly.

Arielle felt tears burn behind her eyelids.

He watched her with unreadable calm.

“I’m offering you a lifeline,” he said. “Not kindness. Don’t confuse them.”

She pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to breathe.

This was insane.

This was wrong.

This was cruel.

And yet…

Emma was dying.

“Say yes,” Damian said softly, “and I will make sure she lives.”

She looked at her sister, so small, so fragile, sleeping through pain no child deserved.

Her vision blurred.

Her heart pounded.

Damian extended a hand, not warm, not gentle, but firm, inevitable.

“A contract marriage,” he said.

“You help me. I help you. Simple.”

Arielle stared at his hand for a long, trembling moment.

Then she lifted her eyes.

Cold gray met tearful brown.

“No,” she whispered.

Damian’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the air cracked, like invisible glass fracturing.

“No?” he repeated.

“I’m not selling myself,” Arielle said, her voice barely steady. “Not even for Emma. I won’t be bought.”

His jaw tightened.

“Arielle,” Damian warned.

She shook her head, tears falling freely now.

“Find someone else. I’m not doing this with you.”

For the first time since she met him,

Damian looked truly stunned.

Her rejection struck him like a blow he didn’t anticipate.

He lowered his hand slowly.

His eyes sharpened, cold, calculating again, but harder now. More dangerous.

“You just made the biggest mistake of your life,” he said quietly.

Arielle wiped her cheeks. “Maybe. But it’s mine to make.”

Damian stared at her for a long, silent moment.

Then he turned, heading for the door, each step tight with restrained fury.

His hand reached the doorknob.

He paused.

Spoke without looking back.

“This conversation isn’t over.”

And then he walked out.