Chapter 10: The Contract

~Bianca's POV~

I watched him as his eyes opened slowly, and for the briefest second, disbelief cracked through the cold mask he always wore. He neither blinked nor said a word.

And I—

I had no idea what the hell just came out of my mouth.

'I'll give you me.'

The words had escaped before I could weigh them. Desperation had hurled them forward. There wasn't time for pride, not with Nathan tightening his leash and watching my every move. Somewhere, buried in the fractured haze of my past life, I remembered this: I'd asked Damien for help before.

And he said yes.

For one night.

And that night?

It was the only time I'd ever felt something when someone touched me. Something real. Something alive.

Maybe this would be the same. Just one night. A trade. A favor.

Worth it.

"...What did you say?" Damien's voice came low and dangerous.

I swallowed. "I said I'll be yours. You can have me. Just help me."

Silence fell between us before he suddenly laughed. Loud. Unhinged.

The sound tore through the air, his head thrown back as he slumped back into his chair, dragging a hand across his face like he'd just heard the punchline to a tragic joke.

"What the hell…" I whispered under my breath, stunned.

Was he mocking me?

He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "I knew you were desperate," he rasped. "But never in a million years did I think I'd see Bianca Calloway—you—walk in here offering yourself like some bargain-bin whore."

The word hit me hard across the face. I didn't flinch outwardly, but I felt the burn.

Still, I didn't break.

I couldn't.

If humiliation was the price of taking back my life—of avenging my father—I'd pay it. I'd swallow the shame and wear it like armor.

Damien leaned forward, and just like that, the laughter drained from his face. In its place came something colder.

"Alright," he said softly.

My heart stuttered. "Alright…?"

"I accept," He leaned back in his chair like a king granting mercy. "You want my help. You've offered yourself. Done."

Relief poured through me as I sat up straighter, a shaky breath escaping.

"Okay. So… when?" I asked. "Is it tonight? Just the once? Or—what happens after?"

His lips curved slowly into a cruel smile. "Who said anything about one night?"

I instantly felt my blood turn to ice. "What…?"

"If you want my help," he said, "you'll play by my rules. And my terms are simple."

He stood and walked slowly around the desk, every step heavy with an unspoken threat.

"You'll sign a contract. For six months. You'll be mine. Entirely. You'll live in my house, show up when I call, and do exactly what I say. No questions. No complaints. And for those six months, you'll serve one purpose and one purpose only."

I knew what was coming. Still, hearing it—

"You'll be my personal sex slave."

I stared at him. And for a full beat, I couldn't speak or breathe.

"No," I whispered. "No, you can't mean that."

"Oh, I mean every word," he said coolly. "You didn't think this through when you came in here, throwing yourself at me. And now you want to negotiate?"

"I'm married, Damien," I hissed. "What do you think people will say when they see me living with another man? The media? My family? This is—insanity."

He shrugged like none of it mattered. "Then don't do it. But don't come crying back when your husband finishes what he started with your father."

That hit like a knife to the chest, and I gripped the edge of the chair, my pulse thundering in my ears.

"You're serious about this."

He cocked his head. "Three days. That's how long you have to decide. Sign the contract and walk into hell—or walk away and stay in the one you already live in."

Turning, he walked toward the door, and my voice barely rose above a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He paused, just before stepping out, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes held nothing but ice.

"You want revenge?" he said. "It has a price."

Then he left, leaving me still seated, frozen in the boardroom.

Six months as Damien Sinclair's sex slave.

I pressed my trembling hands to my face and breathed deeply, trying to hold myself together.

What had I just done?

What the actual hell had I gotten myself into?

*****

The second I stepped through the marble foyer of the Hayes mansion, something felt wrong. Too much noise. Too many people. Rushed movements. Ribbons. Flowers.

"What the—?"

"Careful with those florals! Do you know how much they cost?" shrieked a familiar voice.

I turned the corner—and there Cecilia was, clipboard in hand, barking orders like a general.

Her eyes found mine, and she sneered. "Look who finally decided to show up."

I ignored the jab. "What's going on?"

She rolled her eyes. "Nathan got a call earlier. From Damien Sinclair. Apparently, he wants to discuss a contract over dinner. A business contract," she added with a raised brow. "So we're hosting. Tonight. Big names. Important people. You need to clean up."

I froze.

He called Nathan?

Already?

Barely two hours had passed since I left his company. And he was already setting the stage?

This made my stomach turn. He was playing a game. I just didn't know the rules yet.

Cecilia's hand clamped around my arm, nails sharp against my skin. "Wear something decent," she hissed. "We're not going to embarrass Nathan tonight. Not with Sinclair watching."

She stormed off before I could respond.

I climbed the stairs slowly, head spinning.

This wasn't a coincidence. Damien was making moves. Strategic ones.

But whose side was he playing for?

As I stepped into my bedroom, my eyes caught the small, white bottle on the nightstand.

My prescription and poison.

Without hesitating, I grabbed it and shoved it into my purse. I'd take it to Dr. Emily in the morning. Let her test it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I let the exhaustion settle in, then forced myself up and moved to the closet.

I didn't expect to find anything useful.

And I didn't.

All the dresses had been reorganized. Replaced. As if someone had erased the woman I used to be and dressed me like a full-blown housewife.

A knock came at the door, and a maid entered quietly, carrying a long black box.

"Mr. Hayes asked me to deliver this. For tonight."

Of course, he did. The only time I was ever allowed to play dress up.

Every event came with a new dress, hand-selected to remind the world just how perfect we were.

I opened the box. Silk. Royal Blue. Off-shoulder. Thigh slit. Elegant. Expensive.

The kind of dress meant to be seen.

I laid it on the bed and caught my reflection in the mirror. The plain clothes. The dead eyes.

No wonder Damien's guards hadn't recognized me.

I didn't look like her anymore.

The Bianca from the magazines. The one who smiled through the pain. The one Nathan owned.

But tonight…

She'd return.

Walking into the bathroom, I shut the door behind me.

As I looked at myself one last time, only one thought echoed in my head:

Damien Sinclair… what the hell are you planning?