004

Noelle

“This isn’t real,” I whispered, shaking my head so hard the room spun. “You’re lying. You’re absolutely lying.”

Damian’s smirk didn’t waver, and I hated that I was on the verge of crashing out and he wasn't. His gaze slid down me like he was drinking me in, me, still in his damn shirt, barefoot, messy haired, already on the edge of unraveling.

“Huh.” He tilted his head, his voice low and teasing. “So you really don’t remember?”

I opened my mouth to snap back, but the words lodged in my throat. Because the second he said it, the said memories slammed into me in jagged, blinding flashes.

Whiskey burning down my throat.

My laugh too loud, my hand on his chest as I leaned against him at the bar. Me straddling and kissing him like my life depended on it.

How we'd booked a hotel room.

My lips brushing his ear as I slurred, Marry me.

His deep chuckle rumbling through me.

The blur of neon lights. A man in a priest’s collar.

His mouth devouring mine.

My nails sinking into his back. Him ramming into me like that was supposedly our last night together.

The flash cut off there, leaving me breathless, but believe me when I said it didn't make anything better.

“No. No.” I grabbed at the nearest excuse, panic clawing at my chest.

“No. No, it’s not possible. I’d never—”

“Come on, sweetheart.” His voice was velvet and smoke, wickedly patient too “Let me show you something.”

He turned, strolling down the hall with the unhurried grace of a man who already knew I’d follow. I did, because I was terrified not to,and because a tiny, delusional part of me still believed there was room for a tiny miracle to happen.

The kitchen was bathed in golden morning light, but all I saw was the counter.

A crisp sheet of paper lay there, framed by sunlight like it was some holy relic. My eyes dragged over the words, each one striking like a blade.

Marriage Certificate.

It held my name, his name, and both our signatures.

Beside it, a velvet box yawned open, revealing a diamond ring that looked big enough to pay off my entire existence twice over. And next to that, a glossy photo.

Me and Damian, arm in arm, standing under the neon glow of a Vegas chapel. My face was flushed and happy, his smirk carved sharp and satisfied. We looked like a couple who'd just had the night of their lives.

Other people looked at their wedding photos and instantly felt like they were floating, mind made my stomach drop through the floor.

“This isn’t real,” I rasped, with a half gasp and something that sounded too close to a cry. “It can’t be.”

Damian leaned casually against the counter, watching my world collapse with the same interest most people saved for sipping coffee.

“You were the one who asked. I just agreed. We fucked, then we flew, and now…” His mouth curved. “…you’re Mrs. Blackwood.”

The name slammed into me. Blackwood. My pulse skipped, my throat locked, and I hadn't wanted the ground to open up and swallow me more than I did right now.

“No. No, I’ll get this annulled.”

I staggered back a step, shaking my head so hard my hair whipped. “Immediately. This is over. I don't know what you thought, but this is unacceptable.”

I didn't bother waiting for a response. Instead, I spun toward the bedroom to grab my clothes, but his voice stopped me cold.

“Walk away, and you’ll regret it.” I froze.

He didn’t shout, he didn’t block the doorway, that's because he didn’t need to. His words sank deep, soft and lethal, and that was enough to have me rooted in my spot.

“You told me everything last night,” he said, and when I glanced back, his eyes gleamed. “About your parents breathing down your neck. About how they wouldn’t let you breathe unless you married someone they approved of. About the ex who broke you and the revenge you dreamed about.”

“That's a lie.” My mouth went dry. “I… I didn’t….”

“You did.” He pushed off the counter, circling closer, each step slow and deliberate. “So let me make it simple. One year. You stay married to me, and I'll give you what you want, freedom from your family, revenge, money. You can walk away with as much as you want.”

“And what about you?” My voice trembled. I couldn't believe I was trying to gamble with the devil right now. “And what do you get?”

“My reputation fixed. You’ve read the tabloids, haven’t you? The scandals, the women.” That smirk sharpened. “Everyone thinks I can’t keep one for longer than two months. My image is tanking.”

I had seen the tabloid, but just when I was about to ask the question riding on the tip of my tongue, he answered.

“Investors don’t like it. Numbers don’t like it.” His eyes locked on mine. “But you? You’re my solution.”

I wanted to laugh, I wanted to scream. I wanted to run, but he leaned in, his breath brushing my ear, and murmured….

“You walk now, sweetheart, and you get nothing but a hangover story no one will believe.” His voice sent shivers down my spine. “You stay, and you win. We both win.”

My heart pounded so loud it drowned out my thoughts.

My parents. Evan and Harper, and the constant, suffocating pressure. He was offering me a way out, a dangerous, insane way out, but still…

The sound of him shuffling back to the counter pulled me out of my thoughts. What looked like a contract seemed to have joined the other relics in their spots.

My hand shook as I took the pen he slid across the counter. My eyes blurred over the words.

Contract marriage. One year. Protection. Money.

Was this a mistake? Was I making the right choice?

My signature spilled across the line before I could stop myself. A strange relief flooded me, heavy and dizzying, until I noticed the extra papers tucked behind.

I flipped them over, and my breath caught at what I saw.

It was a list. A very detailed, very explicit list of sexual activities, rules, and clauses too. Think submission, control, toys. Things that made my skin flush just reading them.

“What the hell is this?” My voice cracked. “Damian?”

Damian only smirked, leaning in close enough that his cologne and his heat swallowed me whole.

“That, sweetheart,” he murmured, “was the fine print. And you already signed.”

My knees threatened to buckle. The paper trembled in my grip, but his smirk was the last thing I saw before the room tilted around me, because in one reckless, drunken night, I had chained myself to The Damian Blackwood.

And now, there was no way back.

Shit.