The Billionaire's Contract

My apartment door was unlocked.

I stood in the hallway staring at the handle, keys in my hand, trying to remember if I'd locked it this morning. 

I must have. 

I always locked it.

….except I'd overslept and had to run out, late for work. 

Maybe I just forgot then?

I pushed the door open slowly, my pulse racing.

I checked around the room. The peeling paint. Dripping faucet. Bills stacked on my counter that I could barely afford to pay. The crossword puzzle I'd abandoned last night beside a mug of coffee.

Nothing was missing. Nothing looked…different.

I shook my head and sighed. 

See? Paranoid.

I took off my coat and shoved the last envelope onto the pile of bills without opening it. Probably another rejection letter from the design firms that had been ignoring my portfolio for months.

After the fifteenth, “thank you for your interest, but…” I'd learned to expect disappointment.

Still, each letter felt like another door slamming shut on the life I'd dreamed of building.

Interior design had been my passion since I was twelve. I was always sketching room layouts on napkins and trying to rearrange the furniture in our cramped childhood home, which used to annoy my mother to no end.

Now, those dreams gathered dust along with my hope of ever leaving my crappy job. 

My phone buzzed. A text popped up. Alex.

Still on for Sunday dinner at P**e Rosso? I'm bringing that girl Emma I mentioned. And fair warning… she's smarter than the both of us.

Despite how crappy I felt, I smiled.

At twenty two, my brother had become everything I'd hoped he’d be:brilliant, kind, completely absorbed in his engineering studies. Alex had inherited our father's gentle nature and our mother's wits.

Our parents had died in a car accident a few years ago when Alex was just seventeen, and I was twenty one. I was just old enough to become his legal guardian, yet young enough to have absolutely no idea what I was doing.

The life insurance covered the funeral and had left us with some money, but the college tuition needed for the both of us had eaten through most of it.

That meant shelving my dreams for something practical. 

Still, watching him solve equations that looked like hieroglyphics made every sacrifice worth it.

Another buzz. Mara. Wine night, Friday? You've been MIA lately and I'm worried about you. Also I saw that job posting at Morrison's and didn't hear you say anything about it. What gives Lena?

I bit my lip, guilt twisting through me.

Mara Blair had been my best friend since we'd bonded over terrible cafeteria pizza in the tenth grade. She was also relentlessly optimistic and refused to let me give up on my dreams, even when I convinced myself it was the right thing to do.

I'm ok, I texted, though we both knew it was a lie. And Morrison wanted five years experience for an entry level position. Makes total sense

Sighing, I put the phone down, needing to focus on my current problem.

Rent and how I’d pay it.

Great.

I grabbed my pen and started scribbling: ramen for two weeks, find something to sell on F******k Marketplace, maybe skip groceries entirely...

After 10 minutes, the calculations were depressing enough that all I could think of was crawling into bed and crying myself to sleep.

Only ice cream could get me through this.

I thought of my emergency pint of Pistachio caramel I’d stashed away for safekeeping in the back of my freezer.

Pulling the ice cream from its hiding place, I felt the smallest bit of happiness for the first time in days.

I savored the taste in my mouth, wishing I had more.

Then the knock came.

I froze, not expecting anyone.

I slowly put down the ice cream, hesitating, until something under the door caught my eye.

An envelope.

How had I not seen that before?

Is that why my door had been unlocked?

A shiver ran down my spine.

I pushed the thought away as I went to grab it.

Heavy cream paper. 

Expensive. The kind that whispered money…

And sealed with actual red wax stamped with an intricate crest.

I blinked, staring at it.

Who the hell even used wax seals?

But my stomach dropped as I recognized it. I'd seen that crest before… in magazines.

The Black family crest.

Damien Black.

Everyone knew that name. 

Billionaire. 

Ruthless. 

The kind of man who destroyed companies before breakfast and never explained why. I'd seen his picture in business journals and gossip columns alike: dark hair, even darker eyes...

Why would Damien Black send me anything?

My hands shook as I broke the seal.

The document inside was thick. Official. 

MARRIAGE CONTRACT

This agreement shall be binding upon signature by both parties…

The legal language blurred together until I reached the handwritten note pinned to the bottom.

Sign this or someone dies.

What?

The paper slipped from my fingers.

This had to be a joke. 

But if it wasn’t…

I needed to call for help.

I went to grab my phone, but then paused.

Who would I call? And what would I even say?

Hey, a billionaire is threatening to kill someone unless I marry him…send help.

No one would believe it. I couldn’t even believe it.

I jumped as another knock came.

Panic flooded my system, my mind racing through all the possibilities, none of them good.

What kind of sick game was this?

On shaking legs, I crept to the peephole. I needed to know who was on the other side.

6 foot 5. Muscular. Expensive suit that probably cost more than my yearly rent

Damien.

Even with the door between us, his presence felt overwhelming. 

This was crazy.

Damien Black was standing there.

Outside my door.

In my building.

In a neighborhood people like him didn't even drive through.

"Miss Brooks," he said as if sensing I was there pressed against the door. His voice was exactly what I'd expected. Deep, controlled, the kind of voice that made CEOs and world leaders sit up straight.

"Open the door."

Not a request.

A command.

I glanced back at the contract scattered across my floor. Every survival instinct in me screamed to run, but where could I go? 

He didn't knock again.

That patience, that absolute certainty that I would eventually comply…was more terrifying than anything else.

I wanted to scream, to demand answers, to wake up from whatever nightmare this was.

But I couldn't ignore the reality staring me in the face.

He was here. I had nowhere to run. And the contract on my floor suggested that ignoring him wasn't really an option.

My hand moved to the deadbolt before I even realized it. I heard the lock turn with a click.

I pulled open the door, feeling like my entire world was about to collapse.