The Contract

Chapter Seven

The message remained on my screen for almost a minute.

Good.

That was it.

No congratulations.

No reassurance.

No indication that I had just agreed to marry a man I had watched kill someone.

Just one word.

I stared at it until my vision blurred.

Then I locked my phone.

"You're really doing this."

I whispered the words to myself.

There was no answer.

My father's fingers were still beneath mine.

I looked at him.

"I hope you understand what I'm doing for you."

Of course, he didn't.

But maybe someday he would.

Maybe he'd wake up.

Maybe he'd look at me and tell me I had made the wrong choice.

And maybe I'd finally be able to laugh about all of this.

That was the fantasy I held onto.

Because the alternative was too terrifying.

Damien sent a car for me at noon.

I was standing outside the hospital when it arrived.

This time, Victor wasn't driving.

A younger man stepped out.

"Miss Moretti."

"Lena."

He nodded.

"Lena. Damien asked me to bring you to the house."

"I know."

I climbed inside.

The drive was quiet.

I watched the city through the window.

People walked along the sidewalks carrying coffee.

Couples laughed outside restaurants.

A mother pushed a stroller.

Everyone was living normal lives.

Nobody knew I was on my way to sign a marriage contract with a mobster.

The thought almost made me laugh.

When we reached the estate, I was taken directly inside.

Damien was waiting in the library.

The room was enormous.

Bookshelves covered two walls.

A fireplace burned quietly.

There was a desk near the window.

And on it—

A folder.

I stopped.

"No."

Damien looked up.

"You haven't even opened it."

"I already know what it is."

He gestured toward the chair.

"Sit."

I sat.

He remained standing.

"You agreed."

"Yes."

"Then we proceed."

"How quickly?"

"Very."

I frowned.

"How quickly?"

"The wedding will be in five days."

My mouth fell open.

"Five days?"

"Yes."

"That's insane."

"Perhaps."

"Don't I get to plan anything?"

"You can."

"I don't even have a dress."

"You'll have several."

I stared at him.

"I don't want several."

"Then choose one."

"You're impossible."

"I've been told."

He pushed the folder toward me.

"Read."

I opened it.

The contract was several pages long.

My eyes moved over the words.

Marriage.

Confidentiality.

Protection.

Financial arrangements.

Inheritance.

Medical expenses.

Security.

I stopped at one paragraph.

"If the marriage ends..."

I looked up.

"Divorce?"

"Yes."

"There's a divorce clause."

"There needs to be."

I read further.

"If either party seeks dissolution of the marriage, the protection arrangement remains in effect for six months."

I looked at him.

"Only six months?"

"After that, you're free."

"Free?"

"Completely."

I stared at the contract again.

That wasn't what I'd expected.

"What happens to the money?"

"Nothing."

"My father's treatment?"

"Nothing."

"The house?"

"You don't own it."

"I know."

"You keep anything I give you."

I looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not taking back gifts."

I didn't know what to say.

I continued reading.

Then I reached the section about personal autonomy.

My eyebrows lifted.

"I can leave whenever I want?"

"With security."

"I can attend university?"

"Yes."

"I can see my father whenever I want?"

"Yes."

"I can have friends?"

"Yes."

"Male friends?"

His eyes narrowed slightly.

I noticed.

"So you do have a problem with that."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

His expression remained unreadable.

"Friends are your choice."

I smiled faintly.

"Jealous already?"

"No."

"Good."

He walked around the desk.

"Lena."

Something about his voice made my smile disappear.

"This marriage may be temporary."

He leaned against the desk.

"But while you're my wife, you will be treated as such."

"What does that mean?"

"Respect."

I blinked.

"Protection."

He paused.

"And loyalty."

I frowned.

"Loyalty?"

"You don't have to love me."

The words caught me off guard.

"But you cannot betray me."

I looked down at the contract.

"That sounds fair."

"It is."

I picked up the pen.

My hand shook.

Damien noticed.

"You don't have to sign today."

I looked up.

"What?"

"I said you have until tonight."

"I thought you wanted it done quickly."

"I do."

"Then why give me more time?"

"Because I won't have you sign something while you're terrified."

The room went silent.

I stared at him.

"You're confusing."

"I know."

I looked back at the contract.

Then signed.

My name looked strangely small beneath the agreement.

Lena Moretti.

Damien took the pen.

He signed beneath mine.

Damien De Luca.

Two signatures.

One contract.

One marriage.

I suddenly felt sick.

He closed the folder.

"It's done."

I nodded.

"Can I go?"

"Yes."

I stood.

Then stopped.

"What happens now?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

He looked at me.

"You go home."

"That's it?"

"For today."

I frowned.

"I expected something dramatic."

"You're disappointed?"

"No."

I smiled despite myself.

"Just surprised."

For the briefest second, something softened in his eyes.

Then it disappeared.

"Your wedding preparations begin tomorrow."

I groaned.

"Five days."

"Five."

"This is going to be a disaster."

Damien's mouth twitched.

"Probably."

It was the closest thing to a smile I'd ever seen from him.

And somehow, that frightened me more than his cold expression.

The next morning, I woke to knocking.

I opened the door.

Three women stood outside.

One held garment bags.

Another carried boxes.

The third held a tablet.

"Good morning, Mrs. De Luca."

I nearly slammed the door.

"I'm not Mrs. De Luca yet."

The woman smiled.

"Not yet."

They entered before I could protest.

Within thirty minutes, my tiny apartment had become a fashion studio.

Dresses appeared.

Shoes.

Jewelry.

Makeup.

Hair accessories.

I stared at everything.

"This is too much."

One of the women smiled.

"Mr. De Luca doesn't believe in too much."

I rolled my eyes.

Of course he didn't.

I tried on dresses for nearly two hours.

Some were beautiful.

Some were ridiculous.

One was so expensive I was afraid to breathe near it.

Finally, I found one.

Simple.

Elegant.

White.

It didn't make me feel like a princess.

It made me feel like myself.

I looked at my reflection.

For a moment, I forgot everything.

Then my phone rang.

The hospital.

I answered immediately.

"Hello?"

"Lena?"

It was Dr. Harris.

"Yes?"

"Your father woke up."

I froze.

"What?"

"He opened his eyes."

The room disappeared around me.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

My eyes filled with tears.

"I'm coming."

I dropped the phone.

I didn't even bother changing.

I ran outside.

A car was waiting.

I got inside.

"Hospital."

The driver nodded.

The car sped away.

I called Damien.

He answered on the second ring.

"What happened?"

"My father."

My voice broke.

"He woke up."

There was silence.

Then Damien said:

"I'll meet you there."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

The call ended.

Twenty minutes later, I ran into the hospital.

I rushed into my father's room.

He was awake.

His eyes were open.

Weak.

Confused.

But open.

"Dad?"

His gaze slowly moved toward me.

His lips parted.

"Lena?"

I broke.

I grabbed his hand and cried.

"I'm here."

He squeezed my fingers weakly.

"What happened?"

I laughed through my tears.

"You were asleep for a very long time."

He looked confused.

"How long?"

"Six months."

His eyes widened.

I leaned forward.

"It's okay."

Then he looked at me.

"You're all right?"

I smiled.

"Yes."

He studied my face.

"You look tired."

I laughed.

"That's because I am."

His gaze moved toward the door.

A shadow stood there.

My smile disappeared.

Damien.

He didn't enter.

He simply watched.

My father noticed him.

"Who is that?"

I looked back.

My throat tightened.

I had no idea how to explain the man I'd agreed to marry.

"This is Damien."

My father frowned.

"Damien who?"

Damien stepped into the room.

"Damien De Luca."

My father's face changed.

I noticed.

Recognition.

Fear.

My heart stopped.

"Dad?"

He stared at Damien.

Then at me.

His fingers tightened around mine.

"Lena..."

His voice was barely audible.

"Don't marry him."

Silence filled the room.

I looked at Damien.

For the first time since meeting him, I saw something flicker across his face.

Not anger.

Not annoyance.

Something darker.

Something wounded.

My father looked at me desperately.

"Don't marry that man."

And suddenly, the choice I'd thought I'd already made didn't feel like a choice anymore.