Chapter Three

The inside of Damien Blackwood’s car smelled like leather, rain, and danger.

Amara sat stiffly beside the tinted window while the city blurred past outside in streaks of gold and silver light. Across from her, Damien remained silent, one hand resting loosely against the armrest as if he hadn’t just dragged a stranger into the center of her own panic.

Sienna’s horrified face still lingered in Amara’s mind.

Do not go anywhere with this man.

Too late now.

The car was already moving.

Elias Kane sat in the front passenger seat, broad shoulders rigid beneath a black suit. He hadn’t spoken once since Amara entered the vehicle, but she could feel his awareness constantly.

Watching.

Measuring.

Like security cameras disguised as a person.

Finally, Amara broke the silence.

“How do you know about my brother?”

Damien didn’t look at her.

“I told you already,” he said calmly. “I know many things.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

His gaze shifted toward her then.

Sharp grey eyes.

Cool and unreadable.

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

Amara clenched her jaw quietly.

She hated this already.

Hated the power imbalance.

Hated how small this man made the world feel.

The car slowed before the towering entrance of a private skyscraper downtown. Glass walls rose into the stormy sky while armed security guarded the gates outside.

Blackwood Tower.

Of course a billionaire would own an entire building.

The vehicle rolled into a private underground garage before stopping beside a sleek black elevator.

Elias stepped out first.

“Miss Bennett,” he said evenly while opening her door.

Amara hesitated.

Then followed.

Everything about the building felt coldly luxurious.

Marble floors.

Soft lighting.

Silence thick enough to hear your own breathing.

Even the elevator required a fingerprint scan.

No normal person lived like this.

Damien stood beside her while the elevator ascended smoothly.

Too close.

Her pulse kept noticing.

“You’re nervous,” he observed.

“You brought me into a building that probably costs more than my entire neighborhood.”

“That wasn’t the reason.”

Amara looked away immediately.

The elevator doors opened into a massive penthouse suite.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glowing city below. Lightning flickered faintly beyond the storm clouds while dark furniture and gold accents gave the space the atmosphere of a luxury magazine spread designed by emotionally unavailable people.

Amara stepped inside cautiously.

Then stopped.

There were photographs on one wall.

Hundreds of them.

Not family portraits.

Investigation photos.

Missing women.

Newspaper clippings.

Crime scene images.

Amara stared at them uneasily.

“What is this?”

Damien removed his suit jacket slowly.

“A reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

His expression darkened almost invisibly.

“That monsters rarely look like monsters.”

A strange chill moved through her.

Before she could respond, a woman entered from another hallway carrying a tablet.

Elegant.

Perfect posture.

Ice-blonde hair.

Her sharp blue eyes landed on Amara immediately.

And hardened.

“Damien,” she said coolly, “the board members are waiting.”

Then she looked Amara up and down.

Disapproval practically dripped from her expression.

“And who is this?”

“Amara Bennett,” Damien answered calmly.

The woman’s gaze sharpened slightly.

Realization flickered there.

Ah.

So she knew.

About the hallway.

About tonight.

“I see,” she murmured.

The silence between them suddenly felt unpleasantly sharp.

Damien walked toward the bar area without explanation.

“Leave us, Celeste.”

The woman didn’t move immediately.

Interesting.

Most people obeyed him instantly.

Instead, she approached slowly, heels clicking softly against marble.

“Private meetings with waitresses now?” she asked lightly.

Amara stiffened.

Damien’s face turned colder.

“Careful.”

Just one word.

But the temperature in the room dropped anyway.

Celeste smiled faintly.

Not nicely.

Then she turned toward Amara.

“You should know something about Damien Blackwood,” she said softly. “Everyone close to him eventually gets hurt.”

Amara opened her mouth carefully.

“I’m not close to him.”

The woman’s smile deepened slightly.

“That’s what makes this dangerous.”

Then she left.

The moment the penthouse doors closed, silence returned again.

Heavy silence.

Damien poured himself a drink before finally facing Amara fully.

“You’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He stepped closer slowly.

Rain flashed against the windows behind him while city lights carved shadows across his face.

Then he handed her a thin black folder.

Amara frowned before opening it.

Inside was a contract.

Her stomach tightened instantly.

“What is this?”

“A proposal.”

She skimmed the pages quickly.

Then froze.

Her eyes widened.

“This has to be a joke.”

“It isn’t.”

Amara looked back up at him in disbelief.

“You want me to pretend to be your fiancée?”

“Correct.”

“For six months?”

“Yes.”

Her heart pounded harder.

This man was insane.

“You cannot seriously expect me to agree to this.”

Damien’s expression remained calm.

“In exchange, your brother receives the best medical treatment available.”

Amara swallowed.

“No hospital debt.”

He stepped closer.

“No more struggling to survive.”

Closer again.

“And no more wondering whether you’ll lose your brother because you couldn’t afford to save him.”

The words hit brutally hard.

Because they were true.

Damien watched the conflict spread across her face quietly.

Then he delivered the final sentence like a blade sliding gently between ribs.

“All you have to do,” he murmured, “is belong to me publicly.”

Silence.

Rain.

Thunder somewhere beyond the glass walls.

Amara stared down at the contract in her trembling hands.

And realized her life had just split into two versions.

The girl she was before Damien Blackwood.

And whoever survived after him. 🖤