مانجو واحدة ألغت صفقة حبيبي بقيمة مليار

‎Chapter One: The Contract That Broke Me

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‎The contract lay on the glass table between us, crisp and white, like it hadn’t just sentenced my life.

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‎“Sign it.”

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‎His voice was calm. Too calm. As if he wasn’t asking me to sell myself.

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‎I lifted my eyes slowly, forcing my trembling hands to stay still. The man sitting across from me was everything people whispered about in magazines and boardrooms—handsome, powerful, untouchable. Ethan Blackwood. Billionaire CEO. The man who had ruined my family without losing a second of sleep.

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‎“You want me to marry you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

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‎His dark eyes flickered, sharp and cold, like he was already bored of this conversation. “For one year.”

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‎One year.

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‎I swallowed hard. “And after one year?”

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‎He leaned back in his chair, long fingers folding together with calculated ease. “After one year, the marriage ends. You get your freedom. I get what I want.”

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‎“What you want,” I repeated bitterly. “And what exactly is that?”

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‎A humorless smile curved his lips. “Control.”

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‎The word cut deeper than I expected.

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‎I looked down at the contract again. My name was already typed neatly at the bottom, waiting for my signature like a trap that had been prepared long before I walked into this office.

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‎Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered—bright, alive, indifferent. Inside, my world was collapsing in silence.

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‎“Why me?” I asked.

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‎Ethan’s gaze darkened, something unreadable passing through his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. “Because you’re convenient.”

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‎Convenient.

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‎That was all I was to him.

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‎Three days ago, I had been a normal woman with ordinary problems—rent overdue, hospital bills piling up, a father lying unconscious in a hospital bed because someone had deliberately destroyed his company. Today, I was sitting across from the very man responsible for it all.

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‎“You drove my father’s company into bankruptcy,” I said, my nails biting into my palms. “You took everything from us.”

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‎“I didn’t take anything,” Ethan replied coolly. “I acquired what was weak.”

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‎My chest burned. “You knew he’d have a heart attack.”

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‎“That was unfortunate,” he said without emotion.

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‎Unfortunate.

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‎Tears threatened to spill, but I refused to let them fall. Crying in front of Ethan Blackwood would only make this worse.

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‎“You’re heartless,” I said.

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‎“Honest,” he corrected. “And offering you a solution.”

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‎A solution.

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‎The hospital bills alone were more than I could ever afford. The creditors were already calling day and night. My mother had stopped eating. My younger brother had started pretending everything was fine.

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‎And Ethan knew all of it.

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‎That was why I was here.

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‎“If I refuse?” I asked quietly.

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‎His eyes hardened. “Then your father’s treatment ends tomorrow. The bank will seize what little you have left. And your family will learn very quickly what life is like without my mercy.”

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‎My breath hitched.

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‎This wasn’t a proposal.

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‎It was blackmail.

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‎“You promised you wouldn’t touch my family again,” I said, my voice shaking despite myself.

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‎“I promised nothing,” Ethan replied. “I said I’d consider alternatives.”

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‎I let out a broken laugh. “Marrying you is an alternative?”

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‎“Yes.”

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‎Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

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‎I picked up the pen.

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‎My hand shook as I flipped through the pages, though I already knew what I’d find—no love, no warmth, no protection. Just clauses about obedience, discretion, public appearances, and silence.

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‎So much silence.

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‎Clause 17 caught my eye.

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‎No emotional expectations shall be placed upon the husband.

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‎I clenched my jaw.

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‎“You don’t even want to pretend,” I said.

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‎“I don’t do pretense,” Ethan said. “You will live in my house. Attend events as my wife. Keep your head down. In return, your family survives.”

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‎Survives.

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‎I looked at him then—really looked. The sharp jaw, the tailored suit, the eyes that had never known fear or loss. Men like him didn’t break. They broke others.

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‎“Do you hate me that much?” I asked.

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‎His gaze faltered for half a second. Then it hardened again. “This has nothing to do with hate.”

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‎“Then what does it have to do with?”

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‎Something unreadable flashed across his face.

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‎“Sign the contract,” he said quietly. “Or walk away.”

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‎I knew he was lying.

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‎There was no walking away.

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‎Tears blurred my vision as I lowered the pen to the final page. My signature looked fragile, crooked—nothing like the confident woman I used to be.

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‎With one stroke, I erased her.

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‎I placed the pen down.

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‎“It’s done,” I said.

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‎Ethan stood, towering over me. “Good.”

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‎Good.

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‎He extended his hand, not in comfort, but finality. “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwood.”

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‎The name hit me like a slap.

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‎Mrs. Blackwood.

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‎I rose slowly, my legs weak. “One year,” I reminded him. “After one year, I’m free.”

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‎His lips curved into a cold, knowing smile. “If you survive it.”

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‎As I walked out of his office, the doors closing behind me with a soft, merciless click, I realized something terrifying.

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‎The contract hadn’t just sold my future.

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‎It had broken me.

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‎And I had a feeling…

‎Ethan Blackwood intended to make sure I never healed.

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