CHAPTER TWO: The Price of a Yes

Elena didn’t move for a full minute.

The contract folder felt like it was burning a hole through her fingers.

The cold wind tugged at her coat, but all she could feel was the strange, acidic ache in her chest—a knot of disbelief, confusion… and temptation.

Half a million euros.

For six months.

Fake marriage. No intimacy. No questions in private.

She repeated his words in her mind, trying to find the trick, the hidden clause, the baited hook.

Matteo’s quiet voice floated to her again—“Please don’t be upset.” And then she looked back at the orange eviction notice like it was a final slap from a world that had never played fair.

This wasn’t just some outrageous proposal. This was survival… offered on letterhead.

Inside, she shut the door behind her like she was sealing off a storm. Matteo was curled up on the couch, still in his school uniform, worn knees hugged close.

“You okay?” he asked, blinking sleepily.

Elena forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She didn’t want to lie. But how do you explain to a thirteen-year-old that you might marry a stranger to keep a roof over your head?

She tucked the folder into her bag and made a mental note—48 hours. She didn’t have to say yes. Just… consider it. At least until the hunger in her stomach became more unbearable than her pride.

The Next Day

Elena sat at her usual table in a rundown café two blocks from the metro.

It smelled like burnt coffee and old croissants, and she liked it that way—familiar, unglamorous, safe. She peeled the contract open like it might explode.

The first page confirmed what Damon Vierre had said:

Six months.

Public appearances only.

Strict confidentiality.

€500,000 deposited in full upon marriage registration.

The clauses were worded by lawyers who probably charged more per hour than she made in a month. But the deal was clean. Controlled.

Cold.

Her stomach turned.

“Excuse me,” came a voice. “Is this seat taken?”

Elena looked up to find her best friend, Margot, already sliding into the chair across from her.

Margot didn’t wait for permission. That wasn’t her style. She was all eyeliner, chipped nails, and a mouth that never missed a beat.

“Okay, spill,” she said. “You look like someone offered you a kidney in exchange for your soul.”

Elena stared at the contract, then slowly pushed it toward her. “Not a kidney. A marriage.”

Margot blinked once. Then again. Then leaned forward with a snort. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

As Margot flipped through the pages, her brows drew together. “Wait. Damon Vierre? That Damon Vierre?”

Elena nodded slowly. “The man I spilled champagne on.”

Margot let out a low whistle. “Girl, you spilled more than champagne.”

They sat in silence, the hum of the espresso machine filling the background.

“You’re not seriously considering this… are you?” Margot asked, quieter this time.

Elena hesitated. “I don’t know. I can’t even afford rent next month. Matteo has school, the bills are piling up, and—this isn’t a job offer. It’s a parachute.”

Margot stared at her. “Yeah, but what kind of parachute lands you in a fake marriage with a billionaire who looks like he’s made of glass and secrets?”

Elena let out a hollow laugh. “The expensive kind.”

Margot reached across the table and took her hand. “If you do this… you don’t come out the same person. I know you’re strong. But this—this is playing with a fire that doesn’t care who it burns.”

Elena’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve already been burning.”

That Night

The apartment was silent again. Matteo had gone to bed early, homework done, plates rinsed, lights dimmed.

Elena stood by the window, contract spread out on the table, staring at the city lights that mocked her from a distance. She traced the lines of her name, the blank space meant for a signature.

Could she really do this?

Be a wife in name only? Stand beside Damon Vierre at events, wear diamonds that weren’t hers, smile for photographers, and pretend like her life hadn’t just become a business transaction?

A small part of her whispered—You’ve done harder things. For less.

She closed her eyes.

Then opened them.

Picked up the pen.

And signed.

The Next Morning

The black car pulled up at 8:00 a.m. sharp, as if it had been there the whole night, just waiting.

Elena stepped outside with a duffel bag in one hand, the signed contract in the other.

The driver opened the door.

And there he was.

Damon Vierre, in another dark suit, expression unreadable, like he was carved from winter itself.

Elena slid into the seat beside him. The door shut with a soft click.

He turned to her.

“You signed.”

“I did.”

“You understand what this means?”

“No personal questions. No touching. Six months. Public show only,” she said, reciting it like a prayer she didn’t believe in.

He nodded once. “Then let’s begin.”

Elena looked out the tinted window, the city already disappearing behind them.

Her old life, left on the curb like trash.

She didn’t look back.

As the car drove toward the city’s northern hills, Damon pulled out a velvet box from the center console and placed it in her lap.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Your engagement ring.”

She opened it—and froze.

Because the ring inside wasn’t just beautiful.

It was infamous.

She’d seen it in tabloids before. A rare, priceless heirloom once promised to someone else…

Someone who’d vanished.

Elena’s fingers trembled. “Why do I have the ring meant for your real fiancée?”

Damon’s face didn’t flinch. But his voice turned ice cold.

“Because she disappeared three years ago.”