The city was already awake when Aria stepped out of the car in front of Blackwood Tower. London traffic hummed in the distance, a mix of noise and routine that made everything feel normal, except nothing about today was normal.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked inside. Her heels echoed against the marble floor as if counting down the seconds to a life she didn’t want.

The receptionist didn’t ask her name. She just nodded once and pressed a button. “Mr. Blackwood is expecting you.”

Of course he was.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt shorter this time. She’d spent all night convincing herself that she wasn’t powerless, that even if she had to sign his contract, she could still choose how to survive it.

When the doors opened, Damian was standing by the window, back to her, hands in his pockets. The skyline stretched behind him, sunlight spilling across the floor.

He turned as she walked in, eyes sharp, unreadable.

“You came.”

Aria held his gaze. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

He nodded slightly. “That’s usually how power works.”

She ignored the jab. “Let’s get this over with.”

Damian moved toward the table where the contract still sat, a pen placed neatly beside it. “Once you sign, I’ll wire the funds to your father’s company. Everything will be settled by noon.”

“And after that?”

He paused. “After that, you’ll be Mrs. Blackwood, publicly engaged within the week. My PR team will handle the announcement.”

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep her tone even. “You have this all planned out, don’t you?”

“I plan everything,” he said simply.

She studied him for a moment, his calm posture, the precision in every word. It was almost mechanical, like he’d built walls around himself too high for anyone to see what was underneath.

And yet, as much as she wanted to hate him, something about that control made her curious. People didn’t become this guarded without reason.

“What do you get out of this, really?” she asked.

He looked at her, steady. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, his mask slipped. Just slightly. “I’m tired of people who only stay because they’re afraid to lose something. This way, at least, I know the truth from the start.”

It was an odd answer. Cold but also strangely honest.

Aria stared at him, then laughed softly, shaking her head. “That’s twisted logic, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s the only kind that’s ever worked for me.”

She took a slow breath. “Fine. Let’s finish this.”

He handed her the pen. Their fingers brushed, just slightly, enough for her to feel a spark she didn’t want to admit was there. His hands were steady; hers were not.

She stared at the paper. Her name was printed in elegant font beside his.

Aria Bennett. Damian Blackwood.

Once she signed, those two names would be tied together, for two years, maybe longer if he wanted.

Her throat felt dry. “Two years,” she said quietly. “That’s the deal?”

“Yes.”

“And after that, I walk away?”

“If you want to.”

She looked up. “And you won’t stop me?”

He hesitated, then said, “If you want to leave, I’ll let you.”

She didn’t believe him, not completely. But she wanted to.

So she signed.

The sound of the pen scratching across the paper was louder than it should have been. Each stroke felt final, like a door closing behind her.

When she finished, she set the pen down carefully and looked up.

“There. It’s done.”

Damian didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of something in his expression, respect, maybe. “Welcome to the partnership, Mrs. Blackwood.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

His voice lowered. “Not yet.”

The air between them tightened again. Not romantic exactly, but charged, like two storms colliding.

Aria turned away first. “I’ll need time to prepare for whatever your PR people plan. I don’t want to be ambushed.”

“I’ll send you the details by tonight.”

She nodded and reached for her purse. But before she could leave, he said quietly, “Aria.”

She stopped at the door, not turning around.

“For what it’s worth,” Damian said, “I know this isn’t easy. But I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Your father’s company is safe now. You did what had to be done.”

Her chest ached at the calmness in his tone. “Don’t make it sound noble.”

“I didn’t.”

She looked back at him then, at the man who’d just changed the course of her life with a single signature. There was no apology in his eyes, no pride either. Just control. Always control.

“Goodbye, Mr. Blackwood.”

He tilted his head slightly. “It’s Damian, now.”

“Not yet,” she said, and walked out.

Outside, the cold air hit her face like a slap. The sky had cleared, sunlight glinting off the wet streets. She stood there for a moment, breathing, trying to steady herself.

She wasn’t the same woman who’d walked into that office the day before.

That girl had hope.

This one had a contract.

When she climbed into the car, her phone buzzed again.

A message, from Damian.

We’ll announce it Thursday. Wear something black. You look stronger in it.

She stared at the message for a long time, then smiled despite herself. It wasn’t a compliment, not really. It was a command disguised as one. But it told her something about him, he saw her strength, even if he pretended not to.

Maybe that was why he’d chosen her.

Not because she was easy to control, but because she wasn’t.

She looked out the window as the city rushed past, her reflection faint in the glass.

“Two years,” she whispered. “I can survive two years.”

But deep down, she knew this wasn’t just about survival anymore.

Something had started between them today.

Something neither of them fully understood yet, something that felt dangerous, alive, and impossible to stop.