I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the girl looking back.
The white dress was simple and elegant not the fairytale gown I had once dreamed of, but beautiful in a cold, almost clinical way. The satin hugged my body perfectly, the neckline modest, the hem brushing the tops of my ivory heels.
A hairstylist hired by Damien, of course, had twisted my hair into a soft chignon at the nape of my neck, a few loose tendrils framing my face.
The woman in the mirror looked poised. Calm.
But inside, I was unraveling.
There was no lace, no flowers, no loved ones waiting with happy tears.
No father to walk me down the aisle.
No mother smiling proudly from the front row.
Just me.
Alone.
Marrying a man I barely knew, a man who terrified me as much as he fascinated me.
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned to see the housekeeper Mrs. Whitmore standing there, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Mr. Blackwood is ready," she said quietly.
Of course, he was.
I smoothed my trembling hands over the front of my dress and nodded. "I'm ready, too."
A lie.
But what choice did I have?
Mrs. Whitmore led me through the grand halls of the Blackwood estate. The house was eerily silent, the only sound was the soft click of my heels against the marble floors.
When we reached the library, the chosen location for the ceremony I sucked in a sharp breath.
The room was transformed.
Candles flickered in the corners, casting a soft golden glow over the rich mahogany shelves and antique rugs. A single arch of white roses stood at the center of the room, delicate and simple.
And waiting beneath it was Damien Blackwood.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, the crisp white shirt beneath it making his skin seem even more bronze, his dark hair tousled just enough to look both effortless and devastatingly handsome.
When he turned to look at me, our eyes met and the air between us shifted.
Something tightened in my chest.
Something dangerous.
He didn't smile. He didn't move.
He simply watched as I walked toward him, every step feeling heavier than the last.
A man in priest's robes stood beside him, young, stern-faced, holding a slim black Bible.
No guests. No witnesses.
Just us.
Damien reached out as I approached, his fingers brushing my hand as he guided me to stand beside him.
Even that small touch sent a shiver down my spine.
The priest cleared his throat. "We are gathered here today to unite these two souls in matrimony…"
His voice faded into the background as I stood there, frozen, staring up at Damien.
He didn't look at the priest. He didn't look at the rings on the velvet cushion between us.
He looked at me.
Like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Or a prize he wasn't sure he wanted.
When the priest prompted him to recite the vows, Damien's voice was low, steady.
"I, Damien Alexander Blackwood, take you, Elena Marie Carter, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, for one year, under the terms of our agreement."
A ripple of unease moved through me.
He didn't say forever.
He didn't say love.
He said in agreement.
The priest hesitated, glancing at Damien, but Damien simply arched an eyebrow daring him to object.
The priest continued.
"And do you, Elena Marie Carter, take Damien Alexander Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
My mouth was dry.
Every instinct screamed at me to run.
To rip off this dress and flee back to my tiny, broken life.
But I thought of my mother.
Of the hospital bills stacked on the kitchen counter.
Of the price I had already paid.
And so, I lifted my chin and said, "I do."
The priest nodded stiffly. "You may exchange rings."
A flash of silver caught my eye as Damien picked up a slim band from the velvet cushion.
He didn't ask for my hand, he simply took it, his fingers cool and commanding as he slid the ring onto my finger.
It was a simple band. Platinum. No diamonds.
Nothing romantic.
Just cold, hard ownership.
I fumbled with the matching ring, my hands trembling as I slid it onto his finger.
There.
It was done.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest said, his voice barely audible. "You may… kiss the bride."
I stiffened.
Damien's eyes glinted with something dark, amusement, maybe as he stepped closer.
Slowly. Intentionally.
He cupped my jaw with one hand, tilting my face up toward his.
I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs.
His thumb brushed my cheek with a feather-light touch and then he lowered his mouth to mine.
The kiss was soft. Chaste.
But it was a warning, too.
A reminder that from that moment on, he owned me.
When he pulled away, his gaze locked on mine.
"You're mine now, Elena," he murmured, so low only I could hear.
A chill danced down my spine.
After the ceremony, there was no reception. No cake. No laughter.
Just Damien's hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the house like I was another one of his acquisitions.
"Your things will be moved to the master wing," he said casually as if discussing the weather.
"The master wing?" I echoed.
He nodded. "You'll have your room, of course. Privacy is… important."
Important for him, I realized.
Not for me.
"Thank you," I said stiffly.
He glanced at me sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Don't thank me yet, wife. You haven't seen the rules."
He left me alone after that, disappearing into his home office with a curt nod.
The housekeeper showed me to my new quarters, a suite of rooms that felt more like a luxury hotel than a home.
A massive bedroom with a canopied bed. A sitting room with velvet couches and floor-to-ceiling windows. An en-suite bathroom bigger than my entire apartment back in the city.
It was stunning.
And yet…
I had never felt so utterly trapped.
I kicked off my heels and curled up on the window seat, staring out over the manicured gardens below.
Somewhere down there, behind the high walls and the armed guards, the real world carried on.
Unaware that I had just signed my life away.
Later that night, there was a soft knock at my door.
I opened it to find Damien standing there, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.
He looked less like a billionaire and more like a man dangerous, devastatingly handsome, painfully real.
He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"You should know the rules," he said simply.
I swallowed. "Rules?"
He nodded. "Rules for our arrangement."
I crossed my arms, mimicking his stance.
"I thought the contract covered everything."
He smirked a slow, predatory curve of his lips.
"No emotional entanglements," he said. "No scandal. No betrayal. No lies."
My stomach twisted.
"And one more thing," he added, stepping closer.
I backed up instinctively, but he only smiled wider.
"You belong to me, Elena," he said softly. "In every way that matters. Understand?"
I nodded, my throat dry.
"Good." His gaze flickered down my body, lingering for a heartbeat too long. "Get some rest, wife. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
Training.
The word sent a thrill of fear through me.
Before I could ask what he meant, he turned and wal
ked away, his footsteps fading down the hall.
I closed the door with a shaky breath and leaned against it.
What had I gotten myself into?
And why despite everything, did a small, traitorous part of me feel… thrilled?