Arabella sat stiffly on the velvet chair across from Damon's desk, her fingers twitching as the thick legal contract was placed in front of her. She glanced down at the gold-embossed folder like it was a pact with the devil—because that's exactly what it felt like.
"Read carefully," Damon said as he leaned back in his leather chair, legs crossed, looking completely at ease—as if he hadn't just flipped her life upside down. "No feelings. No sex. No drama. Just a ring on your finger and a smile in public."
She scoffed, flipping the first page. "You really think I'd want to sleep with you?"
He smirked. "Oh, I know you don't. But I also know chemistry is a tricky little thing. So let's make it clear—there won't be any between us."
His arrogance grated on her nerves. "Trust me, Knight. Even if you were the last man on earth, I'd still pass."
He chuckled lowly. "Keep saying that, princess. Maybe one day you'll believe it."
Ara's jaw tightened, but she kept reading. The contract was thorough. One year of marriage. One joint appearance every week. One big charity gala. And full public access to her social media—Damon's team would manage everything.
In return: her father's debts wiped clean. Ten million dollars transferred to a private account in her name. No strings—unless she broke the deal.
"You even included a clause about public affection," she muttered, pointing at the line.
Damon stood and walked around the desk, casually leaning against it beside her. His fingers brushed the table beside hers—too close, too deliberate.
"If we're married, we'll need to look married," he said smoothly. "That includes occasional hand-holding. Hugs. Maybe even a kiss or two."
Arabella's heart skipped. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I enjoy control," he said. "And you, Arabella, are chaos wrapped in curves. I'd be a fool not to set the rules early."
She narrowed her eyes. "So that's all I am to you? A tool to fix your image?"
He looked at her then—really looked. And something flickered behind those steel-blue eyes. Something wounded.
"I don't do feelings, Ara," he said quietly. "You're not the first person I've used… and you won't be the last."
It should have made her angry.
Instead, it made her curious.
Without another word, she picked up the gold pen and signed the final page.
The moment the ink dried, Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He popped it open, revealing a diamond so large it could blind someone in direct sunlight.
Arabella's eyes widened. "Seriously?"
"Public image," he said simply, then gently took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. His fingers brushed hers—warm, steady, possessive.
It felt too real.
She pulled her hand back. "When does the circus begin?"
He smiled. "Tonight. We have a private dinner event at the Chancellor's estate. The media will be there. You'll wear a red dress. I'll pick you up at seven."
Ara stood, clutching her purse. "This is a mistake."
Damon leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. "Maybe. But you already signed, Mrs. Knight."
Arabella sat stiffly on the velvet chair across from Damon's desk, her fingers twitching as the thick legal contract was placed in front of her. She glanced down at the gold-embossed folder like it was a pact with the devil—because that's exactly what it felt like.
"Read carefully," Damon said as he leaned back in his leather chair, legs crossed, looking completely at ease—as if he hadn't just flipped her life upside down. "No feelings. No sex. No drama. Just a ring on your finger and a smile in public."
She scoffed, flipping the first page. "You really think I'd want to sleep with you?"
He smirked. "Oh, I know you don't. But I also know chemistry is a tricky little thing. So let's make it clear—there won't be any between us."
His arrogance grated on her nerves. "Trust me, Knight. Even if you were the last man on earth, I'd still pass."
He chuckled lowly. "Keep saying that, princess. Maybe one day you'll believe it."
Ara's jaw tightened, but she kept reading. The contract was thorough. One year of marriage. One joint appearance every week. One big charity gala. And full public access to her social media—Damon's team would manage everything.
In return: her father's debts wiped clean. Ten million dollars transferred to a private account in her name. No strings—unless she broke the deal.
"You even included a clause about public affection," she muttered, pointing at the line.
Damon stood and walked around the desk, casually leaning against it beside her. His fingers brushed the table beside hers—too close, too deliberate.
"If we're married, we'll need to look married," he said smoothly. "That includes occasional hand-holding. Hugs. Maybe even a kiss or two."
Arabella's heart skipped. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I enjoy control," he said. "And you, Arabella, are chaos wrapped in curves. I'd be a fool not to set the rules early."
She narrowed her eyes. "So that's all I am to you? A tool to fix your image?"
He looked at her then—really looked. And something flickered behind those steel-blue eyes. Something wounded.
"I don't do feelings, Ara," he said quietly. "You're not the first person I've used… and you won't be the last."
It should have made her angry.
Instead, it made her curious.
Without another word, she picked up the gold pen and signed the final page.
The moment the ink dried, Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He popped it open, revealing a diamond so large it could blind someone in direct sunlight.
Arabella's eyes widened. "Seriously?"
"Public image," he said simply, then gently took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. His fingers brushed hers—warm, steady, possessive.
It felt too real.
She pulled her hand back. "When does the circus begin?"
He smiled. "Tonight. We have a private dinner event at the Chancellor's estate. The media will be there. You'll wear a red dress. I'll pick you up at seven."
Ara stood, clutching her purse. "This is a mistake."
Damon leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. "Maybe. But you already signed, Mrs. Knight."