Elena woke to the sound of rain tapping softly against her bedroom window. It wasn't a storm, just a persistent drizzle that made the city feel smaller, confined, and lonely. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, the contract resting on her nightstand like a judgment she couldn't escape.
Her hand hovered above it for what felt like hours before she finally grabbed it. The inked words seemed to mock her resolve. One year. No emotions. No interference. She traced the lines, wondering if signing it had truly been the right choice—or if she had already trapped herself in a life colder than she'd ever imagined.
Her mother's soft cough came from the next room, a reminder that her family's survival rested on her shoulders. And Adrian Blackwood, a man she barely knew and already feared, held the key.
She dressed in silence, choosing a blouse that didn't shout wealth but whispered competence. A pencil skirt, her only pair of neat heels, and a blazer borrowed from better days—this was armor. Armor for a battlefield she hadn't volunteered for but couldn't avoid.
The drive to Blackwood Holdings was a blur. Rain blurred the streets into streaks of gray, making the city look less like a home and more like a cage. She kept her hands tight on the steering wheel, reciting the words she might need to say: I am just a woman trying to save her family. Nothing else. No feelings. Nothing personal.
She arrived to the familiar grandeur: the lobby polished so bright it reflected every anxious thought she had, the air smelling faintly of cedar and money, and the receptionist with that practiced, faintly scrutinizing smile.
"Good morning, Miss Moore," the receptionist said, her voice smooth but thinly veiling curiosity. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you on the top floor."
Elena nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Expecting me. She repeated it in her mind, tasting the words like something bitter on her tongue.
The elevator ride was silent, save for the faint hum and her shallow breaths. She tried to center herself, reminding herself of the logic behind this madness: save her mother, save the house, save what remained of Moore Textiles. Nothing more. Nothing personal.
When the doors opened, Adrian Blackwood was already there, waiting. Not with impatience, not with a smile—but with that quiet, absolute authority that made her want to shrink into herself. He didn't turn immediately, letting her feel the weight of his presence before finally facing her. Gray eyes, storm-like and unreadable, scanned her as though measuring every flaw, every hesitation.
"Miss Moore," he said, voice low and measured. "Sit."
Her body obeyed instinctively, though her mind screamed defiance. She hated the way he commanded the room with nothing but posture, the way he made her pulse quicken despite herself.
"You've considered my proposal," he began without preamble, hands clasped on the desk in front of him. "I assume you understand the implications."
She swallowed hard. "I have."
"You have three days," he said flatly. "After that, the offer is void."
She forced herself to nod, unwilling to betray her panic. But inside, fear gnawed at her—fear of the man, fear of the contract, fear of what she might lose if she didn't sign.
Adrian's eyes held hers a fraction too long. "Tell me why you hesitate."
Hesitate. That word made her chest tighten. "Because… it's a marriage. Not a business deal. I've never—" Her voice faltered. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. "I've never imagined agreeing to a contract like this."
He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping the polished wood. "Then imagine it as a business transaction. That's all it is. You fulfill your part—your presence, your image—and I fulfill mine. Clear debts. Restore assets. You survive. I gain a legally binding spouse. One year. Nothing more."
Her stomach twisted. "And after a year?"
"After a year, we part ways," he said simply. "Unless, of course, the terms are broken."
"Terms broken…?" she asked cautiously.
"If either of us develops feelings, the contract becomes void immediately. It's non-negotiable."
Her heart skipped at the implication. Emotions were forbidden. Love could destroy everything they were trying to achieve. She wanted to ask if he meant it literally, if he understood that feelings didn't obey contracts. But the words caught in her throat.
"I don't understand how…" she began.
"You will," he interrupted softly, though his tone carried no warmth. "Trust me. This arrangement benefits us both. It's practical. Rational. No one gets hurt—if rules are followed."
Rational. Practical. Safe. Safe. Safe. The words echoed in her mind like a mantra she wanted to believe but couldn't.
Her thoughts drifted to her mother, sleeping fitfully at home, to the piles of bills, to the bank threatening to seize everything by Monday. Rationality wasn't a choice anymore; survival was.
She clenched her fists under the desk, nails biting into her palms. "And if I refuse?"
He shrugged lightly, that imperious motion making it clear he was not accustomed to rejection. "Then the debts remain. Your family loses everything. And you return to the life you have known—precarious, unstable, vulnerable."
Her chest ached with indecision. Every instinct screamed against this, yet every shred of logic pointed her toward acceptance. She was tired of running from circumstances she couldn't control. Maybe, just maybe, she could endure a year of cold, measured companionship if it meant keeping her family intact.
Adrian leaned forward suddenly, breaking her reverie. "Decision time."
She blinked, realizing she had spent the last few minutes trapped in her thoughts. He was waiting. Patient. Unyielding. Expecting.
"I… I need—" She hesitated. Her pride clashed with necessity. "…I need to protect my family. I will do it."
The words sounded strange even to her ears. "I… accept."
A faint, almost imperceptible nod from Adrian. "Then we proceed."
Her heart thudded in her chest as she reached for the pen on the desk. The contract had a neat line waiting for her signature. Elena Moore. She stared at it, feeling the weight of the decision.
Her hand shook as she wrote: Elena Moore Blackwood.
The pen lifted, and the paper sat before her like a tombstone marking the end of the life she had known. She felt hollow, yet strangely resolved.
Adrian's eyes didn't soften. He didn't offer congratulations. He simply picked up his own pen and signed beneath hers. The act was mechanical, businesslike, cold.
"You will move into my residence tomorrow," he said. "I expect punctuality. I expect compliance. And I expect discretion."
"Of course," she murmured, voice barely audible.
The elevator ride down was quiet, rain still drumming steadily against the windows. Elena felt the contract burn in her bag, a constant reminder that her life had shifted irreversibly.
She thought of her mother, of the fragile thread of family survival, and forced herself to breathe. This is just business. That's what she told herself. Business. Nothing more.
But deep inside, a tiny, stubborn part of her whispered that survival sometimes asked for impossible sacrifices. And in the city below, where lights twinkled like distant stars in the drizzle, a man with gray eyes already plotted every step of their future—a future that Elena couldn't yet imagine, and perhaps, couldn't yet survive.
The first night of their new lives together was filled with a silence heavier than words. Elena stared at the ceiling, thinking of every choice that had led her here, every regret, every fear. And somewhere in the dark, high above the city she once called home, Adrian Blackwood did the same, calculating, cold, and entirely certain that he had already won.
Yet neither of them realized that in contracts written with ink and signed with trembling hands, the human heart often defied every rule.