**Chapter 2 – The Billionaire CEO**
Midnight was a promise Ava didn't intend to keep.
She told herself that as she left Frost Tower, boots splashing through puddles under a sky that wouldn't stop crying. Every sensible thought screamed *don't go back*.
And yet, by eleven-thirty, she was standing outside again.
Her mother's doctor had called an hour earlier. "We'll have to pause the treatment if payment isn't made by morning." The words echoed in her head the whole cab ride over.
So now she was here, soaked again, clutching the letter that had started it all.
The guard recognized her instantly and waved her through. The top-floor elevator hummed softly, climbing toward the clouds and the man who'd turned her world upside down in one conversation.
---
The office lights were still on. Damian Frost stood by the window, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, a glass of something dark in his hand. City lights painted him in gold and shadow.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
"You came back."
"I haven't said yes."
His mouth curved slightly. "You wouldn't be here if you hadn't already decided."
Ava bit her lip, stepping closer. "I decided nothing. I just—needed to understand. Why me, really? You could have anyone."
Damian set the glass down, the ice clinking. "Anyone would expect love. Or control. I need neither. You, Miss Carter, have no illusions about me."
"That's hardly a compliment."
"It's an advantage."
He walked behind his desk and opened a folder. The contract lay there like temptation itself. His pen waited beside it.
Ava's fingers tightened around her bag. "What happens after a year?"
"You leave with your money and freedom. I get my inheritance. We both get what we need." His voice was calm, practiced—like he'd rehearsed this a hundred times.
"And if I fall in love with you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
For the first time, his composure cracked. His gaze caught hers, sharp as glass. "Don't."
Her breath hitched. "You make it sound like a threat."
"It's a warning."
Silence settled between them, thick and charged. Outside, thunder rolled across the skyline.
---
Ava walked to the desk, every step echoing on the marble floor. The contract looked harmless—just paper and ink—but it felt like a doorway she couldn't unwalk through.
She picked up the pen.
"Five hundred thousand?"
"Upfront, in your account tomorrow."
"And you'll pay for my mother's treatment immediately?"
"Yes."
Her heartbeat thundered louder than the storm.
She signed.
Damian watched her, expression unreadable, until she set the pen down. Then he reached for the paper, flipped to the last page, and added his signature with a single, precise stroke.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Frost," he said quietly.
The words hit harder than she expected. "It's not real."
"It's real enough for the world to believe." He handed her a ring box—simple, elegant. Inside, a diamond that caught every bit of light. "Wear it starting tomorrow. We'll make the announcement at my father's gala."
"Tomorrow?" Her stomach lurched. "That's impossible—I don't even have—"
He was already typing on his phone. "My assistant will deliver appropriate attire by morning. You'll move into the Frost Estate tonight."
"Tonight?"
He looked up. "Unless you'd rather the tabloids photograph you dragging luggage into my penthouse at dawn."
Ava's jaw tightened. "You think of everything, don't you?"
"It's my job."
---
The drive to his mansion felt surreal. Damian's driver—a silent man named Cole—escorted her into a black Bentley that smelled of leather and rain. The city blurred past in streaks of gold and blue.
Ava stared out the window, trying to calm the storm in her chest. "Why are you really doing this, Mr. Frost?" she asked softly.
He didn't look at her. "Because love complicates everything. Business shouldn't require it."
"That's… cold."
"Necessary," he corrected.
The car slowed before iron gates that opened soundlessly. The Frost Estate rose ahead like a dream carved in stone—manicured lawns, glass walls, the faint hum of distant fountains. The kind of home that whispered wealth in every brick.
Inside, warmth and silence swallowed her. A grand staircase curved toward the upper floor where soft lights glowed.
Damian turned to her. "Your room is at the end of the east hall. My staff knows to treat you as my wife. Don't worry—our arrangement remains private."
Ava managed a nod. "And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," he said, "you'll be introduced to my world. Try not to let it eat you alive."
He turned away, walking toward his study. The doors closed behind him with a quiet finality that felt like a warning.
---
Ava climbed the staircase slowly. Every step echoed against the marble like a countdown she couldn't stop.
In her new room—a palace compared to her apartment—she found silk sheets, fresh roses, and a view of the city that stretched forever. On the nightstand sat a single envelope with her name.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
> *Ava Carter Frost,*
> *Welcome to the arrangement. — D.*
Her throat tightened. For some reason, the neat signature felt more intimate than a kiss.
She set the note down, staring out at the sleeping city. Somewhere below, her mother was still fighting to breathe. Ava whispered to the glass, "This is for you, Mom."
Lightning flashed, reflecting her face beside Damian's in the window—his image framed in the doorway.
She turned sharply. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." His eyes met hers, unreadable. "You made the right choice."
"Did I?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. He only said, "Breakfast at eight. And, Mrs. Frost—"
"What?"
"From now on, every word you say is part of a performance. Don't forget who's watching."
Then he was gone, leaving the door slightly ajar, and Ava realized the stage was already set.
And she was the actress who couldn't afford to fail.