Damien's POV
I was five steps from the penthouse door when Gabe's voice stopped me cold.
"Boss, we have a problem."
I spun around. My head of security stood in the hallway, his face grim. Gabe never looked worried—which meant whatever he was about to say was catastrophic.
"Make it quick," I snapped. "My mother is asking for me."
"Owen Harris is dead."
The words hit like a freight train. "What?"
"Found beaten to death in an alley two hours ago. Professional job—broken ribs, shattered jaw, internal bleeding. Marcus Steele's signature violence."
Marcus. Of course it was Marcus. My old mentor, now my biggest enemy, was sending me a message: I know what you did. I know you took the girl.
"There's more," Gabe continued, pulling out his phone. "Mrs. Victoria Harris filed a missing person report thirty minutes ago. For Elena Carter."
He showed me the screen. There it was—a police report with a photo of a teenage girl with long dark hair and bright eyes. Eyes that could still see. Before the accident that took everything from her.
"Elena Carter," I read slowly. "Daughter of Richard Carter, business tycoon. Missing for five years after a car accident that killed both parents. Last seen by family housekeeper Victoria Harris, who reported her missing after discovering her gone from the family's servants' cottage."
"Keep reading," Gabe said grimly.
I scrolled down. "Estimated inheritance: five hundred million dollars, held in trust until her twenty-fifth birthday, which is—" I stopped. "In two years. She turns twenty-five in two years."
"And Victoria Harris has been her legal guardian this entire time," Gabe finished. "Which means if Elena dies before twenty-five, or if she's declared incompetent due to her blindness, Victoria gets control of the estate as next of kin."
My blood ran cold. "She was planning to kill her."
"Or have someone else do it," Gabe agreed. "Owen was probably supposed to make it look like an accident. But he got greedy, racked up gambling debts, and decided to sell her to you instead."
I looked back toward the bedroom where Elena was locked up. The blind girl who thought she was nobody. Who believed she had nothing.
She was one of the richest women in the city. And she had no idea.
"Marcus killed Owen to send me a message," I said slowly, pieces falling into place. "He knows I have Elena. Which means he knows what she's worth."
"And Victoria Harris filing a missing person report means the entire city will be looking for her within hours," Gabe added. "Every fortune hunter, criminal, and opportunist will want a piece of that five hundred million dollars. Boss, that girl is a walking target."
"I know."
"So what do we do with her?"
Good question. What did I do with a blind, pregnant heiress who was worth more dead than alive to some people, and worth a fortune to others?
I could kick her out. Let her fend for herself. Not my problem anymore.
But Marcus would find her within a day. Victoria Harris would probably hire someone to kill her before the week was out. And Elena—helpless, blind Elena—wouldn't see either threat coming.
Then there was my mother. My dying mother who just asked to meet my wife. Who wanted to see me happy before she went.
An idea formed. Dangerous. Insane. But possibly the only solution that kept everyone alive.
"I need to talk to the girl," I said. "Alone."
Gabe nodded and left without another word. Good man. He knew when to ask questions and when to just obey.
I walked back to the bedroom and unlocked the door.
Elena was standing by the window, her hand pressed against the glass. She'd changed into the clothes I'd left for her—simple but expensive. She looked fragile standing there. Breakable.
But I was learning that Elena Carter was anything but breakable.
"Is your mother okay?" she asked immediately.
"For now." I closed the door behind me. "We need to talk."
"About pretending to be your wife? I already said I'd do it."
"It's not pretending anymore," I said flatly. "It's real. You're going to marry me. Actually marry me."
Elena turned from the window, her blind eyes wide. "What?"
"Owen Harris is dead. Beaten to death by my enemies. And Mrs. Harris just filed a missing person report revealing that you're Elena Carter—the missing heiress worth five hundred million dollars."
I watched her face carefully. Shock. Confusion. Then fear.
"That's not possible," she whispered.
"It's very possible. I have the police report right here." I pulled out my phone and read it to her. Every word. Every detail. Including the part about her inheritance.
By the time I finished, Elena had sunk onto the bed, her face pale.
"Five hundred million dollars," she repeated numbly. "My father left me five hundred million dollars."
"In a trust you can't access until you're twenty-five. Which is exactly why Victoria Harris kept you hidden—she was your legal guardian, which meant she controlled your assets until then. Or until you died."
Elena's head snapped up. "She was going to kill me."
"Eventually. Yes."
"And Owen—"
"Was probably supposed to do it," I confirmed. "Make it look like an accident. Collect his payment from his mother. But Owen got greedy and stupid. He owed me money and thought he could pay with you instead."
"So he sold me to save himself," Elena said bitterly. "And now he's dead anyway."
"Karma works fast sometimes."
Elena was quiet for a long moment. "What does this mean for me?"
"It means you're the most valuable target in this city right now," I said bluntly. "Marcus Steele knows I have you. Victoria Harris is painting herself as the worried guardian searching for her missing ward. And once word gets out that you're alive, every criminal and fortune hunter will be hunting you."
"So I'm going to die either way," Elena said flatly.
"Not if you're under my protection."
"And what does your protection cost?"
I moved closer until I was standing right in front of her. "Marriage. Real marriage. Legal and binding."
"You already asked me to pretend—"
"This isn't pretending anymore," I interrupted. "This is survival. Mine and yours. My mother is dying. Her last wish is to see me married and happy. You need protection from people who want you dead. Marriage solves both problems."
"Marriage makes me your property," Elena said quietly.
"Marriage makes you my wife. And no one touches what's mine."
"What about the baby?"
The baby. The pregnancy that was still impossible to believe. "If you're really pregnant, then my child deserves a legitimate name. And a father who can protect it."
"A father who bought its mother like livestock?"
Her words stung, but I didn't let it show. "A father who's offering you a choice: marry me and live under my protection, or walk out that door and see how long you survive on the street. Your call."
Elena's hands clenched into fists. "That's not a choice. That's blackmail."
"Call it whatever you want. But make a decision. My mother is dying, and I need to get to the hospital."
"And if I say no?"
I leaned down until my face was close to hers. "Then I open that door and let you go. You'll have maybe twenty-four hours before Marcus's crew finds you. Maybe less if Victoria sends someone first. Either way, you'll be dead by this time tomorrow."
"You'd really do that?" Elena's voice shook. "Just throw me out to die?"
"I'm not a good man, Elena. I told you that already. I do what's necessary to survive. Right now, keeping you alive is necessary—but only if you're useful to me. So are you useful? Or are you just another problem I need to eliminate?"
Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I hate you."
"Good. Hate keeps you sharp." I straightened up. "Now answer the question. Do you marry me and live? Or do you walk out that door and die?"
Elena sat there trembling, and I could see the war happening inside her. Pride versus survival. Freedom versus safety.
Finally, she whispered, "I'll marry you."
"Smart girl." I pulled out my phone and dialed Gabe. "Get Thomas Wright on the phone. The attorney. Tell him I need a marriage license expedited and a prenup drawn up within six hours."
"Prenup?" Elena's voice was hollow.
"Standard procedure. You keep your inheritance. I keep mine. The baby—if there really is one—gets provided for equally. Nobody screws anybody."
"Except you already screwed me," Elena said bitterly. "In every way possible."
"Not every way," I corrected. "Not yet."
Her face went pale.
"Relax," I said coldly. "I'm not interested in touching you again. This marriage is business. Nothing more."
"Then why marriage at all? Why not just... I don't know, hire bodyguards for me?"
"Because marriage makes you legally mine. It gives me rights to protect you that I wouldn't have otherwise. And it gives my mother peace before she dies. Three birds, one stone."
Elena laughed—a broken, bitter sound. "Your mother is going to meet me and think you love me. She's going to die believing her son found happiness. That's cruel, Damien. That's so cruel."
"It's mercy," I corrected. "She'll die happy instead of worried. That's all that matters."
"What about after?" Elena asked quietly. "After she dies, what happens to me?"
I paused at the door. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." I opened the door. "Now get ready. We're leaving in five minutes. You're about to meet your dying mother-in-law and convince her that you love her monster of a son. Think you can handle that?"
Elena stood up slowly, her whole body shaking. "I can handle anything. I survived losing my parents. I survived five years of lies. I'll survive you too, Damien Cross."
"We'll see about that," I said quietly.
Because the truth was, I wasn't sure either of us would survive what was coming.
Elena's POV
The car ride to the hospital was silent.
Damien sat beside me in the backseat, his body rigid. I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat. He was terrified of losing his mother, and that terror was making him cruel.
Or maybe he was always cruel, and I was just now seeing it clearly.
"When we get there," Damien said suddenly, "you'll hold my hand. You'll smile. You'll tell my mother that we're in love and planning a future together."
"You want me to lie to a dying woman."
"I want you to give her peace."
"It's the same thing."
"No," Damien said sharply. "It's not. Lying is selfish. This is mercy."
I wanted to argue, but the car stopped. We were here.
Damien helped me out—his hand firm on my elbow. We walked through hallways that smelled like antiseptic and death. Finally, we stopped.
"Ready?" Damien asked.
"No."
"Good answer." He opened a door, and we entered.
I heard machines beeping. Breathing that was too shallow. A woman's weak voice saying, "Damien? Is that you, baby?"
"It's me, Mama." Damien's voice transformed—soft, gentle, loving. Nothing like the cold monster who'd just blackmailed me into marriage.
"And you brought someone," his mother said. "Come closer, dear. Let me see you."
Damien pulled me forward until I was standing right beside the bed. A frail hand reached out and found mine.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Elena," I whispered.
"Elena," she repeated. "What a beautiful name. And are you the one who finally captured my son's heart?"
I felt Damien's hand squeeze mine—a warning.
"Yes," I said, the lie tasting like poison. "Yes, I am."
"Thank God," his mother breathed. "Thank God he finally found someone to love. Someone who'll save him from himself."
Save him? I wanted to laugh. I couldn't even save myself.
But I smiled and held her hand and played my role.
And somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered: What if this lie becomes the only truth you have left?