Chapter 4 – “Signed with Blood”

If regret had a sound, it would probably be the clicking of Damien Cross’s pen right now.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk like he was inviting me to tea instead of negotiating the world’s most morally questionable contract.

I sat. Not because he told me to—obviously—but because standing would make my legs wobble, and I was not about to give this man the satisfaction of seeing me human.

He placed a thick folder in front of me. White paper. Black ink. And doom, sandwiched between legal jargon.

“The terms,” he said simply.

I stared at it. For all my sarcasm and bravado, this was the moment reality slapped me across the face with a steel glove.

The contract was… detailed. The kind of detailed that makes you question if lawyers enjoy writing bedtime stories for psychopaths.

I picked it up, flipping through page after page, my eyebrows climbing with every line.

Clause One: The marriage will last a minimum of 12 months.

Clause Two: Public appearances as husband and wife are mandatory.

Clause Three: No romantic involvement outside the marriage.

Clause Four: Shared residence required.

Clause Five: Any breach results in financial penalties and legal action.

And then, the pièce de résistance:

Clause Six: Intimacy is optional but negotiable upon mutual consent.

Oh, great. A polite way of saying, You might have to sleep with me for the cameras, sweetheart.

“Wow,” I said, tossing the contract back on the desk. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Damien smirked, lounging in his chair like sin in a suit. “You’re free to walk away.”

Walk away? From the deal I practically threw myself into? Sure. Right after I win the lottery and adopt a dozen cats to fill the gaping void in my soul.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You forgot the part where you take my soul and firstborn child.”

“Page twenty-three,” he said smoothly.

I blinked. He didn’t smile. My stomach dropped. “…You’re kidding.”

He said nothing. Which was worse than laughing.

I flipped to page twenty-three. No soul clause. Thank God. But the fact that I even checked? Yeah, that says everything about my life choices.

“Look,” I said finally, “I’ll sign this, but I want an amendment.”

One of his eyebrows ticked upward. “An amendment?”

“Yes,” I said, tapping the contract. “If either of us falls in love, the contract is void.”

He actually laughed. Like, real laughter. Deep and unrestrained. The sound was unfairly attractive, which made me hate it even more.

“You think love is a threat?” he asked.

“No,” I shot back. “I think it’s a disease, and I don’t plan on catching it.”

His smirk softened into something… dangerous. “Done,” he said, scribbling the clause like it meant nothing. “Anything else, Miss Hayes?”

“Yes,” I said sweetly. “If you ever cheat on me, I get your company.”

This time, he didn’t laugh. He just stared, long enough for me to feel like I’d poked a sleeping dragon with a very short stick.

Finally, he nodded. “Fine. But if you cheat, I own you.”

Chills crawled down my spine, and not the romantic kind. The sign this and sell your soul kind.

He slid the contract toward me with the kind of smile people wear when they know you’re about to make the worst decision of your life.

“Sign it,” he said softly.

My hand hovered over the pen. My brain screamed Don’t do it. My pride screamed Burn them all.

And so, I signed. Lina Hayes, future cautionary tale.

When I looked up, Damien was already signing his name with elegant, practiced strokes. Then he placed the pen down with a final click that sounded an awful lot like a coffin lid closing.

“Congratulations,” he said, voice dripping with dark amusement. “You’re now Mrs. Cross.”

Great. Just great. I’d officially gone from betrayed fiancée to willing participant in corporate matrimony, all in under twenty-four hours. Someone call Guinness.

As I stood to leave, Damien’s voice stopped me cold.

“Oh, and Lina?”

I turned.

“From this moment forward,” he said, eyes glinting like a storm brewing in glass, “you play the role of perfect wife—or you’ll wish you never walked into my office.”

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

If this were a movie, this is where the ominous music would swell. But in real life? All I could hear was the faint sound of my sanity laughing as it packed its bags and left.

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