Chapter 3
Ava’s Pov
I hardly slept. I spent the night staring at the email, reading it over and over as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less absurd.
Stay at his estate? Live with Damien Blackwood? The thought was as intoxicating as it was terrifying.
By dawn, I had packed a small suitcase with clothes, my laptop, and a notebook bursting with sketches and lists. My reflection in the mirror was pale, my eyes ringed with fatigue, but there was steel in my posture. I was doing this. I had no other choice.
The Blackwood estate sat far beyond the city’s chaos, tucked into sprawling hills behind wrought-iron gates. As the taxi rolled up the drive, my breath cut.
The mansion wasn’t just large—it was imposing, a fortress of stone and glass with manicured gardens stretching in every direction. Wealth whispered from every detail, but there was something colder here too, a grandeur that felt almost lonely.
Elizabeth Hart greeted me at the door. “Follow me. Mr. Blackwood is waiting.”
The inside was even more breathtaking than the outside, crystal chandeliers, sweeping staircases, polished wood floors that gleamed beneath her shoes. Yet it didn’t feel warm. It felt…untouched, as if no one really lived here.
Damien sat in a sunlit sitting room, a book open in his hands. He looked up when I entered, and I swore his gray eyes pinned me to the spot like steel.
“You’re on time,” he said, closing the book. “Good.”
I forced a smile. “I wasn’t exactly given a choice.”
One dark brow arched. “Everything is a choice, Miss Morgan. You chose to come. You could have walked away.”
My fingers tightened around my suitcase handle. “And you could have hired someone else. But you didn’t.”
That earned the faintest flicker of amusement across his lips. “You’re sharp. That may save you.”
Elizabeth left them alone, and the silence that followed was heavy. I set my suitcase down, straightened my shoulders, and met his gaze. “Why am I really here, Mr. Blackwood? Surely you don’t need me to plan a gala from inside your house.”
His wheelchair moved forward, sleek wheels gliding across the rug. He stopped close enough that I could see the shadows beneath his eyes, the hard set of his jaw.
“You’re right. This isn’t only about the gala.”
My heart thudded. “Then what is it about?”
He studied me for a long, weighted moment before speaking. “I need you to pretend to be my fiancée. For ninety-nine days.”
The words hung in the air, absurd and impossible.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
His tone was calm, almost detached. “Ninety-nine days. That’s all. Long enough to silence the board, keep the vultures at bay, and remind certain people that Damien Blackwood is still untouchable.”
My mouth fell open. “You…you want me to what?!”
“Pretend. Nothing more.” His voice sharpened. “You will live here, attend public events with me, and play the role of a woman in love with me. In return, I will pay off every cent of your debt, and fund whatever business you wish to start.”
My chest constricted. “This is insane. Why me? Why not someone else? A model, an actress—someone who already moves in your circles?”
“Because they want something from me.” His eyes hardened. “You don’t. You want freedom. Which makes you perfect.”
I stared at him, my pulse racing. He spoke as though it were simple, logical, inevitable. But to me, it felt like stepping into a storm I couldn’t escape.
“And what happens when the ninety-nine days are up?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Then you walk away. Debt-free. With enough money to build the life you’ve been clawing toward. It’s transactional. Nothing more.”
My breath came fast. He made it sound so easy, but everything in me screamed that nothing about Damien Blackwood was easy.
“And if I say no?”
He leaned closer, his gaze sharp as glass. “Then you go back to drowning in overdue rent and watching your dreams crumble. Tell me, Miss Morgan—can you afford to say no?”
Anger flared hot in my chest. He was manipulating me, using my desperation like a weapon. But wasn’t he right? I thought of my landlord’s threats, of my mother’s medical bills, of the nights I’d gone hungry just to pay for supplies. I couldn’t afford to say no.
Still, pride forced my chin higher. “If I do this, I have conditions.”
His eyes gleamed. “Bold. Go on.”
“No touching unless necessary. No…expectations beyond the public act. And no humiliating me, in private or in public.”
For the first time, Damien’s lips curved into something close to a real smile—sharp, dangerous, but undeniably real. “You have spirit, Miss Morgan. I respect that. Very well. Agreed.”
My heart thudded painfully. “So that’s it? I’m supposed to just…sign my life away for ninety-nine days?”
Damien reached into his desk and slid a contract toward me. The document was thick, the legal jargon dense. My name already typed neatly on the front page.
“This makes it official,” he said. “Ninety-nine days. Play your part, and your reward will exceed your wildest imagination. Fail, and…” His voice dropped. “I’ll make sure you never work in this city again.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
My hand trembled as I picked up the pen. This was madness. Dangerous, reckless madness. But what choice do I have?
With a sharp breath, I signed my name.
The sound of the pen scratching across paper sealed my fate.
Damien’s eyes locked on mine. “Good. Then welcome to your new life, Miss Morgan. From this moment on, you belong to me.”
My chest constricted, my pulse deafening in my ears. Belong to him? I forced myself not to recoil, to stand tall.
Before I could speak, the door burst open.
Adrian strolled in, a sly smile on his face. “Belong to you? Now this is interesting.”
He picked up the contract, skimming it with raised brows. “So it’s true. You’ve dragged this poor woman into your twisted little game.” His gaze flicked to Ava, sharp and knowing. “Careful, sweetheart. My brother doesn’t play fair. And ninety-nine days can feel like a lifetime when you’re trapped in his world.”
My throat went dry.
Damien’s voice cut like steel. “Get out, Adrian.”
But Adrian only smiled wider, his eyes locked on me. “Oh, I’ll leave. But I’ll be watching. Because women who come into this house don’t always make it out whole.”
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs. I clutched the contract, my signature still wet, the ink a chain around my freedom.
And for the first time, I wondered if I had just signed not a contract.…but my own destruction.