A Marriage Contract with the Ruthless Billionaire

Vivienne Cross They say destruction is slow, like a boat taking on water. But mine? It sank in a single, brutal breath. "Vivie... it's all gone." My father's voice cracked as he dropped the financial report onto the desk. His hands trembled. His shoulders slumped under the weight of failure. Gone. The company. The clients. The legacy built over thirty years. The name Cross, once whispered with respect in New York's business elite, was now being dragged through the mud. I didn't cry. I didn't speak. I just stood there, numb, staring at the ruin in his eyes until the devil walked in.

The door creaked open. Silence fell like a noose. I didn't have to look. I felt the shift in the air, the electric chill that came with only one man. Damian Volkov. The rival who dismantled us piece by piece. The man whose stare once made me flinch in boardrooms. The man my father once warned me to stay far away from. "You've got some nerve," I said, my back still turned to him. His voice was smooth and cold. "I came to offer a solution." I turned. And there he was. Damian looked like sin wrapped in silk. A tailored suit, no tie, dark hair slicked back, and eyes like frozen steel. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. "We don't want your help," I snapped, holding on to the last scrap of pride. He didn't look at me. His gaze was fixed on my father. "My offer is simple. I'll pay off the debts. No lawsuits. No foreclosure. No jail time. You walk away clean." My father's head shot up. "You'd do that?" "I would," Damian said. "On one condition." Then he looked at me. And I knew. "Vivienne will marry me." The words crashed into the room like a storm. "No." My voice was sharp, instant. "Absolutely not." My father blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. His eyes flicked between us, already wilting under the pressure. "One year," Damian said. "That's all. A marriage of appearances. We live together, attend events, keep up the image. No intimacy. No strings. Just business." "This is blackmail," I said, trembling. "This is your only option," he replied. "Say no, and your family loses everything. Say yes, and you all walk away with your name intact." "You think I'll smile and play wife while you parade me around like a trophy?" I spat. "I think you'll do what's necessary." His voice was emotionless. I hated how calm he was, how sure. I clenched my fists. "Why me? You could hire someone. Pay an actress to play along." He didn't blink. "Because I want you." I stepped back. "That's not a reason. That's obsession." "You cost me something three years ago," he said. "This is balance." My heart stuttered. "What are you talking about?" He didn't answer. Just stared like I should know exactly what he meant. I turned to my father, hoping, praying for him to fight back. "Tell him no," I whispered. "Please." Tears filled his eyes. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't see it coming..." "But you won't say no either, will you?" I said bitterly. He looked away. Damian checked his watch. "You have seventy-two hours. If I don't hear from you by then, the offer disappears. And so does your family's reputation." And just like that, he walked out. That night, I didn't sleep. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the shadows on the wall. His voice echoed in my mind. You cost me something... What did he mean? What had I done? I tried to picture the next year. Living with him. Pretending. Performing. I couldn't breathe. But the alternative was worse. By morning, my decision was made. Volkov Industries towered like a blade against the Manhattan skyline. Cold glass. Sharp steel. Power radiating from every edge. The receptionist didn't ask my name. "He's expecting you," she said, and pressed the elevator button. I stood inside the mirrored lift, watching my own reflection. My face was calm. But my heart pounded like war drums. When the doors opened, I stepped into his office. Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the city like he owned it. "You came," he said without turning. "I'm not here to talk." I held my chin high. "Give me the contract." He handed it over, already printed, clipped, marked where to sign. No intimacy. One year. Appearances only. I signed. He scanned the paper. His eyes met mine. "Congratulations, Mrs. Volkov." I stepped back. "Don't call me that. I'm not your wife. I'm your hostage with a prettier title." "You'll get used to it." "I have terms," I said. "Separate bedrooms. No cameras. No visits to my family. I want boundaries." "Accepted." I blinked. "Just like that?" "I'm not interested in games," he said. "Only results." I crossed my arms. "When do we go public?" "Tonight." "What?" "There's a gala. Press will be there. You'll be by my side." "You expect me to play the perfect wife tonight?" "I expect you to act," he said coolly. "You studied drama in college, didn't you?" My breath caught. "How do you know that?" "I know more than you think, Vivienne." I stepped closer. "And what don't you know?" For the first time, he hesitated. Just a flicker. "We'll find out soon enough." Back home, a black velvet box waited for me. Inside was a silk gown. Elegant. Backless. Expensive enough to scream wealth and power. I didn't want to wear it. But I did. At 6:45 p.m. sharp, he knocked. Damian stood in a black tuxedo, cold and lethal like a man carved from shadow. "You're ready," he said. I didn't speak. As I stepped into the car, the city lights glittered beyond the window like a hundred watching eyes. The world would see a love story. But beneath the diamonds and designer gowns, there was war. And I had just married my enemy.