Chapter 2 Oh! He wants to marry me

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Not too long after, I saw Damon stepping out of a sleek black car parked outside the gallery. He was punctual, just as he promised, though I hadn't expected him so soon. For a moment, I considered making a run for it-like those dramatic movie scenes where the heroine vanishes just before things fall apart. But this wasn't a movie, and I had nowhere to run.

Damon entered the gallery with the kind of calm confidence that made him impossible to ignore. Standing in front of me, he flashed a faint smile. "I told you I'd be back with a car," he said, his tone edged with satisfaction. "After you."

I scoffed. "After me? How chivalrous." His sudden courtesy was almost laughable, but my curiosity about what he really wanted outweighed my irritation.

Without another word, I followed him outside and stepped into the car. The moment I slid into the leather seat, the faint scent of expensive cologne-his-filled the air. The doors closed with a soft thud, and the silence between us grew heavy. Damon gave the driver a curt nod, and the car eased into motion.

I stared out the window, arms crossed, as city lights streaked past. I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to look at him. Let him stare.

After what felt like an eternity, the car pulled up in front of an upscale restaurant. My brows furrowed as I took in the gleaming facade and elegant guests filtering inside. This wasn't the office or cold conference room I'd expected.

"Why are we here?" I asked sharply, finally turning to face him.

Damon stepped out of the car and held the door open for me, his smirk annoyingly intact. "Business always pairs well with good food. You'll thank me later."

Suppressing a retort, I stepped out. Inside, the restaurant exuded luxury. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished floors, and soft murmurs of conversation filled the air. Damon strode through the space with the kind of ease that suggested he either owned it-or could, if he wanted to.

The host greeted him by name and escorted us to a private booth in the back. Sliding into the seat, I couldn't ignore the already set table-two glasses of wine and pristine menus in place.

"You planned this," I said, more statement than question.

Damon leaned back, unbothered by my tone. "I like to be prepared."

"What's this about?" I pressed, leaning forward.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly intriguing puzzle. "You'll need a drink first."

"I'm fine," I snapped, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

Unfazed, he poured himself a glass of wine, swirling it lazily. "Suit yourself."

I tightened my grip on the edge of the table. "Damon, enough games. Why am I here?"

His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unrelenting. "Your gallery is in trouble."

"Thanks for the reminder," I bit out, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

"And I can help." His words hung in the air, deliberate and calculated. He leaned in slightly, the candlelight casting shadows on his angular features. "But I don't make deals without conditions."

A chill ran down my spine. "What conditions?"

Damon sat back, his smirk deepening. "Marry me."

I blinked, convinced I'd misheard. "Excuse me?"

"It's simple," he said smoothly. "We get married. One year. Strictly business. In exchange, I'll pay off your debts, fund your gallery, and make sure it thrives."

A dry laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "You're insane. You think you can just... buy me?"

"It's not about buying you," he replied, unbothered by my outburst. "It's about mutual benefit. You keep your gallery, your legacy. I get what I need."

"And what, exactly, do you need?"

His expression darkened, but he sidestepped the question. "That's irrelevant. What matters is that this arrangement works for both of us."

I clenched my fists under the table. "You're unbelievable."

"You're out of options," he said bluntly, his words cutting through me.

"I'll find another way," I said, though the words felt hollow even to my ears.

"You've got 48 hours to decide," he said, standing with an air of finality. "Think carefully, Sophia. Sometimes, the devil you know is better than the one you don't."

He walked away, leaving me sitting there, my thoughts a chaotic swirl

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Later That Night

Back in the gallery, I paced the empty space, Damon's words looping endlessly in my head. Each one tightened around me like a noose.

"Mutual benefit," I muttered, dragging my fingers along the edge of a painting. "What the hell does that even mean?"

My father's old desk caught my eye, and something beneath a pile of papers snagged my attention-a small envelope with my name on it.

Frowning, I pulled it out and recognized my father's handwriting. My stomach twisted as I opened it, the faint scent of his cologne washing over me.

The note inside was short, but it chilled me to the bone:

"Trust no one. Especially those offering to help."

My hands trembled as I reread the words. Had he seen this coming? Had he known someone like Damon would appear, offering salvation but hiding sharp daggers behind his back?

Anger surged through me as I crumpled the note in my fist. This was my gallery, my future. I wasn't about to hand it over to Damon Blackwood-or anyone else.

But doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of my resolve. The bank's final notice sat pinned to the bulletin board, a constant reminder of my precarious reality. Could I really save the gallery on my own?

As the hours dragged on, I barely slept. When I finally drifted off, my dreams were haunted by Damon-his smirk, his piercing eyes, and his voice, seductive and dangerous, weaving a trap I couldn't escape.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, but I felt no clearer than the night before. The weight of the decision loomed heavy as I opened the gallery, forcing a smile for the few tourists who wandered in.

Even their polite interest wasn't enough. Sales were abysmal, barely enough to cover the electricity bill. As I stared at the bank's letter again, Damon's offer hung over me like a storm cloud.

"48 hours," I whispered, glancing at the clock. Time was running out, and I had no idea what I was going to do.