Chapter 2 The Price Of Protection

The weight of the pen in Elena's hand felt heavier than it should have. She stared at the marriage contract in front of her like it was a weapon-one with her name engraved on the blade.

"You can't be serious," she muttered again, though she knew better.

Damien leaned back against his massive desk, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. "You said yes. Are you changing your mind already?"

"No." Her voice cracked. "But this-this is insane."

"In six months," he said calmly, "we file for divorce. You get your reputation back, I get the headlines off my back. We both win."

"And what do you get in the meantime?"

His smirk deepened. "The satisfaction of watching you squirm."

She swallowed hard.

A marriage for appearances. That was the deal. But Damien Blackwell didn't do anything without a deeper motive, and Elena knew it. This wasn't just about cleaning her name-this was about power. Control. Maybe even revenge.

Still, her father's cold stare haunted her. Fix this, he'd said.

And this was the only way.

With trembling fingers, she signed her name at the bottom of the contract. Elena Marie Carter.

"Good," Damien said, taking the papers from her with all the ceremony of a man accepting a business merger. "The lawyers will handle the rest. We'll announce the engagement tomorrow. The wedding will be in two weeks."

"Two weeks?" she echoed, incredulous.

"We don't have time to waste. Your scandal isn't cooling down, and I'm not spending the next month watching you spiral on gossip blogs."

She stood, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. "This is a mistake."

He circled her like a wolf. "Probably. But you're the one who came to me."

A memory surfaced-years ago, at a gala, her father introducing her to Damien for the first time. She'd worn a silver dress. He'd worn arrogance like a second skin. Even then, they'd clashed.

"You think I'm going to marry someone who treats people like pawns?" she'd snapped.

"Not people," he'd replied smoothly. "Just you."

Now, it was no longer a hypothetical.

He was getting exactly what he wanted.

She walked to the elevator with lead in her steps. As the doors closed, Damien's voice followed her.

"Don't be late for the press conference tomorrow. You'll want to look the part."

The part.

His fiancée.

She wanted to scream.

The next morning, the world was watching.

Every major media outlet was invited. Reporters gathered in front of the marble steps of Blackwell Tower, cameras flashing like machine gun fire.

Elena stood beside Damien, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, their fingers touching as if they were born to fit together.

But it was all a performance.

Her dress-white with gold accents-hugged her curves in all the right places. Her makeup was flawless. Her expression? Neutral.

She had perfected the art of wearing a mask.

Damien was a natural. His suit was charcoal black, crisp and tailored. He looked every inch the billionaire groom-to-be, his smirk convincing even the most cynical press.

A reporter shouted, "Mr. Blackwell, is this engagement a cover-up for the hotel scandal?"

Damien glanced at Elena and then turned back with a tight smile. "Absolutely not. Elena and I have been seeing each other privately for months. We were simply trying to protect what was real between us."

He squeezed her hand as he spoke, and she nearly pulled away.

Protect?

This whole charade was a transaction.

"And the video?" another voice called.

Damien's smile didn't falter. "I assure you, that man wasn't me. I have no reason to sneak around with the woman I'm going to marry."

Elena blinked, caught in the performance.

It wasn't just what he said. It was how easily he said it. Like he believed it. Like he meant it.

And the crowd ate it up.

Headlines popped up within minutes.

"Damien Blackwell and Elena Carter Announce Shock Engagement"

"The Scandal Was a Misunderstanding-Love Wins!"

"From Rivals to Romance: A Billion-Dollar Love Story?"

She felt sick.

The crowd dispersed, reporters already posting clips online. Damien led her back into the tower with a hand on her lower back, all charm until the elevator doors slid shut behind them.

Then, the air changed.

"You played that well," he said, not quite a compliment.

"I'm not an actress," she replied tightly. "But I've had practice pretending everything's fine."

He turned to her, voice low. "You'll need more than practice, Elena. For the next six months, you'll be under constant surveillance. Paparazzi. Social media. My family. Yours. If anyone smells a lie, this all falls apart."

She met his gaze, steel for steel. "Then maybe you should start acting like someone a woman would actually fall in love with."

For a moment, something flickered in his expression-amusement? Annoyance? It vanished too quickly to name.

"Careful," he murmured. "You might end up convincing yourself."

That night, Elena lay awake in the guest room of Damien's penthouse.

He'd insisted she move in immediately. Optics, he said. The media would expect it.

The penthouse was sleek, modern, and cold-just like its owner. Glass walls, sharp lines, no warmth. Everything screamed wealth, but none of it felt like home.

She missed her apartment. Her real life. Her freedom.

Now, she was a puppet in a billion-dollar circus.

A soft knock came at the door.

She opened it to find Damien standing there, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms. "You forgot your phone in the car."

She took it from him, her fingers brushing his.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

He didn't move.

"Elena," he said after a beat. "I need to know-was it really just a fling? The man in the video. Is he going to come back to haunt us?"

She hesitated. "It's over. He's not part of my life anymore."

"But he was once," Damien said sharply. "That kind of ghost doesn't disappear so easily."

A lump formed in her throat. "Why do you care?"

"Because my name is now tied to yours," he said simply. "And I don't share. Not even rumors."

She looked away.

"I'll handle it," she said.

"You better," he replied. "I don't tolerate loose ends."

He turned to leave, then paused. "Sleep well, Mrs. Blackwell."

She stared at the closed door long after he left.

Because she knew-

She hadn't told him everything.

There was one secret she hadn't dared admit, even to herself.

And if Damien ever found out...

He might not just walk away.

He might destroy her.