Chapter 2 The Billionaire's Proposal

The envelope sat on Zara's kitchen counter like a ticking time bomb.

It was past 2 a.m., and the apartment was so quiet she could hear her sister's soft breathing from the other room. A single candle flickered on the table, casting long shadows on the peeling wallpaper and the stack of overdue bills she hadn't had the courage to open.

She had read the contract twice. Then a third time.

No sex. No physical obligation. Just appearances. Photos. Public dinners. Red carpet events. And complete secrecy.

Fifty thousand dollars.

Enough to pay rent, clear her debts, and get Layla into that private clinic in Manhattan.

Zara leaned forward, resting her head on her hands. Her hair was still damp from the rain, her fingertips trembling with the weight of the decision. She wasn't naive. She knew deals like this didn't come without consequences. Damien Blackwood wasn't the kind of man who made charity offers. Everything he did was calculated - precise.

But he had looked her in the eye. He hadn't smiled. He hadn't begged. He had simply laid the deal on the table and waited, like he already knew she'd say yes.

The next morning, Zara called the number printed in gold ink at the bottom of the contract.

It didn't ring once.

"Miss Monroe," a deep voice answered instantly.

Her throat tightened. "I... I read the agreement."

"And?"

She swallowed. "I have questions."

"Ask."

"Why me? You could hire a model. Someone with a real face. Fame. Beauty."

There was a pause.

"Because none of them would look at me like you did. Like I wasn't God."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"I'm not sure that's a compliment," she said softly.

"It's not," he replied. "But it means you're real."

There was another silence.

"Come to 88 Park Lane," he said. "Tonight. 7 p.m. Don't bring anything. Everything you need will be there."

Then the line went dead.

Zara had never seen wealth like this before.

The Blackwood residence wasn't a mansion - it was a fortress. Black gates stretched ten feet high, guarded by men in dark suits with earpieces. Beyond the gates, a private driveway curled through a manicured garden that looked like something from a royal palace. The air even smelled different. Cleaner. Like money.

A driver escorted her inside without a word.

The foyer alone was bigger than her entire apartment. Marble floors, gold trim, a chandelier the size of her old Honda. And silence - the kind that made her feel like an intruder.

A woman in black heels and red lipstick approached her with a polite smile.

"I'm Elise. Mr. Blackwood's assistant."

Zara nodded nervously.

"He's waiting for you upstairs," Elise said, her eyes sharp. "Take the lift. The penthouse."

Zara stepped into the elevator, her palms sweating. As the doors closed, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had tried to dress neatly - a simple navy dress and her only decent heels - but standing in this world, she felt like a knockoff trying to pass for real.

When the doors opened, Damien was already standing there.

He didn't smile. He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled, no tie, hands in his pockets like he owned the world - because he did.

"You came," he said, as if he hadn't doubted it for a second.

Zara stepped forward cautiously. "I haven't signed yet."

"You will."

His confidence was maddening.

She crossed her arms. "Tell me again why you're doing this."

He walked to the window. "Because the board is watching me. And the press is digging too close. If I don't distract them, they'll find something... that isn't ready to be found."

"And you think I'm the perfect distraction?"

"No," he said without turning around. "I think you're the believable one."

Zara didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered.

He turned to face her. "The first event is tomorrow night. A gala. Black tie. I'll introduce you as my companion. You'll wear what I give you. Say what I ask. Nothing more."

Her heart pounded.

"And if I embarrass you?"

He stared at her, unblinking. "You won't."

She didn't ask how he was so sure.

Later that night, in the room Elise led her to - a room with silk sheets, a walk-in closet, and a view of the city skyline - Zara sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the contract one last time.

Her hands trembled as she signed her name at the bottom.

It was done.

She was officially the hidden mistress of Damien Blackwood.

And deep down, she knew this wasn't just about money.

This man had secrets.

And sooner or later... they would become hers too.