Trapped With The Billionaire

Angel stared at the thick contract in front of her, her fingers tightening around the pen. Her name was already printed at the bottom of the last page, waiting for her signature. One stroke of ink, and she would no longer belong to herself. "I don't have all day," Aaron Blackwood's voice was smooth, yet laced with impatience. She lifted her gaze, meeting the cold, piercing blue eyes of the man sitting across from her. Aaron leaned back in his leather chair, his sharp jawline set in a firm line, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. He was waiting. Expecting compliance.

The dim lighting of his office did nothing to soften the intimidating presence he carried. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the New York skyline, the city glowing beneath the night sky. The world outside was alive, full of people making their own choices. But here, in this room, Angel had none. The contract felt heavier than paper in her hands. "You agree to all terms?" his lawyer asked, flipping through the document with an air of disinterest. It was just another business deal to him. Another merger, another acquisition. Only this time, the asset being acquired was her. Angel's throat went dry. Agree? Did she really have a choice? She clenched her hands into fists beneath the table, her nails digging into her palm. A month ago, she had never imagined being in this situation. But desperate circumstances forced desperate decisions. Her sister's hospital bills had piled up. Debt collectors were knocking. She had exhausted every job opportunity, every possible lifeline. Then Aaron Blackwood had walked into her life with an offer that felt more like a trap. "Marry me, and you'll get everything you need," he had said. "Financial security, protection... but most importantly, a contract that ensures neither of us gets in each other's way." At the time, it had seemed like salvation. A chance to save her sister. But now, sitting in front of the most powerful man in New York, his sharp gaze piercing through her, Angel realized she had never truly understood what she was signing up for. "I'll give you five seconds," Aaron said coolly, checking his watch. "Sign it, or walk out that door and consider this deal off the table." Angel's fingers trembled around the pen. Walking away meant walking into ruin. Staying meant losing herself to a man who saw her as nothing more than a means to an end. Five seconds. Four. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Three. She thought of her sister, lying in a hospital bed. Two. Aaron's lips curled slightly, as if he already knew her decision. One. Angel closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and signed her name. The moment the ink dried, she knew-her life no longer belonged to her. Scene Transition: The Wedding The following evening, Angel stood before a judge, her hands clasped in front of her as the ceremony unfolded in a cold, emotionless exchange of vows. There was no church, no guests, no flowers. Just her, Aaron, and two witnesses who looked as uninterested in the moment as the man standing beside her. She had never even worn a wedding dress. Instead, she stood in a simple black dress that Aaron's assistant had picked out for her, its fitted fabric feeling more like a straitjacket than attire for a bride. Aaron, on the other hand, was effortlessly perfect. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he looked every bit the powerful billionaire the world knew him as. If he had any thoughts about this marriage, he didn't show them. No nervousness. No hesitation. Just the same cool indifference he had shown when handing her the contract. "Do you, Aaron Blackwood, take Angel Monroe to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Aaron didn't hesitate. "I do." Her stomach twisted. "And do you, Angel Monroe, take Aaron Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?" She parted her lips, but no words came out. Her throat was dry, her body rigid. This was it. Once she said those two words, there would be no turning back. Aaron's hand subtly brushed against hers. Not in reassurance, but in silent warning. A reminder that she had made her choice. "I... I do." The words barely made it past her lips. The judge gave a small nod. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." There was no kiss. No congratulations. Just silence. Angel felt a chill crawl up her spine as Aaron turned to her, his expression unreadable. His hand rested lightly on her lower back as he guided her out of the courthouse, where a sleek black car waited for them. The moment they stepped outside, the air felt different-like the city itself knew she had just crossed a line she could never uncross. Angel took a shaky breath as Aaron opened the car door for her, an unreadable look in his eyes. "Get in," he said simply. She hesitated for half a second before obeying, sliding into the cold leather seat. The door shut behind her with a finality that made her chest tighten. Aaron slid in beside her, the space between them filled with silence. Then, as the car pulled away from the courthouse, he leaned in, his lips near her ear as he whispered, "Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwood." A shiver ran down her spine. And just like that, Angel realized-she hadn't just signed a contract. She had signed away her soul.

The car ride was silent. Angel sat stiffly, her hands gripping the folds of her dress as she stared at the city lights flashing past the tinted windows. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on her like a boulder. She was no longer Angel Monroe, struggling waitress, desperate sister, and forgotten nobody. She was Angel Blackwood now. Married to one of the most powerful men in New York. But instead of feeling relief, her stomach twisted with unease. Aaron sat beside her, relaxed, his posture effortless. He exuded the same cool control he had since the moment they met.

One hand rested casually on his thigh, while the other held his phone as he scrolled through emails. If the wedding had affected him in any way, he didn't show it. "Where are we going?" Angel finally asked, breaking the silence. Aaron didn't glance up from his phone. "My penthouse." Her pulse stuttered. She had expected this, but hearing it aloud made it real. "I have an apartment," she blurted. Now he did look at her, one brow slightly raised. "Not anymore." She swallowed hard. She should have known. The moment she signed that contract, she had given up every right to her old life. Her tiny apartment, the job she barely managed to keep, the little independence she had clung to-it was all gone. "I want to see my sister," she said quietly. "You will," Aaron replied smoothly. "I've already arranged for her medical bills to be covered in full. She'll be transferred to a private facility by tomorrow morning." Angel exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. That was the only reason she had done this. Her sister's life was secure now. "Thank you," she murmured, not sure if she was thanking him or reminding herself why she had agreed to this in the first place. "I don't need your gratitude," Aaron said, returning his attention to his phone. "I need your compliance." A chill ran through her. The contract had been clear. This wasn't a real marriage. It was a transaction. A deal that would last for as long as Aaron deemed necessary. But what exactly did that mean for her? The car pulled up to a towering skyscraper, its glass exterior gleaming under the city lights. The Blackwood Tower. Aaron's home-and now hers. Angel barely had time to gather her thoughts before the driver stepped out and opened the door for her. She hesitated, but Aaron was already moving, exiting the car with the kind of confidence that came naturally to him. She followed, stepping into the cool night air. The doorman greeted Aaron with a respectful nod, barely sparing Angel a glance as he opened the entrance for them. The inside was even grander-marble floors, golden chandeliers, and sleek modern furniture that screamed wealth. Aaron strode past the lobby without a word, heading straight for the private elevator. Angel hurried to keep up, the heels of her shoes clicking against the pristine floors. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. As soon as they closed, trapping them in the confined space, Angel felt the air shift. Aaron's presence was overwhelming. She stole a glance at him. He stood tall, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. "There are rules," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. Angel's spine straightened. "Rules?" "You are my wife in name only," he said, turning slightly to look at her. "I expect you to act the part in public. In private, you will stay out of my way." Her lips parted slightly. "I see." "You don't ask questions about my business, and you don't make demands," he continued. "Your role is simple-exist quietly, and when the time comes, walk away without complications." Angel clenched her fists. Exist quietly? It shouldn't have bothered her. This was exactly what she had agreed to. No love, no expectations, just a contract. But something about the way he said it, as if she was nothing more than an accessory in his life, made her stomach knot. "And what if I don't follow your rules?" she asked, meeting his gaze. For a moment, a flicker of something dark passed through Aaron's eyes. Then, he smirked. "Then we'll have a problem." The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal a luxurious penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Everything inside was sleek, modern, and expensive. This was her new home. But Angel didn't feel at home at all. Aaron walked in first, tossing his phone onto a glass coffee table. He shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over a chair before turning back to her. "The guest room is down the hall," he said. "Your things have already been brought here." Guest room. Right. Angel nodded stiffly. She should have felt relieved that he had no interest in sharing a room with her, but instead, an odd emptiness settled in her chest. "One more thing," Aaron added. She looked up, waiting. His eyes locked onto hers, a quiet warning in them. "No one must ever know the truth about our marriage." Angel swallowed. "Understood," she whispered. Aaron nodded once before turning away, dismissing her as if she were just another part of the décor. Angel exhaled shakily, then slowly made her way down the hall. As she stepped into the guest room, she realized something. She had gotten exactly what she had asked for. Security. Protection. But she had never felt more alone.

Angel awoke to silence. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was. The bed beneath her was too soft, the sheets too smooth, the air too crisp. She wasn't in her tiny, worn-down apartment. She was in Aaron Blackwood's penthouse. Her new prison. Pushing herself up, she glanced around the unfamiliar room. The guest bedroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the penthouse-white and gray color tones, a massive window overlooking the city, and furniture that probably cost more than a year's rent at her old place.

She had spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday's events over and over. The contract. The wedding. The cold way Aaron had dismissed her, setting the rules of their so-called marriage like a businessman drafting a deal. "No one must ever know the truth about our marriage." A sharp knock at the door made her flinch. She threw the blankets off and hurried to the door, opening it to find a well-dressed woman standing there, her expression unreadable. "Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood. My name is Valerie. I am Mr. Blackwood's assistant." Mrs. Blackwood. The name still didn't feel real. "Uh... good morning," Angel murmured. Valerie gave a tight smile. "Mr. Blackwood has requested your presence for breakfast. Please follow me." Requested. More like summoned. Angel nodded, smoothing down the simple silk nightgown she had found in the walk-in closet last night. It had probably been chosen for her, just like everything else in this life she had been thrown into. She followed Valerie down the sleek hallway, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The penthouse was massive, its open floor plan revealing a grand living area with floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunlight spilled into the space, illuminating the city skyline beyond. Everything screamed wealth. But to Angel, it only felt cold. Aaron sat at the dining table, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked effortlessly powerful, as if he had been born to own the world. "Sit," he said, not bothering to look up from his tablet. Angel hesitated before pulling out a chair across from him. A full breakfast was spread across the table-freshly baked croissants, eggs, fruit, and coffee. It was the kind of meal she had only seen in magazines. She swallowed. "I didn't expect-" "I don't like small talk in the morning," Aaron cut in, flipping a page on his tablet. Angel clenched her fists under the table. Of course. Even breakfast with him had rules. Valerie poured her a cup of coffee before stepping back, standing silently near the kitchen. Angel wrapped her hands around the warm mug, trying to steady herself. "I have a schedule for you," Aaron finally said, setting down his tablet. Her stomach twisted. "A schedule?" "Your role as my wife comes with responsibilities," he said. "Public appearances, charity events, and meetings with certain people. You will attend when required. No exceptions." Angel tightened her grip on the mug. Of course. Their marriage wasn't just a contract-it was a performance. And she had to play her part. "Understood," she said quietly. Aaron studied her for a moment, his sharp gaze unreadable. "You will also have access to a personal stylist. I expect you to look the part." Her jaw clenched. "You mean, I have to dress like one of your trophies?" A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Exactly." Heat rose to Angel's cheeks, but she bit her tongue. Arguing with him was pointless. Aaron continued, his voice as smooth as ever. "We have a charity gala in three days. You will be attending with me." Angel's stomach knotted. She had never been to anything remotely close to a high-society event. She had no idea how to act, what to wear, or what to say. "I don't know anything about these kinds of events," she admitted. "You'll learn," he said simply. "And fast." Before she could respond, he took a sip of his coffee, completely unfazed. "And my sister?" she asked, changing the subject. Aaron leaned back in his chair. "She's been moved to a private hospital. Everything is taken care of." Angel exhaled in relief. "Can I see her?" "Not yet." Her head snapped up. "What? Why not?" Aaron's expression didn't change. "For now, the media will be watching us. I can't have you sneaking off to a hospital when we need to establish our image as a newlywed couple." Angel's pulse pounded. "She's my sister-" "And she's being given the best care money can buy," he interrupted smoothly. "This is the price you agreed to pay." Angel's throat tightened. He was right. This was what she had signed up for. Her sister's health in exchange for her freedom. Still, it didn't make it any easier to swallow. "One more thing," Aaron said, watching her carefully. "You will be assigned a driver and security detail. You don't go anywhere without them." Angel frowned. "Security? I don't need a bodyguard." Aaron's eyes darkened. "You do now." She stared at him, searching for any sign of explanation, but his expression was unreadable. "Is there something I should be worried about?" she asked cautiously. Aaron set his cup down with a soft clink. "Let's just say being associated with me makes you a target. And I don't take risks." A shiver ran down Angel's spine. "So I'm trapped here?" she muttered. Aaron smirked. "You were trapped the moment you signed that contract." Angel looked away, frustration bubbling inside her. Aaron stood, adjusting his watch. "You'll receive the schedule from Valerie. Be ready when needed." Without another word, he strode away, leaving Angel sitting alone at the grand dining table, the weight of her new reality pressing down on her. She had sold herself for security. But she was starting to wonder-was the price too high?