The Contract
“Did you just call me Isabella?” Her voice cracked like the thunder behind the windows.
Damien’s gaze didn’t waver. He stood motionless for a second, then offered a dark smile, as though caught in a private joke. “Isn’t that what you’ve been screaming since you got here? That your name is Isabella?”
She took a step forward, her voice steel-sharp. “That’s not what I asked. If you’re so sure I’m Ariana, your enemy’s daughter, then why call me by another name at all?”
For the first time in days, Damien looked… uncertain. Not rattled, but thoughtful. He let out a slow breath and reached for her hand. His touch was warm, coaxing, but she didn’t miss the way his fingers still felt like velvet-wrapped chains.
“Come,” he said, guiding her toward the velvet lounge in the corner of the library. He didn’t wait for her permission before settling her down gently and lowering himself into the seat beside her.
She tensed when he pulled a crisp folder from the drawer beside him and slid it into her lap.
“What is this?” she asked.
His lips curved. “Hospitality. You want me to call you Isabella? Fine. But sign the contract.”
“What the hell is it?”
She flipped the folder open, and with each line of the first page, her heart dropped. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she scanned the pages. Her skin paled. Her hands began to tremble.
“You want me to act like your fiancée? In every way possible? For six months?! This is not the initial arrangement. You said three!”
“I said three,” Damien agreed coolly, “but things changed. My associates expect more now. The stakes are higher and Cleo would stick around longer than I expected.”
“And I don’t get a say?”
“You do,” he said. “You can agree willingly… or forcefully.” He leaned in, voice like silk stretched over steel. “Either way, you will do it, because you don’t have a choice.”
She shoved the papers off her lap. They hit the floor with a slap. “If you think for one second that I’m going to sit around like some good pet while you order me around, then you’re insane.” She stood to bolt—panic spiking her adrenaline—but he was on her before she could take a step.
His hand wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the cold wall, not enough to choke, but just enough to make her still as he pressed himself into her.
She gasped, her palms bracing against his chest. “Get off—”
His mouth was by her ear now, his breath hot as. “You think you can run from this? From me?” One hand slipped lower, gliding beneath the hem of her gown with maddening patience as he tore her pants.
Her back arched, not in pleasure, but in protest. But his touch—damn his touch—was a betrayal of everything she wanted to resist. Her breath hitched.
“You think this is punishment, little dove,” he whispered darkly as he rubbed her gently. “But I’m just showing you where you stand. You don’t understand your situation. You don’t have a choice. But… we can do this peacefully. Make it easy. And when it’s all over, you’re free to walk away.”
She shook her head, tears of anger burning her eyes.
“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered.
“You already are.” His fingers teased her clit in slow circles, rubbing harder with each passing second. “Sign the paper, princess. Sign it, and this all becomes simpler.”
Her breath came in shaky bursts as she felt herself on the edge of collapse. The wall was cold behind her. His body was hot and immovable in front of her. She hated him. Hated how much he knew what her body craved even when her mind screamed no.
With trembling fingers, she reached for the pen and scrawled her initials across the line.
I.B.
Damien’s hand slipped away from between her legs as she felt herself almost coming undone, a low, approving growl escaping him.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
Her body was slick, her thighs trembling with need. She pressed her knees together as he slipped a ring onto her finger. A diamond, obscene and beautiful. A shackle dressed in sparkle.
“You’ll accompany me to a party tomorrow night,” he said casually as he looked at her initials on the contract, before locking it in a safe next to the desk.
Her eyes widened. “A party? Are you insane? What if someone who knows me sees me? I thought you were trying to hide me from my supposed father.”
“Then act like you’re here with me on your own terms.” He stood, towering over her. “Smile. Laugh. Touch me like you want to. Because if you slip up…” He leaned close, his voice turning venomous. “Your aunt in Florence. Your best friend Agnes. Your cousin Sam in New York. That sweet piano teacher you visited every summer in Tuscany…”
Her stomach twisted.
“…let’s just say I have ways of making each of them blind, crippled, or dead. And all because of you. Princess, you don’t want that happening, do you?”
The chill that ran down her spine wasn’t just fear. It was something darker. Something she didn’t want to name.
God help her… part of her liked the threat. Liked the thrill that came with it.
“I’m not a cruel man,” he added softly. “As long as you act right, I’ll never hurt you. And when this is over, you’ll be rewarded for your cooperation.”
“I only want one reward,” she whispered hoarsely. “Freedom.”
Damien smiled, slow and dangerous. “Then let’s earn it together, fiancée.”
She turned toward the door, her limbs still weak. “If you’re really trying to build trust, maybe… you should order another bed. I’d rather sleep alone.”
Damien chuckled. “Take your time, princess. Read the fine print. Until the six months are over—”
He stalked toward her, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.
“You sleep in my bed every single night.”
He stepped back, and his voice dropped one more octave, velvet and sin.
“Naked.”
Her blood turned to ice.
Before she could speak, the lights above flickered again.
The storm outside snarled louder, wind battering the windows like angry fists. The fireplace hissed as the power surged once more, shadows lengthening like monsters on the walls.
And Damien Voss smiled through it all. He wasn’t going to go easy on her anymore. He wants her and will do anything to keep her.
Even if it means joining hands with the devil.
Because now…
She was his.
In every way that mattered.
—-
It was exactly as he said it would be when they got to his bedroom.
As soon as she stepped out of the shower, wrapped tightly in a white towel, he was already in bed—naked, waiting, like he’d planned it all down to the second.
“Come here,” he muttered, eyes dark and unblinking as they tracked every inch of her. She stood still, her breath caught somewhere between dread and reluctant curiosity. Then, slowly, her feet began to move.
When she reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t rush. He untied the towel with such tenderness it felt mocking, like unwrapping something precious he already owned. Then he pulled her beneath the covers and drew her into him.
She stiffened the moment she felt his cock grinding against her backside.
Six months?
She might as well die before then.