Elena
The eviction notice stared back at me from the cracked surface of my kitchen counter, the red stamp bleeding urgency into the already grim air of my tiny apartment.
"PAYMENT DUE. 48 HOURS NOTICE."
I sat there, frozen, the letter trembling slightly between my fingers. Around me, the kitchen whispered of my failures, the broken clock ticking out of rhythm, the leaking faucet dripping like a funeral march, the half-empty fridge humming in complaint.
Everything about this place screamed defeat.
I exhaled shakily and dropped my head into my hands.
Rent. Hospital bills. Groceries. Utilities.
The math didn't add up.
No matter how hard I worked two waitressing jobs and a weekend cleaning gig the numbers mocked me every month, pulling me deeper into a pit I couldn't climb out of.
And now Mom's treatments.
The most important thing. The one thing I couldn't fail.
A sharp knock shattered the heavy silence.
I jerked upright, my heart leaping into my throat. Nobody ever visited me not without bad news.
Another knock. Louder this time.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and approached the door cautiously. Peering through the peephole, I saw a man in a dark suit standing rigidly, holding a briefcase at his side.
Every instinct screamed don't open it.
But curiosity or maybe desperation made me turn the knob.
"Miss Elena Carter?" His voice was smooth and clipped like he had more important things to do than stand here.
"Yes," I said warily. "Can I help you?"
He adjusted his cufflinks with a precision that spoke of a man used to controlling every second of his day. "My name is Mr. Lewis. I represent Mr. Damien Blackwood."
The name hit harder than any eviction notice.
Damien Blackwood.
The youngest billionaire on the East Coast. CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. A man with a reputation for being brilliant, brutal, and completely heartless.
I stared at Mr. Lewis, waiting for the punchline.
"I think you have the wrong person," I said, voice shaking.
"I assure you, I do not," he said. "May I come in?"
My mouth opened to protest, but then my gaze caught the pile of unpaid bills behind me.
What could it hurt?
"Fine," I muttered, stepping aside.
Mr. Lewis entered, his gaze sweeping over my tiny living room without expression. He didn't sit. Instead, he placed his briefcase on my battered coffee table and popped it open with a crisp click.
From inside, he drew out a black folder and slid it toward me.
"This," he said, "is an offer."
I hovered over it like it might explode.
"What kind of offer?"
He lifted his chin. "Marriage. To Mr. Blackwood. Immediate."
The words didn't register at first.
They couldn't.
Because no one, no one walked into someone's shitty one-bedroom apartment and offered them marriage.
"I'm sorry," I said hoarsely. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me correctly, Miss Carter." He tapped the folder. "Mr. Blackwood requires a wife. You meet the criteria. The arrangement would be mutually beneficial."
I blinked. "Criteria?"
"Young. Healthy. Discreet. Financially desperate. No complications."
Ouch.
Heat flooded my cheeks. Was my life really that transparent?
"And if I refuse?" I whispered.
He shrugged as if my decision was entirely inconsequential. "Then we will move on to the next candidate. However..." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Considering your financial situation, I would advise against it."
A muscle ticked in my jaw.
I grabbed the folder with trembling hands and flipped it open.
There it was pages of neatly typed legal jargon.
Promises of a monthly allowance so large I could barely comprehend it.
Immediate payment of my mother's medical bills.
Freedom from debt.
A new life.
All I had to do was sign away my freedom for one year.
"Why me?" I demanded again.
Mr. Lewis gave the ghost of a smile. "Mr. Blackwood has his reasons. You are... convenient."
The word stung, but I bit down on my pride.
Convenient. Disposable. Replaceable.
My entire life had been a series of harsh compromises. What was one more?
"You have until tomorrow morning to make your decision," he said, snapping the briefcase closed. "Instructions for contacting me are in the folder."
He turned toward the door, pausing just before stepping out.
"One more thing, Miss Carter," he said, his voice colder than ever. "If you breach the terms of the contract... there will be consequences."
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made my skin crawl.
I stood there in the middle of my crumbling apartment, staring at the black folder like it was the devil's Bible.
This was insane.
This was wrong.
But somewhere, ten blocks away, my mother lay in a hospital bed, her fragile life slipping further away with every unpaid bill.
Tears blurred my vision. I wiped them away furiously.
There were no fairytales here. No knights in shining armor.
Just survival.
And sometimes survival meant making a deal with the devil.
I picked up the folder, clutching it tightly to my chest.
I had until tomorrow to decide.
But deep down, I already knew the answer.
I was going to marry Damien Blackwood.
And God help me...
I had no idea what price I would pay.