Chapter One: Signed with Tears.
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The pen shook in her hand.
All it took was one signature—and she'd be the wife of the man she once prayed never to see again.
Alyssa Hart stared at the gold-embossed contract laid before her, the black ink glaring against white paper like a warning she couldn't ignore.
Marriage Contract.
Bride: Alyssa Marie Hart.
Groom: Damon Alexander Blackwood.
Term: 12 months. No intimacy. No love. No exit.
Her stomach twisted.
"You're wasting time," Damon said, his voice low, emotionless. "Every second you hesitate, your brother's condition worsens."
Her eyes snapped to his.
Damon sat across from her in a sleek black suit, perfectly composed, as if he wasn't offering her a deal with the devil. His fingers drummed on the polished table—relaxed, amused. Arrogant.
He was the same as she remembered: dangerously composed, powerfully magnetic, and completely unbothered by the chaos he caused.
"You're really enjoying this," she whispered.
A flicker of something passed through his steel-gray eyes. "Enjoyment has nothing to do with it. I need a bride. You need money. Let's not pretend there's love in this room."
She swallowed hard. Her throat burned.
This wasn't a proposal. It was a transaction.
A debt paid with her life.
Her brother, Evan, was fighting for his life in a private hospital she couldn't afford. The treatments were experimental, expensive, and urgent. Damon knew it. That's why she was here. That's why he offered this contract.
But that wasn't all.
Alyssa knew he didn't choose her at random.
This was personal.
Years ago, her father's company collapsed in scandal—just weeks after he tried to expose shady dealings in Blackwood Global. Damon walked away untouched. Her father? Dead. Suicide, they said.
She never believed it.
And now, here she was—signing her life away to the man who might've killed him.
"You really think one year makes us husband and wife?" she asked, voice shaking. "This is just your way of owning me."
His lips curved into a faint smile. "Call it what you like. But the second you sign, you're mine. On paper. In public. And in every way that matters."
Alyssa's fingers clenched the pen so tightly, her knuckles turned white.
She could say no.
Walk away.
Let Evan die.
But if she signed... she could protect him. Pay for every treatment. Give him a chance at life—even if it meant giving Damon Blackwood everything else.
She signed.
Each stroke of ink felt like betrayal. The loop of her last name blurred as her tears welled up.
She set the pen down.
A breath left her lips—a broken, defeated sound she hadn't meant to make. She didn't look up. She couldn't.
Damon stood. The sound of his chair scraping against the marble floor made her flinch.
He walked around the table slowly, stopping beside her. She felt his presence before he even spoke—cold, towering, unshakable.
He picked up the contract and studied her signature.
Then he leaned down, voice brushing her ear like frost.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwood. The devil is officially your husband."
Alyssa turned her face away, fists curled in her lap. "You'll regret this."
"Will I?"
He stepped back, amused. "You came to me, remember? You needed me. You begged."
"I begged for my brother's life," she snapped. "Not for yours."
Damon's eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
She rose from the chair, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. Her spine straightened, her voice cool.
"Don't mistake sacrifice for submission. You might own the name, but you'll never own me."
Their eyes locked. For a moment, silence stretched between them—thick with tension, unspoken pain, and a hatred too old to be explained.
Damon slid the contract into a black leather folder and turned away.
"Be ready by seven," he said. "The wedding's in three hours."
She blinked. "Tonight?"
"We're not postponing. The old man's dying. He wants to see a ring on your finger and my name on your lips before midnight. After that—he signs over everything."
Of course.
This wasn't about love. Not even about revenge.
It was business.
His dying grandfather, Chairman Blackwood, had made marriage a condition of his will. Damon needed a wife. Fast. And Alyssa, ruined and desperate, had fallen right into his lap.
"I'll be ready," she said coldly.
She walked toward the elevator without another word.
But as the doors closed behind her, her legs finally gave out.
She slid down the polished wall, covering her mouth with her hand as the tears broke free—hot, silent, and merciless.
She had sold herself to the devil.
And the worst part?
She wasn't sure who was playing who.