Chapter Two
I didn't sleep that night.
Not because of fear, or even the cold silence of our apartment.
But because I couldn't stop replaying Damien Vale's words over and over in my mind.
"Do you want to keep drowning… or do you want to be mine?"
There were a thousand reasons to walk away from him.
And only one reason not to.
But that one reason had a name. A hospital room. A future that wouldn't exist without money we didn't have.
I was still clutching the contract when I left the building and wandered aimlessly through the city. I stared at it for hours. Read it. Re-read it. A marital agreement. A one-year bond with the devil himself.
It was madness.
But it was also mercy.
By sunrise, I had my answer.
Vale Holdings was quieter in the early morning, but no less intimidating.
The marble lobby gleamed beneath my flats. The receptionist — a severe woman with straight black hair and a headset — looked up as I approached.
"I'm here to see Mr. Vale," I said.
She looked me up and down, not bothering to hide her judgment. I was wearing the same clothes from yesterday and hadn't bothered to pretend otherwise.
"Name?"
"Selene Hart."
Her eyes flickered with recognition. She didn't ask another question. Just tapped a button and said, "She's here."
Moments later, a man stepped out of the executive elevator.
He was tall, maybe in his late thirties, with sleek blonde hair and rimless glasses. His tailored suit hugged his frame with quiet wealth, and his presence screamed order and intelligence. Not as dangerous as Damien — but close.
"Miss Hart," he said, voice clipped and calm. "I'm Vincent Vale. Damien's brother."
Brother?
He didn't wait for a reaction. "Follow me."
We rode the elevator in silence.
I studied his reflection in the mirrored walls. Controlled. Cold. But efficient.
"I didn't know Damien had a brother," I said quietly.
He didn't look at me. "You'll find there's a great deal you don't know about my family."
The air tightened around me.
When we reached the penthouse floor, Vincent gestured for me to enter. "He's waiting."
The room hadn't changed. It was still marble and glass and cold steel edges. But somehow, Damien Vale felt different.
Like he knew I'd come.
He didn't rise from behind the desk this time.
Instead, he gestured to the chair — like a king already assuming his queen.
I sat slowly. Wordlessly, I slid the contract across the desk.
"I've read it," I said. "Every line."
"And?"
"I'll sign."
He studied me. Not with surprise, but with satisfaction.
I hated how my pulse jumped.
He slid a black pen across the glass.
"Do you want to negotiate anything?" he asked, arching a brow.
I looked down at the clause I couldn't stop thinking about.
Clause 12: No intimacy is required, but if initiated, it must remain exclusive.
My face flushed. "Why would you include that?"
"Because I deal in clarity, Selene. Not confusion."
"You're offering me marriage. Without… intimacy?"
Damien leaned forward slightly. "Would you prefer it included?"
My mouth parted — but no words came out.
He smirked.
"No answer is still an answer."
Heat flared through my skin. "I don't need charity."
"And I don't offer it. This is a transaction. Clean. Uncomplicated."
Nothing about this man felt clean or uncomplicated.
Still… I signed.
My hand shook slightly, but I scrawled my name at the bottom. Once. Twice. Three times.
It was done.
When I looked up, Damien had already signed his.
His signature was like him — sharp, fast, and final.
"Welcome to the beginning," he said.
Vincent returned with a leather case and handed me a phone, a card, and a list of instructions.
"You'll be moving into the Vale estate this evening," he said, voice as precise as ever. "I'll arrange your transport. No press announcement until after the private ceremony."
"Private ceremony?" I repeated.
"Mr. Vale prefers discretion," he said.
Of course, he does.
"There are rules," Vincent continued. "You'll be expected to attend functions. Be seen. Smile. But remain silent on anything personal."
I nodded, then paused. "Will anyone else be living there?"
Vincent hesitated.
"Just the staff," he said. "And Ava."
I blinked. "Who's Ava?"
Before he could answer, the door opened.
And a girl stepped in.
No, not a girl — a young woman, maybe twenty-five. Radiant, curvy, and exuding effortless sophistication. She wore designer heels, flawless makeup, and a cream silk blouse that probably cost more than my rent. Her honey-brown hair was swept into a sleek ponytail. Her eyes — sharp, calculating — landed on me with obvious distaste.
"Speak of the devil," Vincent murmured.
Ava smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "So this is her."
Damien rose from his chair. "Ava, this is Selene. My… fiancée."
Ava's smile twisted. "Cute."
I stood instinctively. "Hi."
She ignored my outstretched hand.
Instead, she turned to Damien. "We need to talk. Privately."
He didn't move. "Not now."
Her eyes flicked between us. "Fine. But don't forget what you owe me."
She brushed past me like I was air.
The room fell silent again.
I turned to Damien. "What does she mean?"
"Don't concern yourself with Ava," he said coolly. "She's irrelevant now."
I doubted that.
But I didn't push it. Not yet.
Hours later, I stood in front of the Vale estate.
The estate wasn't even the right word.
It was a compound. A modern fortress of stone and glass on the edge of the city, surrounded by iron gates, tall hedges, and guards who never blinked. The air smelled like cedar, wealth, and secrets.
Inside, everything gleamed — floors like mirrors, staircases carved from shadow, and chandeliers that looked like frozen stars.
A woman in a gray suit met me at the door.
"Welcome, Miss Hart. I'm Elena. The house manager. You'll find your room on the third floor. Please don't wander into the east wing without permission."
That… wasn't ominous at all.
My room was a dream I hadn't earned — a king bed, velvet armchair, bookshelves lined with classics I recognized, and a view of the gardens so perfect it almost felt fake.
But none of it calmed my nerves.
This wasn't a fairy tale.
This was a contract.
And I'd signed it with ink, fear, and the soft sound of surrender.
That night, just past midnight, I heard a soft knock.
I crossed the room and opened the door.
Damien stood there, shirt unbuttoned, eyes shadowed and unreadable.
"I said I wouldn't touch you," he said quietly. "Unless you asked me to."
I opened my mouth to reply.
But I didn't speak.
I simply stepped aside.
And let him in.