Chapter Two
The rain started before dawn—soft, persistent, and patient. It tapped against the window like it was reminding Elena she had choices to make, though none of them felt like mercy.
She lay still for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the contract resting on her nightstand like an accusation. Her name was there, bold and final—Elena Moore Blackwood. The ink had barely dried, yet it already felt older than her regrets.
She sat up, dragging a hand through her hair. The air was cold. The kind of cold that made houses feel emptier, no matter how many rooms they had. From the next room came the faint, uneven sound of her mother's cough. That was enough to shove the hesitation out of her chest. Whatever doubts she had, this—saving her mother—was the reason she'd signed.
Still, she needed to hear another voice. Someone who didn't sound like debt collectors or cold-blooded businessmen.
She grabbed her phone and hesitated before pressing Lila's name. Her best friend's voice came through after two rings, groggy but instantly alert.
"Elena? It's seven a.m. You okay?"
Elena exhaled, staring at the contract again. "Define 'okay.'"
"Oh no," Lila muttered, sitting up on the other end—Elena could hear the rustle of bedsheets. "What happened? Did the bank.."
"No, not the bank." A humorless laugh escaped her. "Worse."
"Worse than the bank? Elena, what did you do?"
Elena looked out the window, where the rain made everything blur into gray streaks. "I made a deal."
"With who?"
She swallowed. "Adrian Blackwood."
Silence.
Then, "You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."
"I wish I was." She tried to sound steady, but her voice cracked. "He offered to clear the debt… if I agreed to something."
"Elena," Lila's voice softened. "What did you agree to?"
Elena stared at the contract again, the words sharp and cruel in their simplicity. "A marriage. For one year."
The silence that followed was loud enough to drown out the rain.
Lila finally spoke, her tone hushed and disbelieving. "You're getting married to him? Adrian Blackwood—the guy whose company practically buried Moore Textiles?"
"Yes." The word tasted bitter. "I don't have a choice."
"Of course you do," Lila snapped, then sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I just—Elena, this isn't you."
"I know," she whispered. "But I couldn't let my mother lose the house. I couldn't watch her break again."
For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet between them was heavy, but it wasn't cruel. It was full of things Lila couldn't say—fear, anger, pity—and things Elena wouldn't say—shame, resignation, dread.
Finally, Lila said quietly, "What's he like? In person?"
Elena's eyes drifted to the faint reflection of herself in the rain-streaked glass. "Cold. Controlled. Every word he says feels like a calculation. But… he's not unkind. Just detached. Like everything's a transaction."
"That's exactly what worries me."
"Yeah," Elena said softly. "Me too."
---
By the time she ended the call, the rain had thinned to a mist. The city looked washed-out, stripped of color. Fitting.
She dressed in silence: a pale blouse, dark skirt, clean shoes, and a blazer that once belonged to better days. Her hair went into a simple knot, her expression into something she hoped passed for composed. She couldn't afford to look like someone second-guessing her life.
The drive to Blackwood Holdings was a blur of traffic and nerves. Every red light felt like a chance to turn back, every green one like a push toward something she wasn't ready for.
By the time she reached the building, the drizzle had stopped, leaving behind streets that gleamed like wet glass. The lobby was the same as before—polished, cold, intimidating. The receptionist greeted her with that same carefully neutral smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."
Elena froze. The title didn't sound real. "Good morning," she managed, though it came out almost as a whisper.
"Mr. Blackwood is expecting you," the woman added, gesturing toward the elevator.
Elena's fingers tightened around her bag as she stepped inside. The hum of the elevator filled the silence. She caught her reflection in the mirrored walls—small, pale, determined. One year, she told herself. Just one year.
When the doors opened, Adrian Blackwood was already waiting, standing by his desk like a man who was always five steps ahead of time itself. His posture was precise, his expression unreadable.
"Mrs. Blackwood," he greeted, his tone perfectly even. "You're punctual. That's good."
The word Mrs. hit her again, sharper this time. She nodded, unsure whether to speak.
He gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Sit."
She did.
He studied her, not rudely but analytically, as if assessing a stock report. "You understand the expectations moving forward?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Discretion. Compliance. Cooperation."
"Good." His fingers tapped the desk once. "Your belongings will be moved into my residence tomorrow. My driver will collect you at six."
She blinked. "That soon?"
He looked up from his papers. "Is that a problem?"
"No," she said quickly. "Just… fast."
Adrian's lips twitched, not into a smile exactly, but something close to amusement. "The world doesn't wait, Mrs. Blackwood."
She wanted to say something, something sharp, or brave, or anything at all—but the words died on her tongue. There was a quiet power about him, the kind that made people obey without realizing they had.
He stood, signaling the conversation was over. "I'll see you tomorrow."
And just like that, the meeting was finished. No sentiment. No welcome. Just orders disguised as conversation.
---
By the time she got home, the rain had stopped completely. Her mother was awake, sitting by the window with a blanket over her knees.
"Elena," she said softly. "You look tired."
Elena forced a small smile. "Just a long day, Mama."
Her mother nodded, her eyes distant. "Your father used to come home with that same look. The one that says you've done something you can't undo."
Elena's throat tightened. "Maybe he taught me too well."
Her mother reached for her hand, squeezing gently. "Just don't lose yourself trying to save what's already gone."
That night, Elena lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her mind replayed every word, every glance, every contract clause she'd signed without truly understanding what it would cost.
Somewhere in the dark, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from an unknown number.
> Adrian Blackwood: My driver will be there at six sharp. Don't be late.
She set the phone face-down, closed her eyes, and whispered to no one, "What have I done?"
Outside, the rain started again..soft, persistent, and patient.