Ariella James didn't expect her day to start with the kind of panic that felt like her lungs were being ripped out, but here she was, sprinting across Everspell City like her life depended on it. And honestly? It kinda did.
The hospital's message still flashed on her phone screen:
"Your mother's bill is overdue. Treatment may be paused."
Paused.
Like it was a damn TikTok video.
She clutched the phone tighter, weaving between crowds, dodging a guy selling knockoff sneakers on the sidewalk, almost tripping over a little kid chasing a scooter. The city buzzed with noise , honking cars, people yelling, ads screaming from massive screens. Everspell was beautiful in a chaotic, neon-soaked way… but today she couldn't admire anything.
"Fuck this day," she muttered, breathless.
She didn't cry she refused to. Tears didn't pay bills. Tears didn't save moms. Tears didn't magically create twenty thousand dollars.
By the time she reached the train station funneling workers toward the commercial district, sweat glued her shirt to her back. But she kept running, dodging bodies left and right until she finally burst into the lobby of Blackwood Tower, the tallest building in the entire city.
Security stared at her like she had wandered in from a village in another universe.
Ariella straightened, fixing her messy hair with her fingers. "I..I'm here for the temporary assistant interview."
The guard scanned her from head to toe like she was lying. "Blackwood Industries?"
She nodded, chest rising and falling.
"Take the last elevator on the right. Floor 28."
She gave a small, shaky thanks and rushed.
By the time she reached the elevators, three were full. People packed in like sardines. She jabbed the button for the only one with space left.
The doors slid open..
And she froze.
Standing inside, alone, was a man who looked like he'd been carved out of expensive marble. Tall, broad shoulders under a midnight-blue suit, sleeves hugging strong arms. Perfectly styled dark hair. Jawline sharp like it could slice diamonds. Eyes cold, deep, dark , locked onto her instantly.
Damien Blackwood.
The youngest billionaire CEO in the country.
The walking ice cube.
The man every news headline worshipped or feared.
Ariella had never seen him in person. Now she wished she hadn't.
His gaze felt physical. Like judgment delivered from heaven or hell… probably hell.
The elevator dinged impatiently.
Ariella, still panting from her sprint, stepped in.
And because the universe loved drama, she immediately tripped over her own damn shoelace.
Her bag flew. Papers scattered across the floor. She slammed right into him , chest to chest for exactly half a second.
Half a second too long.
Damien's voice dropped like winter frost.
"Watch where you're going."
His tone wasn't annoyed. It was colder than annoyed. It was insulted.
Ariella blinked. "Sorry...my shoelace..."
"You should tie it," he said sharply, brushing imaginary dust off his suit like her existence contaminated him. "This is a workplace, not a playground."
She stared at him. "Okay, damn. Relax. It's not that serious."
His head snapped toward her.
"No one," he said, slow and deadly, "tells me to relax."
She bit back a laugh because honestly, who said that with a straight face? "Well, maybe someone should."
His jaw clenched. The air between them thickened.
Great. First time meeting a billionaire and she was already collecting a death wish.
He bent down, picked up a paper from the floor, glanced at the name.
"Ariella James," he read. "Here for an assistant position."
Her mouth opened. "How did you...?"
"You dropped your résumé."
He handed it to her without touching her fingers. Like physical contact would give him rabies.
The elevator dinged again before she could say anything. Damien stepped out without a goodbye, a glance, nothing.
She watched his back disappear down the hallway broad shoulders, straight posture, steps terrifyingly silent. People parted for him like he was Moses.
"What an asshole," she muttered once he was out of earshot.
A woman nearby whispered, "Shh! That's Damien Blackwood. Careful, he fires people for breathing too loudly."
Ariella snorted, tying her shoelace. "He should fire himself then."
She gathered her papers and headed to her interview.
---
The HR office on floor 28 was packed. Assistants scurried back and forth holding tablets, reports, phones ringing nonstop.
A woman with tight blond hair and a neck as stiff as a ruler looked Ariella up and down. "You're late."
Ariella checked the clock. "By three minutes."
"So you're making excuses?"
"Oh, my bad," Ariella said. "Would you like me to time-travel next time?"
A few applicants coughed to hide laughs.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Name?"
"Ariella James."
Blondie scanned her résumé. "Hm. No corporate experience. No degree."
Ariella kept her chin high. "I learn fast."
"You'll need more than that to work here," Blondie said, voice dripping with superiority. "Blackwood Industries doesn't hire… charity cases."
Ariella's stomach tightened. She wanted to snap back, but she needed this job.
Instead, she inhaled and said evenly, "Are you done insulting me or is there more?"
The room fell silent.
The woman stiffened. "Follow me."
She led Ariella into a glass-walled waiting room. The city's skyline sparkled behind them. Ariella tried to calm her nerves, but her heart wouldn't slow down.
After ten minutes, Blondie returned. "The CEO wants to speak with you."
Ariella froze.
"…Who?"
"Damien Blackwood."
Shit.
Shit.
SHIT.
Her brain short-circuited.
"He wants to speak with me? Why...?"
"Do not keep him waiting," Blondie snapped.
Ariella swallowed hard, smoothed her shirt, fixed her posture, and followed.
The walk to his office felt like walking toward judgment day. Employees scurried out of the way. Some whispered. Some stared like she was already dead.
Blondie stopped at a massive black double door. "Enter. And don't embarrass yourself."
Ariella forced her hand steady and pushed the door open.
Damien's office was huge floor-to-ceiling windows, a skyline view that looked unreal, minimalist black-and-steel design. The air smelled like expensive cologne and ambition.
Damien sat at his desk, signing documents, not even glancing at her.
"Come forward," he said.
She stepped closer.
He finally looked up.
Those cold eyes dragged across her face, down to her shoes, back to her eyes again.
His expression didn't change. But something flickered recognition, annoyance, interest… she couldn't tell.
"You caused a scene in my elevator," he said.
"I fell," she replied. "Gravity isn't your employee, sir."
One corner of his mouth twitched not a smile more like disbelief.
"You talk too much."
"You ask too much."
His gaze sharpened. "Do you always speak like that to your superiors?"
"I don't have superiors," she said before thinking. "I just have… people."
He leaned back slightly, studying her like a puzzle. "Miss James, why do you want to work here?"
Because my mother is sick. Because rent is due. Because I'm drowning.
But she didn't say that.
He wouldn't care.
"Because I need a job," she answered simply.
"No," he said instantly. "You need money."
Her pulse spiked.
Ariella clenched her fists. "If this is where you insult me again..."
"I'm offering you a deal," he cut in.
Her mind blanked. "A… job?'
"A marriage."
Ariella choked on air. "What?!"
Damien slid a thin black folder across the desk. She stared at it like it might explode.
"Read it."
Her fingers shook as she opened it.
Contract of Matrimonial Agreement.
Duration: One year.
Payment: $250,000 + monthly allowance.
Terms: confidentiality, cohabitation, public appearances.
Expectation: No emotional involvement. No physical intimacy unless required for appearances.
Her throat dried.
"This is a joke, right?" she asked.
Damien's face remained stone cold. "I don't make jokes."
Ariella's breath stuttered. "Why me?"
"You're desperate, you're bold, and you clearly don't want anything from me except money," he said. "Perfect qualities for someone who won't complicate my life."
That stung more than it should.
"And if I say no?" she whispered.
"You won't," he said calmly. "Your mother's treatment was paused this morning."
Her heart dropped into her stomach. "How do you...?"
"I checked."
"You invaded my privacy."
"I evaluated my potential wife."
Wife.
The word hit like a punch.
Ariella closed the folder and met his eyes with a fire she didn't know she had left. "You're insane."
"Possibly," he said. "But I'm your best chance."
Silence thickened between them.
Her pulse pounded. His gaze held hers steadily, cold but unreadable.
This man was dangerous.
And yet
This money would save her family.
She exhaled shakily, her voice barely a whisper. "You really expect me to just… sign this?"
Damien leaned forward, elbows on the desk, eyes locked with hers.
"I expect you to think fast," he said. "Because the moment you walk out that door..."
The office door suddenly burst open.
Ariella's head snapped toward it.
And standing there was a woman Ariella had never seen before gorgeous, polished, wearing a silver cocktail dress that absolutely didn't scream "corporate meeting." Silver dress hugging every curve, lipstick smudged, hair slightly messy the kind of messy that wasn't from the wind. Her heels dangled from her hand. Her eyes locked straight onto Damien.
"Damien," she breathed.
Ariella stiffened.
The silence whipped tight.
Damien's expression didn't change… but something cold flickered in his eyes. Annoyance? Recognition? Something he clearly didn't want Ariella to see.
The woman's gaze slid to Ariella slow, assessing, almost amused.
"Oh," she said softly. "You're not alone."
Ariella felt her stomach drop.
And suddenly, signing that contract didn't look like the most dangerous thing in the room anymore.