Serena's POV
My hands shook as I held the pen. The contract sat in front of me like a death sentence…twenty pages of legal jargon that boiled down to one simple truth: I was selling myself into slavery.
But I couldn't stop thinking about my mother. About the evidence Damien had shown me. About how easy it would be for him to destroy the last person I had left.
I thought about my father, rotting in a prison cell for a crime he didn't commit. I thought about the fire that took my baby... or so I'd believed.
And I thought about the Sterling family, sitting in their mansion, drinking champagne while my world burned.
I signed my name.
The scratch of pen on paper felt final, like sealing my own coffin. I set the pen down and pushed the contract across Damien's massive desk.
He picked it up, scanning my signature with those cold, calculating eyes.
"Good choice, Miss Vance," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'll have my lawyer file the marriage license tomorrow. The wedding will be small, private. Just witnesses, no guests."
Damien set the contract aside and leaned back in his chair, "Let me outline the rules so there's no misunderstanding."
"Of course. Rules." I crossed my arms, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "What are they?"
"First, we'll have separate bedrooms. You'll be housed in the east wing, near Noah's room. I'll remain in the master suite on the opposite side of the house."
"Thank God for small mercies."
"Second," he continued, ignoring my comment, "there will be no affection between us. No hand-holding, no touching, no pretending this is anything other than what it is—a business arrangement."
"That won't be difficult."
"Third, your sole responsibility is Noah. You'll care for him, help him with his therapy, be available whenever he needs you. Nothing more, nothing less."
"And what about my life?" I asked. "My job? My…"
"You don't have a life anymore, Miss Vance. You have this." He gestured around the office. "This is your life now. My rules, my schedule, my son."
I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting copper. He wanted me to break, to lash out, to give him a reason to make things worse.
I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Is that all?" I asked quietly, playing the role of the defeated victim.
"No." Damien stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "You'll attend public events with me when required. We'll present ourselves as a normal couple…happy, devoted. The media can't know this is a contract marriage."
"So I'm supposed to smile and pretend I don't hate you?"
"Exactly." His smile was cold. "Think of it as acting practice. I'm sure you're good at lying…it runs in your family."
My hands clenched into fists, but I forced them to relax. Stay calm. Stay focused.
"Anything else?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"Yes. You're a servant in a wedding dress, Miss Vance.
Don't forget that."
The words hit like a slap, but I kept my face neutral.
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Mrs. Chen will show you to your room."
As if on cue, the door opened and an older woman entered, stern-faced, gray hair pulled back in a tight bun.
She looked me up and down with obvious distaste.
"This way," she said curtly, turning on her heel.
I followed her out of the office, through hallways that seemed to stretch forever. The Sterling mansion was even bigger than I'd imagined…marble floors, priceless art on the walls, chandeliers that probably cost more than my father's annual salary.
Everything my family had lost, the Sterlings had in abundance.
"This is the east wing," Mrs. Chen said, leading me up a narrow staircase. "Mr. Sterling's son is in the room at the end of the hall. You'll be here."
She opened a door, and my heart sank.
The room was small. Tiny, actually. A single bed, a small dresser, a window that overlooked the service entrance.
The walls were bare, the carpet worn.
This wasn't a guest room. This was a servant's quarters.
"Bathroom is down the hall, shared with the other staff,"
Mrs. Chen said. "Dinner is at six. Don't be late."
She left without another word, closing the door behind her.
I stood there, staring at the room. At the life I'd just agreed to.
One year. I could survive one year.
I set my small duffel bag on the bed, everything I owned fit into one bag now…and started unpacking. A few changes of clothes. Toiletries. A photo of my parents from before everything fell apart.
And at the bottom, hidden in a false compartment, my medication.
I pulled out the orange prescription bottle, staring at the label. The diagnosis was still new, still terrifying. I had maybe two years if I was lucky. Less if the stress got worse.
But Damien Sterling didn't need to know that.
I tucked the bottle into the back of the dresser drawer, covering it with clothes. Then I sat on the bed, letting myself feel the weight of what I'd just done.
I'd walked into the lion's den willingly.
But Damien had made a crucial mistake. He thought he'd trapped me. He thought he'd broken me, reduced me to nothing more than a servant he could control.
He was wrong.
He'd just let the fox into the henhouse.
I had access to his home now. His son. His private life. And over the next year, I'd find every dirty secret he was hiding, every piece of evidence that proved my father's innocence.
And then I'd destroy him.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
I stood, confused. Who would be knocking? Mrs. Chen had made it clear I wasn't welcome here.
I opened the door and froze.
Noah stood in the hallway, wearing dinosaur pajamas and clutching a worn stuffed bear. His dark eyes—so much like his father's—stared up at me.
He didn't speak. Didn't make a sound.
He just reached up and took my hand.