I signed it.
The pen scratched across the paper like a death sentence, and the second the ink dried, Damien moved.
No words. No victory smirk. He simply snatched the contract, shoved it into his desk, and grabbed my wrist.
“We’re leaving. Now.”
I didn’t fight him. My mother was dying in her garden because of whatever silver blood was waking up inside me. Because of a bargain I never knew existed. Because of him.
We took the private elevator down. The mirrored walls showed us side by side—me still in my wrinkled meeting dress, lipstick smudged from the wall, hair wild; him in his perfect suit, jaw locked so tight I thought it might crack.
The bond between us hummed like a live wire. Every time the car dropped a floor, I felt it stronger. Hot. Hungry. Like signing had flipped some invi
