CHAPTER THREE
1684 Words
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Against every instinct screaming at her to run, she followed him.
The restaurant on the top floor glittered with crystal chandeliers, polished silver, and the hum of the city lights spread below. Damian pulled out a chair for her, his movements precise, practiced. She sat stiffly, trying not to notice the way everyone in the room seemed to glance their way.
Over wine and perfectly cooked steak she couldn’t taste, Damian laid out the terms with brutal clarity.
“One year. You will be my wife in name. Attend events, live in my home, play the role until my family backs off. In return, every debt you have disappears. Your mother receives the best care. Your brother’s education is secured. And when the year ends, you walk away richer than you ever dreamed.”
Emery’s knife clattered against her plate. She stared at him, breath caught between fury and disbelief.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Damian said without apology.
Her pride screamed again, but her mind betrayed her, racing through bills, rent, medicine, Ethan’s wide hopeful eyes.
“Why me?” she asked finally.
His gaze darkened. “Because choosing you insults them. My family wants a polished diamond. I’d rather set fire to their plans with a woman they’ll never accept.”
The words cut sharp and cruel. Emery’s chest ached, though she couldn’t explain why.
“So I’m a weapon,” she murmured bitterly.
“Yes,” Damian said without hesitation. Then, softer, almost like a secret, “But you’re also the only one I trust not to betray me.”
Her breath hitched. The ice in his tone had cracked, just for a heartbeat. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual steel.
“Think carefully, Emery. This is the price of survival.”
She gripped the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood. Survival. Pride. Family. Freedom. The scales tipped dangerously in her mind.
And for the first time, she realized she might already be caught in Damian Cole’s cage.
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Emery hardly slept that night. She lay on her narrow mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling as the city hummed outside the window. Damian Cole’s words refused to leave her mind.
A cage lined with gold.
One year. Every debt is gone.
She thought of her mother’s weary smile, Ethan’s innocent questions about whether he could join the school football team, the landlord’s last warning about unpaid rent. Each thought pulled her further into the trap she swore she’d never enter.
By dawn, her chest ached from the weight of her choice. Pride or survival. Freedom or family.
And when Ethan shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, clutching his tattered school bag, the decision carved itself into her bones. She couldn’t let him lose his future because of her pride.
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LUXE CORPORATION
The following afternoon, Emery stood once again before the towering oak doors of Damian Cole’s office. She hesitated, palms clammy, before knocking.
“Enter.”
His voice carried easily through the heavy wood, calm, commanding.
Emery stepped inside. Damian was at his desk, pen moving swiftly over a stack of documents. He didn’t look up immediately, as though she were simply another item on his schedule.
Finally, his gray eyes lifted. “Miss Emery.”
Her heart hammered, but she lifted her chin. “I’ve thought about your offer.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her with unsettling stillness. “And?”
She forced the words out before her courage failed. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Damian’s gaze sharpened, as though searching for cracks in her resolve. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved not a smile, but something colder, satisfied.
“Wise choice.”
Emery bristled. “ I’m agreeing because of my family, not because you own me.”
His brows rose slightly. “Own you?”
“That’s what you think this is, isn’t it?” she shot back, voice trembling with both fear and fire. “That you can buy me like one of your contracts. But I’m not a commodity. I’ll play the role of your wife for a year, but you don’t control me.”
For the first time, his composure cracked. A low chuckle escaped him, deep and unexpected. It sent a shiver down her spine.
“You have spirit,” he murmured. “Most would’ve signed their soul away without protest. But you… you want to keep your claws.”
Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze. “If I’m stepping into this cage, then I’ll decide how to breathe inside it.”
Damian rose from his chair, circling the desk with the silent grace of a predator. He stopped mere inches from her, the heat of his presence pressing against her skin.
“You’ll play the role of Mrs. Cole in public. You’ll live in my home, attend my events, and follow my rules. But behind closed doors—” his eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes “perhaps you’ll claw as much as you wish. I’m curious to see how long you last.”
Emery’s breath caught, her pulse racing wildly. She refused to step back.
For a heartbeat, the air between them crackled like fire against ice.
Then Damian straightened, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate calm. “My lawyers will draft the contract. We’ll announce the engagement within the week. Prepare yourself, Emery. Once you step into my world, there is no turning back.”
Her stomach twisted, but she forced her voice steady. “I’m already in too deep to turn back.”
Something flickered in his gaze — respect, maybe, or something darker. He extended his hand.
“Then welcome to the deal, Mrs. Cole.”
Her fingers trembled as she placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, commanding, sealing her fate.
And in that moment, Emery realized she had sold not just a year of her life. She had walked willingly into the lion’s den.
That night, as Emery walked home under the city lights, her mind spun with what she had done.
She had agreed to marry Damian Cole — not out of love, not out of choice, but out of desperation.
Yet deep in her chest, beneath the fear, a dangerous thrill stirred.
Because some part of her knew that once the game began, she would not go quietly.
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"One week later"
The Cole Mansion looked like something out of a magazine — sprawling marble steps, towering glass windows, and chandeliers visible even from the outside. Emery’s knees nearly buckled when the driver opened her door.
“This way, Miss Emery,” the butler said, his voice smooth, polite, but clipped. He didn’t look at her as though she mattered.
Of course not. In their eyes, she didn’t.
Her heart pounded as she stepped into the grand foyer. The floor gleamed like liquid silver. A sweeping staircase curved toward a balcony lined with reporters’ flashes. The entire place smelled of roses and wealth.
And at the center of it all stood Damian Cole.
He was dressed in a black tailored suit that looked sculpted onto his frame. Every line of him screamed power, control, ownership. The crowd — investors, society elites, journalists — shifted subtly toward him as though he were gravity itself.
When his eyes landed on her, time froze.
For a moment, Emery forgot how to breathe. His gaze was unreadable, cool, sharp enough to slice through her nerves. Then, with practiced ease, he extended his hand.
“Emery,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to fool the cameras. “You made it.”
She placed her hand in his, forcing a small smile. “Of course.”
Flashes exploded. Reporters shouted questions.
🗣️“Mr. Cole, who’s the lucky lady?”
🗣️“When did this romance begin?”
🗣️“Are we hearing wedding bells soon?”
Damian’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. The contact sent sparks shooting through her, but his grip was firm, almost possessive.
“Allow me to introduce my fiancée,” he announced, his voice steady, commanding silence. “Emery Lincoln.”
Gasps rippled through the room. Cameras clicked faster.
🗣️"never heard the name"
🗣️" Is she a rich heiress"
🗣️"who is she"
Emery’s cheeks burned as every eye turned to her judgmental, curious, envious. She wanted to disappear. But Damian’s hand tightened at her waist, a silent command to hold her ground.
“She is everything I never knew I needed,” he added smoothly, his lips curving in a practiced smile. “And soon, she will be Mrs. Cole.”
The crowd erupted into applause.
Emery’s stomach twisted. His words were nothing but lies for the cameras, yet he delivered them with such conviction that even she almost believed him. Almost.
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The engagement party swept into motion. Waiters glided with champagne, conversations buzzed like bees, and Emery found herself dragged from one introduction to another.
“This is Emery,” Damian would say, his hand never leaving her. “My future wife.”
Some smiled politely. Others barely hid their disdain.
And then came the vipers.
Clara Bennet appeared in a shimmer of red silk, her beauty striking and venomous. Her lips curved in a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
“Damian,” she purred, ignoring Emery completely. “You kept me waiting far too long tonight.”
Damian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Clara.”
Finally, Clara’s gaze flicked to Emery, sweeping over her simple black dress as though appraising a bargain item at a luxury store.
“And this must be…” Her smile sharpened. “The fiancée.”
“Yes,” Damian replied evenly. “Clara, meet Emery. Emery, this is Clara Bennet — an old… acquaintance.”
Acquaintance. The word carried weight. Too much weight.
Emery extended her hand, forcing a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”
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#onelove💕
- Writer
