Chapter 1: Signed with Ice, Sealed by Fire
🏛️ Manhattan, New York City — Blackwood Legal Offices
Liana Hart stood before the towering glass building like it was a palace carved from stone and steel. She inhaled deeply, smoothing the hem of her navy dress as the wind tugged at her coat.
She wasn't here for a job.She wasn't here for love.She was here… to become someone's wife.
A wife on paper.
"Liana Hart?" a receptionist greeted her with a polite smile as she stepped inside.
"Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Damien Blackwood."
The woman checked her tablet and nodded. "Take the private elevator to the top floor. He's waiting."
The words echoed as the doors slid closed behind her.
He's waiting.The man she was about to marry.
🔹 Flashback: Two Days Ago
Ethan had stared at her like she'd lost her mind.
"A contract marriage? Liana, that's not just risky—it's insane!"
Liana had looked down, her voice small. "It's the only way to save the flower shop. Mom's medical bills are piling up. I'm out of options."
Ethan had tried to argue, but in the end, he knew what she was like. Once her mind was made up, no one could sway her.
"You promise me," he had said, gripping her shoulders. "If he ever treats you like you're nothing, you walk away."
She nodded. But part of her already feared she'd never have the strength.
The Man Behind the Contract
The elevator opened to a minimalist office made of black marble and silence.
There, at the far end, stood Damien Blackwood.
He didn't look up immediately. He was busy signing documents with a pen so expensive it could've paid a month of her mother's hospital stay.
When he did glance up, his gaze was ice—controlled, calculating.
"Miss Hart," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "Right on time."
She stepped forward. "Mr. Blackwood."
Damien was as the rumors claimed—dangerously handsome with sharp features, perfectly styled hair, and a presence that made the room shrink.
"This isn't a love story," he said bluntly. "This is business."
"I know," she said quietly.
"You'll be compensated monthly. The arrangement lasts twelve months. You attend social events, live at my residence, and maintain appearances as my legal wife. In exchange, your mother's hospital bills will be paid in full, and you'll receive a bonus at the end."
"And if I want out early?"
He looked at her, expression unreadable. "Then you pay everything back. In full."
Liana hesitated—just for a heartbeat—and then picked up the pen.
Her signature trembled slightly.
Damien signed next, fast and cold.
And just like that, Liana Hart became Mrs. Damien Blackwood.
The Wedding That Wasn't
There was no dress.
No aisle.
No flowers.
Just ink on paper and a notary seal.
That evening, she arrived at his penthouse in Midtown Manhattan—a sleek fortress of glass and silence.
"This is where you'll live," Damien said, not even removing his coat. "We keep separate rooms. I won't interfere in your life. Don't interfere in mine."
She nodded. "Understood."
He walked toward the kitchen, poured himself whiskey, and added over his shoulder, "There are rules. No scandals. No interviews. No friends sleeping over. If I have guests, you disappear."
His words stung, but she only said, "I won't be a problem."
Damien looked at her then, pausing.
"You already are."
Life with a Stranger
The next morning, Liana stood by the massive window, looking down at the city like it was a painting she couldn't step into.
The world she had entered wasn't hers. It was cold marble, spotless surfaces, quiet halls, and a man who barely acknowledged her.
Ethan texted:Ethan:How's married life, Mrs. Ice King?
Liana:It's like living with a ghost made of money.
Ethan:Want me to throw eggs at his building?
She smiled despite herself.
Ethan:I mean it. Just say the word.
Liana:No. I'm okay. Just... existing.
The Gala Invitation
Two days into her new life, Damien's assistant delivered a black envelope.
Inside: an invitation to the Black & Gold Business Gala—a major event for New York's elite.
Liana frowned. "He wants me to attend?"
"Yes," the assistant said. "As his wife."
That evening, when she brought it up, Damien barely looked up from his tablet.
"You're expected to attend. Wear something appropriate. A stylist will arrive at noon tomorrow."
"You mean something expensive?"
"I mean something elegant."
She nearly bit back a snarky reply, but instead nodded and left.
The Gala
The stylist worked magic.
Liana stepped into a shimmering champagne gown that hugged her curves and flared like liquid silk at the bottom. Her hair was swept into a classic chignon, her lips painted in a muted rose.
When Damien saw her waiting by the car, his eyes flickered.
But he said nothing.
In the ballroom, cameras flashed, glasses clinked, and billionaires murmured in corners like shadows.
Damien kept a hand on her waist, cool and commanding. Every smile was rehearsed. Every laugh fake.
Liana played her part.
Until she heard someone whisper:"That's Damien's new wife? Probably another gold digger."
She tensed.
Damien leaned in, brushing her ear. "Ignore them. They're ants."
"I'm not deaf," she said softly.
"Then stop listening to the dirt."
The Unexpected Spark
Later, as the orchestra swelled and Damien turned away to greet someone, Liana stepped toward the garden terrace for air.
The stars were barely visible through the city haze, but she felt better away from the eyes and voices.
Until she heard footsteps.
"You handled that well," Damien said behind her.
She turned. "What exactly am I handling, Damien? Your silence? Your guests' judgment? Or the fact that I married a stranger for a stack of hospital bills?"
His gaze darkened.
"You're doing fine," he said flatly. "Don't ruin it with emotions."
"I'm not a robot. You're not a robot. Why are we pretending?"
He looked at her then—really looked—and something flickered.
"It's better this way," he said.
"For who?" she asked.
He said nothing.
And for a long time, neither did she.
After the Gala
That night, back at the penthouse, they stood in the elevator in silence.
"You were… adequate," Damien said finally.
Liana glanced at him. "And you're excellent at pretending to care."
He didn't answer.
As the elevator opened, she walked away first.
But before reaching her room, she turned.
"I may be your wife on paper," she said softly, "but I won't be invisible."
And then she closed her door, leaving him standing in the hallway—quiet, unreadable, and perhaps… for the first time, unsure.
To be Continue....!