ARIA POV
My pen freezes over the signature line.
*This is insane. This is absolutely insane.*
"Miss Chen, we don't have all day." The lawyer—Mr. Sterling, according to his gold nameplate—taps his Rolex with one manicured finger. Everything about him screams expensive. His suit probably costs more than I make in six months working three jobs.
I look down at the papers again. Marriage certificate. Prenuptial agreement. Medical release forms. Each page is stamped with the Moretti family crest—a serpent wrapped around a dagger.
How did I end up here?
Oh right. Desperation.
"The money will be transferred the moment you sign," Mr. Sterling says, his voice flat like he's discussing a pizza delivery instead of my entire future. "One hundred thousand dollars. Immediately available for your foster siblings' medical expenses."
*Lily's heart surgery. Jason's medication. Sophie's therapy.*
The numbers flash in my mind like warning lights. Bills stacking higher every week. Collection agencies calling at 6 AM. The social worker's sympathetic smile when she said, "Sometimes you have to make hard choices, Aria."
But marrying a stranger? A billionaire I met exactly once at a charity event where he looked through me like I was a window?
"Where is he?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. "Shouldn't Damien be here?"
Mr. Sterling doesn't even blink. "Mr. Moretti handles numerous business transactions daily. He's authorized me to complete this process on his behalf."
*Transaction.* The word sits in my stomach like a stone.
"Will I... will I meet him? After?"
"That will be arranged." Mr. Sterling slides another document across the mahogany desk. "This outlines your responsibilities as Mrs. Moretti. Attendance at designated family functions. Maintenance of appropriate public appearance. Cooperation with medical screenings—"
"Medical screenings?" My head snaps up.
"Standard procedure. Nothing invasive." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Now, if you'll just sign here, here, and here."
I should ask more questions. I should read every single word of these contracts that will legally bind me to a man who couldn't even bother showing up to his own wedding signing.
But then my phone buzzes. A text from the hospital: *Lily's surgery scheduled for next week. Payment required upfront.*
My hands shake as I pick up the pen.
*I'm doing this for them. Just for them.*
The first signature feels like betrayal. The second feels like surrender. By the third, I'm numb.
"Excellent." Mr. Sterling gathers the papers with practiced efficiency. "The funds will appear in your account within the hour. A car will collect you Friday evening at 7 PM. Bring one suitcase. Everything else will be provided."
"Friday? That's in three days!"
"Correct." He stands, clearly dismissing me. "Welcome to the Moretti family, Mrs. Moretti."
The name sounds wrong. Foreign. Like it belongs to someone else entirely.
I stumble out of the office building into the gray October afternoon. Manhattan towers above me, all glass and steel and people who know where they belong. I pull my threadbare jacket tighter and start the long subway ride back to my cramped apartment.
*What have I done?*
My phone rings. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Aria Chen?" A woman's voice, sharp and professional. "This is Dr. Morrison from Memorial Hospital. We received payment for Lily's surgery. Thank you for resolving the outstanding balance so quickly."
I close my eyes, hot tears pressing behind my lids. "How soon can you operate?"
"We're scheduling her for Monday morning. The surgeon is confident about her recovery."
*It was worth it. Whatever happens, Lily gets to live.*
But that night, alone in my apartment, I can't stop staring at the diamond ring that appeared on my doorstep in a black velvet box. No note. No explanation. Just a ring so large it looks fake, catching streetlight through my window like a trapped star.
I slide it on. It fits perfectly.
*How did they know my size?*
The question bothers me more than it should. I try to remember that charity event three months ago where Damien's "people" first approached me. The strange questionnaire they made me fill out. The medical exam they said was "standard procedure" for anyone requesting charitable assistance.
They knew my ring size. My measurements. My medical history.
*How much else do they know?*
Friday comes too fast.
The black town car arrives exactly at 7 PM. The driver doesn't speak, just opens the door like I'm someone important instead of a broke college dropout selling herself to save her family.
We drive for over an hour, leaving the city behind. The houses get bigger, farther apart, surrounded by walls and gates and security cameras. Finally, we turn onto a private road lined with ancient oak trees.
The mansion at the end looks like something from a horror movie. Gothic architecture, stone gargoyles, windows that reflect the dying sunset like eyes.
*This is where I'll live now. With a husband who doesn't even know what I look like.*
The driver opens my door. "Mr. Moretti is waiting in his study. First door on the left past the entrance hall."
My suitcase feels impossibly heavy as I climb the marble steps. The front door opens before I can knock.
A man stands in the shadows of the foyer. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair and eyes that catch the chandelier light like chips of silver ice.
"You're late," Damien Moretti says. His voice is cold, empty, like winter wind through a graveyard.
"The traffic—"
"I don't care." He steps closer, and I can finally see his face clearly. Handsome in a brutal way. Sharp jaw. Perfect features that look carved from marble. Not a single hint of warmth anywhere. "Let's make one thing clear, Aria. You're here for one purpose. When that purpose is fulfilled, you'll leave. Until then, you'll follow every instruction given to you. Do you understand?"
My mouth goes dry. "I... what purpose—"
He pulls a folder from behind his back and tosses it at my feet. Papers scatter across the pristine marble.
I kneel, hands trembling, and pick up the first page.
The letterhead reads: **PROJECT BLOODLINE**
And underneath, in clinical black text: *Subject: Aria Chen. Status: Breeding vessel acquired. Genetic screening: Optimal. Virginity confirmed. Contract fulfilled.*
The world tilts.
"Welcome home, *wife*," Damien says, and his smile is the most terrifying thing I've ever seen.
The door slams shut behind me with the finality of a coffin closing.