The hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and despair. Harsh fluorescent lights reflected off the polished tiles, their cold glare illuminating the sterile walls and the faint yellow line marking the walkway. Aria Cole's heart pounded violently in her chest. Every step she took echoed down the hallway, each one reminding her how fragile her life had become, how time and money were slipping from her hands like water through her fingers.
Her mother's weak cough reached her before she even saw her. The sound, hoarse and strained, was enough to make her stomach twist. Aria's pulse quickened as she approached the small hospital room, her bag pressing uncomfortably against her side. Inside lay her mother, pale and frail, hooked up to monitors and tubes, a silent testament to Aria's inability to protect her.
She knelt beside the hospital bed, brushing back a strand of gray-streaked hair from her mother's forehead. "Mom… I'm here," she whispered, though her words felt hollow. Her mother's tired eyes fluttered open, and a weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"You… you're here," her mother croaked. "Don't let them… take me from you."
Aria pressed her hand to her mother's, feeling the delicate bones beneath the skin. "I won't, Mom. I promise. I'll do whatever it takes."
But the words felt empty even as she spoke them. How could she protect her mother when bills piled up like mountains? How could she possibly afford the surgery that could save her life? She had exhausted every avenue—loans, odd jobs, savings—but nothing had been enough. The hospital's calls were relentless reminders of her failure. Every ring of the phone was a judgment, a countdown to an ending she couldn't prevent.
Her thoughts spiraled, memories of her past pressing in. She remembered her father, sitting at their once-grand dining table, head in hands as papers and eviction notices lay scattered around him. The media had painted him as incompetent, greedy, and weak. Aria had been only twelve, watching helplessly as the life she knew crumbled before her eyes. Their home was sold. Their company gone. Pride destroyed. And now… the echo of that pain returned, stronger than ever.
Then came the call. A lifeline, wrapped in a condition that made her stomach churn.
"Miss Cole, we can provide financial assistance," the voice had said, calm and deliberate. "There is a condition."
Aria had paused, disbelief freezing her tongue. "Condition?" she whispered.
"Marriage," the voice replied. The single word hit her like a stone to the chest.
The next morning, Aria found herself in a pristine law office, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Dust motes danced in the light, oblivious to the storm inside her chest. A sleek, polished table separated her from the lawyer who held the contract that would either save her mother or shatter her life forever.
Aria stared at the pages, each one a mixture of hope and fear. Marriage. One year. Absolute discretion. One hundred million naira. A lifeline for her mother, yes—but a trap. She traced the words with trembling fingers, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on her shoulders.
Her mind wandered, recalling the day her father's company fell to Lucien Blackwood, the man who had brought her family to ruin. Every headline, every insult, every whispered rumor burned fresh in her memory. And now, years later, she was being asked to marry him. The same man.
The lawyer's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Miss Cole, once signed, it is binding. There is no withdrawal."
Aria swallowed hard, swallowing the lump in her throat. She thought of her mother, frail in the hospital bed, needing her more than ever. She thought of the bills, the calls, the looming deadlines. She thought of Lucien Blackwood—the man she had hated for so long.
Her hand shook as she reached for the pen. Then she saw the name on the final page.
Lucien Blackwood.
Her blood ran cold. The letters burned into her eyes. Her hands went numb, and the pen slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the polished table. She closed her eyes, feeling a tide of despair, anger, and fear sweep through her.
She signed.
The contract was done.
Her life was now bound to the man who had destroyed everything she had loved.
The car ride to his office was tense and silent. Aria clutched her bag, her eyes fixed on the blurred city passing outside the window. Each passing street, each oblivious stranger, reminded her how far she had fallen. The contrast between her life and Lucien Blackwood's world felt unbearable. The skyscrapers, the luxury cars, the elite crowds—it was a world she had no place in, yet she had to enter it.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked, voice tight.
"To meet Mr. Blackwood," the driver replied evenly.
Her heart lurched. The man who had caused years of pain was waiting. Her stomach twisted, panic rising like a tide she could not hold back.
The black car glided to a stop in front of a towering glass skyscraper. It seemed to scrape the sky, dominating the surrounding cityscape. Aria felt small, invisible, yet exposed. The building wasn't just steel and glass—it was a monument to everything she had lost.
Inside, marble halls gleamed under lights as polished as the city outside. She was guided past offices and assistants, all moving with quiet purpose, until finally, she reached the top floor.
And there he was.
Lucien Blackwood. Tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed. His posture perfect, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unreadable, like a predator studying prey.
"So," he said calmly, voice low and measured, "you are the woman who signed."
Aria swallowed, words sticking in her throat. "I… I had no choice," she stammered.
Lucien's faint smirk made her chest tighten. "Choice is relative. You chose your mother over your pride."
Her blood boiled. He had no idea how much pain he had caused her. Yet here she was, forced to endure his presence to save the one person she loved most.
The tension in the room was suffocating. Neither spoke for a moment, but the air between them was heavy with accusation, history, and the invisible chains of the contract. Aria realized, with a shiver, that her life had irrevocably changed.
And this was only the beginning.
Lucien Blackwood's gaze never left hers. It was sharp, calculating, like he could read every thought that flickered behind her eyes. Aria felt exposed, vulnerable, and furious all at once. The silence stretched, thick with tension, until she couldn't take it anymore.
"Why… why me?" she demanded, her voice trembling but fierce. "Why not someone else? There must be a hundred women who would take your offer!"
Lucien's smirk widened slightly, though his eyes remained cold. "Because, Miss Cole, you are the one whose pride matches the size of your desperation. You are honest in your misery, and that makes you… reliable."
Aria's stomach churned. "Reliable? You mean a pawn in your game!"
He tilted his head slightly. "Pawn? No. You are a solution. And solutions are… effective."
Her chest heaved with anger. How could he speak so casually about her life, her mother, her sacrifices?
"And let me guess," she spat, voice rising, "you expect me to live under your roof, obey your rules, and act like we're happy together? Is that it?"
"Yes," he said simply. "You will live under the same roof. You will follow the contract. And publicly, we will be a picture-perfect couple. Privately… nothing else matters."
Aria shook her head, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. She could feel her mother's weak hand in her mind, the pleading eyes, the coughs that shook her frail body. She had no choice. No matter how much she hated him, she had to survive this.
She straightened her back, squaring her shoulders. "Fine. One year," she said. "But don't expect me to like you."
Lucien's eyes glimmered with amusement. "Expecting affection from a solution is… unrealistic."
The drive to his mansion was quiet, almost oppressively so. Aria stared out the window, noting every detail—the sleek black cars, the manicured lawns, the massive glass walls that reflected the city skyline. She felt out of place, a small figure swallowed by a world she could never belong to.
When they arrived, the gates opened automatically, and a row of security guards gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Aria's stomach twisted. She was about to step into Lucien Blackwood's domain—a world she had only seen from a distance in magazines and news reports.
Inside, the mansion was pristine. Polished marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers. Every piece of furniture seemed deliberately expensive, a statement of power and control. Lucien led her through long hallways lined with abstract paintings she didn't understand, past rooms filled with silence, until they arrived at a guest suite prepared for her.
"It's comfortable," he said, voice neutral. "You will live here. Your private life is yours—within reason. Do not interfere with my affairs, do not question the rules, and do not expect leniency."
Aria forced herself to nod. Her pride burned, but she remembered her mother. She remembered the contract, the price of disobedience, and the stakes.
"Understood," she said quietly.
Lucien studied her for a moment, then turned and walked away, leaving her in the grand room that felt more like a cage than a home. Aria sank onto the edge of the bed, the enormity of what she had done crashing down on her. She had signed her life away to a man she hated, to save someone she loved more than herself.
Tears welled in her eyes. The room felt impossibly large, the silence deafening. She thought of her mother's cough, the hospital bills, the endless struggle, and she whispered into the empty room, "I can do this. I have to."
Over the next few days, Aria began adjusting to life in the mansion. She was treated with courtesy but nothing more—every interaction with Lucien was professional, cold, and deliberate. She learned the house rules quickly: meals served at precise times, interactions minimal, conversations strictly formal. Any infraction, no matter how small, was met with a look from Lucien that made her heart pound.
Yet, despite his cold exterior, there were glimpses—small, fleeting gestures—that confused her. A door held open just a second longer when she entered. A report reviewed quietly on her behalf. A look of concern when she appeared exhausted. Aria didn't understand it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
Every night, she lay awake in the guest suite, thinking of the contract, thinking of Lucien, thinking of the impossible position she was in. She had survived disasters before, but nothing like this. This was a daily, living nightmare—a constant reminder that her pride and hatred were now bound by obligation and money.
One evening, as she prepared for bed, a soft knock came at the door. Startled, she opened it to find Lucien standing there. His expression was neutral, but there was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before—an almost imperceptible softness.
"The surgery is scheduled for tomorrow," he said simply. "I wanted to ensure your mother's payment is fully processed."
Aria's throat tightened. The cold, untouchable man had ensured her mother would live. She wanted to say something—anything—but no words came.
Lucien's gaze lingered for a moment, then he turned and left, leaving her staring after him. For the first time, she felt an unfamiliar stir in her chest, a dangerous hint that perhaps this marriage, meant to be purely transactional, could evolve into something else.
But she pushed the thought away, reminding herself of the rules: no love, no emotion, no attachment. She had survived disasters before; she would survive this.
The night stretched long, heavy with uncertainty. Aria lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the contract heavy in her mind. Tomorrow, her mother would live. Tomorrow, her life would be even more intertwined with the man she hated.
And she realized, with a shiver, that nothing in her life would ever be the same again.
The contract had been signed, the deal was in motion, and the game had only just begun.