"Sign it."
I stared at the papers and laughed without humor. "You want me to marry a man I've never met?"
"Yes," my stepmother said calmly. "By tonight."
My father didn't look at me. "It's the only way to save the company."
"Who is he?" I asked.
"Adrian Blackwood," my stepmother replied.
My hand froze. "The billionaire CEO?"
"The same one," she said. "Cold. Powerful. Untouchable."
"So I'm the price?" I asked.
My father finally spoke. "You're the solution."
I pushed the contract away. "What does he get?"
My stepmother smiled. "A wife. No emotions. No love. One year only."
"One year," I repeated. "And then?"
"You're free," she said. "If you survive him."
That night, a black car waited outside the courthouse.
The driver opened the door. "Mrs. Blackwood."
"I'm not married yet," I said.
"You will be in ten minutes."
The man standing inside the courthouse didn't smile.
He looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was a file on his desk.
"You're late," he said.
I met his eyes. "You didn't look excited either."
He turned to the lawyer. "Proceed."
"Do you accept this marriage under contract?" the lawyer asked.
I hesitated.
Adrian leaned closer. "Say yes," he whispered. "We both want this over."
I swallowed. "Yes."
The lawyer turned to him. "Mr. Blackwood?"
"Yes," Adrian said without emotion.
Just like that, I became his wife.
Inside the car, silence filled the air.
"So," I said, "husband."
He didn't look at me. "Don't call me that."
"What should I call you?"
"My name. When necessary."
"And when is that?"
"When you speak. Which shouldn't be often."
I laughed softly. "You're serious."
"I always am."
"Do you hate this marriage that much?"
He finally looked at me. "I don't hate it. I don't feel anything about it."
"That's worse."
At the mansion gates, he spoke again. "Rules."
I crossed my arms. "I'm listening."
"No feelings. No public scenes. No touching unless required."
"Required by who?"
"The media," he replied. "Or the contract."
"And my rules?" I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. "You have rules?"
"Yes," I said. "Don't treat me like furniture."
A pause.
"I'll try," he said. "No promises."
Inside the house, he handed me a phone.
"For emergencies," he said.
"What kind of emergencies?"
"If you forget your place."
I smiled sweetly. "Then we'll both be in trouble."
He stepped closer. "Don't mistake this marriage for freedom."
"And don't mistake me for weak," I replied.
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.
Interest. Or danger.
"Goodnight," he said coldly.
"Goodnight, husband," I replied.
The door closed between us.
But I knew one thing already.
This contract marriage was going to burn.