The Dark Bargain

Lily's POV

Though it was not helping me to relax, the steady hum of my mind matched the pace of the soothing jazz music playing in the background. California's upper society jammed the fundraiser, everyone wandering around as though it were quite natural to wear gems that could pay off debt a hundred times over. I should not have been here, but the press pass hanging around my neck had passed me through security, and now here I was, surrounded by luxury I had only ever seen in magazines.

Savoring the taste for as long as I could, I drank champagne. One drink, I had promised myself, then I would go. But my eyes strayed over the room and they caught on Damien Blackwood.

In person, he was more arresting than any image could have caught. Tall, immaculately groomed in a suit that fit him like a second skin, and presenting himself with total authority. His eyes were focused like he could expose every secret from you with one glance. I had heard the whispers, the kind of man you never wanted to cross-ruthless, vicious.

Still, his eyes focused on me, locking me in place as he passed through the assembly.

"You don't look like the usual crowd here," he observed, his voice silky yet laced with an undertone I couldn't quite identify.

I swallowed, as the heat surged to my cheeks. "I'm not among the regular throng."

He turned to face me, his eyes narrowing slightly, and a little amused smile emerged at the margins of his mouth. "Good" The typical audience drags me down.

Though the caution bells in my head screamed, I felt a pull-an unseen thread-drawing me toward him. We spoke for the next hour; his deep voice calmed but shockingly strong as he drew bits of me I typically kept buried. But I was left wondering if our meeting had been an accident at all as he at last turned away, leaving me with just his residual aroma and an erratic pulse.

Three weeks later, my life veered in another direction not at all anticipated. Early morning knock on the door startled me from a restless sleep. I moaned, covering myself in a robe, opened the door and discovered Damien Blackwood standing there, looking as sharp and threatening as always.

Here, what are you doing? I stammered and struggled to keep my robe closed against the cool morning air. "How did you learn where I live?"

He raised a file, his visage a mask of frigid will. "I know Lily, everything about you. I understand your mother's illness, the debt almost engulfing you whole, and your great desire for consistency.

My heart fell out of line. His knowledge level was how much? Why would he-from what I know?

"I have a proposition for you," he said, never looking away from me. "It's very unusual. But I think it will be good for us both.

"A suggestion?" I hummed, my voice faltering. "What sort of offer??"

"I need a wife," he declared, as direct as a hammer, "and you should give the matter some thought."

I felt my mouth become dry and the shock made me mute. Are you out of your mind?

Not at all, he answered, unconcerned. Lily, this is not a romantic suggestion. It's a commercial deal. One that might help you to lighten the weight of those medical expenses and your drowning debt. You would be my wife, following me to events, looking the part, and supporting me in keeping control of the firm owned by my family.

I laughed dismissively, disbelieving. Are you serious?

"Completely. I need no company or love. I need someone who knows the stakes and ready to support me in keeping my posture. I will pay all of your mother's medical bills in exchange, therefore relieving you of financial concerns once more.

Too fantastic to be true, it felt like a trap. But his offer looked more and more like the only path out as the weight of my circumstances sank over me. My mother was everything; every day of unpaid expenses felt like a countdown to catastrophe.

I looked at him; his cold eyes shivered down my spine. And should my answer be yes? Which then?

He drew nearer, his presence imposing, and I felt momentarily caught in his magnetic force. "You then sign a contract." One who ties you to me for a year. Not feelings, not attachments, simply an arrangement.

Before I could stop them, the words sprang from my mouth. "Who am I?"

He raised his head, a flutter of amusement visible in his normally impenetrable gaze. "Because you seem desperate enough to accept-and strong enough to manage."

My pride blazed, but the weight of my situation soon smashed it. My ego drove me to refuse to let my mother suffer. "Fine," I said, my voice hardly a breath.

His hand moved, and then the Blackwood crest was stamped on a card right in my grasp. "See me at my office tomorrow AM. Bring any worries you might have concerning the contract. My attorneys will take care of the rest.

And he turned and went, leaving me standing there grasping the card as though it were a lifeline. Though the evening air was chilly, the truth of what I had just agreed upon chilled me even more.

I signed away the next year of my life seated across from Damien in his elegant, glass-walled office early the next morning. The strange sensation-that I was selling my soul-that persisted would not go away. But I kept my face blank, my hand steady as I scrawled my name over the last page of the contract.

Looking up, he was staring at me, a weird sparkle in his eyes that I couldn't quite identify.

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Blackwood," he said, the title giving me an odd rush.

I tried to write it off. All that this was was a transaction; nothing more.

He grabbed my wrist as I stood to go, though, and his contact created an electric spark up my arm. I looked up, locked his eyes, and for the first time I saw something sinister and evil slinking behind his eyes.

Remember, Lily, he said, his voice a velvet threat, "our marriage is only for show." Nothing more from me should be expected.

I drank and yanked my arm free. "Trust me, Damien; I have low expectations of you."

He grinned, his face inscrutable. "good." Since hopes only bring about disappointment.

My thoughts were running even as I turned to go. For my mother, I had done what I had to, yet something about this whole setup felt improper. His comments lingered, and for the first time I felt a growing mistrust that this marriage was merely the start of something far darker.

A message ping-ed on my phone as I left his office. Unknown amount. I opened it hesitantly.

Avoid Damien Blackwood; you will come to regret it. He poses more risk than you would know.

Looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see someone observing, a shudder slithered down my spine. But the corridor was empty.

Like a thick fog, the awareness descended upon me in great overreach.

And for reasons I couldn't understand, I couldn't get rid of the impression that someone was out there waiting for me to screw-up.