Trapped in a Billionaire's Web

I knew today was going to be terrible the moment my alarm didn't go off.

By the time I sprinted into Café Royale, my apron was half-tied, my hair was a frizzy mess, and my sneakers were still damp from running through last night's rain. Late again. That meant another strike from my boss. Pity.

"Table four, Mia. And be quick about it," barked Sandra my manager.

I snatched up a tray of steaming cappuccinos and rushed across the café, weaving between businessmen in tailored suits and influencers snapping photos of overpriced pastries. Just one more shift. One more paycheck. One step closer to paying off Mom's hospital bills.

But then, disaster struck.

As I turned the corner, my foot slipped on something slick, and before I could stop it, the tray tipped. Time slowed. My breath caught. A full cup of scalding hot coffee went flying-straight into the lap of the most intimidating man I had ever seen.

He barely flinched. Just a sharp inhale as the dark liquid seeped into his obscenely expensive charcoal-gray suit. His jaw clenched, and piercing blue eyes locked onto mine. The entire café fell silent.

Oh. No.

I recognized him immediately. Damien Blackwood. Billionaire. Corporate shark. The kind of man who could ruin someone's life with a single phone call.

"I-I am so sorry," I stammered, reaching for napkins. My hands shook as I tried to blot the mess, but the coffee had already soaked into the fabric. "I didn't mean to-"

"Stop." His voice was low, calm, and terrifyingly controlled. He brushed my hands away, his gaze flicking to my name tag. "Mia Carter, was it?"

I swallowed hard. The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine-not in a good way.

Sandra came charging forward, already apologizing profusely. "Mr. Blackwood, sir, I assure you, Mia is-"

"Fired?" Damien's tone was smooth, final.

My stomach plummeted.

"No-please, I need this job," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

His eyes studied me, assessing. Then, to my utter shock, he said, "No. She's not fired."

Sandra blinked. "She's... not?"

"No." Damien leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. His expensive suit was ruined, but he didn't seem as furious as he should have been. Instead, his lips curved into something that looked dangerously close to amusement. Like he'd just made a decision I wouldn't like.

"Mia," he said, tilting his head. "I have a different job offer for you."

I froze. "What?"

But he was staring at me like he was about to make a business transaction.

"You need money, right?" he said smoothly, fingers tapping against his whiskey glass.

I stiffened, my stomach twisting.

"Yes sir but I–I"

"And I can help you."

"How?"

"How about you sir for a while?" He said as he pointed to the sit next to him. Sandra was dumbfounded but he nodded her to leave us.

"I have an offer for you."

I wanted to laugh to his face, tell him to go to hell, because I know men like Damien Blackwood didn't help women like me.

But I didn't.

Because he was right. I needed money.

Badly. And how about I listen to him first.

So I swallowed my cheap broke pride and asked, "What kind of offer?"

Damien leaned back in his chair, studying me like he was calculating every possible outcome of this conversation.

"I need a girlfriend," he said simply.

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A fake one," he clarified. "For one month."

I let out a disbelieving laugh. "Right. Because I look like the kind of woman who belongs on your arm."

His lips twitched. "You don't."

Wow. Okay. Ouch.

"But that's exactly why you're perfect," he continued. "No history. No connections. No baggage. Just a nobody who can play the role and disappear when it's over."

I flinched at the word 'nobody,' but I ignored it.

Because, seriously, what was happening?

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. But Damien Blackwood wasn't the joking type.

He was serious.

Dead serious.

And that terrified me.

I forced a laugh. "You could have any woman you want. Why would you need a fake girlfriend?"

His jaw tightened, and for a second, I saw something dangerous flicker in his expression. But it was gone before I could name it.

"Because I don't have time for real relationships," he said flatly. "And right now, I need one."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

A long pause.

Then, finally: "Because my company is at stake."

That wasn't the answer I expected.

Damien took another sip of whiskey, his gaze never leaving mine. "There are investors watching me. They don't trust men like me-men with too much money and too little attachment."

I snorted. "So, what? You need a fake girlfriend to convince them you're human?"

Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "Something like that."

I shook my head, my brain scrambling to catch up with this insanity. "And what do I get out of it?"

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between us hum.

"A million dollars."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I stared at him, my mouth opening, then closing.

A million dollars.

That was more money than I had ever seen in my life. More than I could ever dream of.

With that kind of money, I could pay off my mother's hospital bills. I could get us out of that roach-infested apartment. I could breathe again.

But there had to be a catch.

"There's always a price," I whispered.

Damien smirked, tilting his head. "Do you think I'd offer you a deal without strings attached?"

I swallowed. "What's the catch?"

"You do exactly as I say," he said smoothly. "Attend events with me. Stay at my penthouse. Be convincing and you do not tell anyone about it. Nobody, not even your grandma."

I licked my lips. "Convincing how?"

His eyes darkened. "Convincing enough that no one questions us."

My breath hitched.

I knew what he meant.

Public displays of affection. Romantic gestures. Possibly... more.

I should have run.

But the number kept flashing in my mind. One million dollars.

And the truth was, I was desperate.

"How do I know you won't screw me over?" I asked, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head.

His smirk deepened. "There will be a contract."

Of course there would be.

Because Damien Blackwood didn't play games-he played to win.

And right now, I was just a pawn on his chessboard.

I exhaled sharply, my pulse pounding in my ears.

This was insane.

But it was also my only chance.

I met his gaze. "I want to see the contract."

His expression didn't change, but I swore I saw something like satisfaction flicker across his face.

"You'll have it by morning," he said.

I nodded slowly, my fate sealing itself with those four little words.

Damien stood, straightening his ruined suit. "A driver will pick you up tomorrow at noon. Be ready."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me sitting there, stunned, breathless, and utterly unsure of what I'd just agreed to.

But one thing was certain.

My life would never be the same again.