Page 7 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“How do you know that?”

Silence.

Not an uncertain silence—a heavy, deliberate silence designed to let her own panic fill the space.

“Damien.” His name felt sharp and dangerous in her mouth. “Did you do this?”

“I made you an offer.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

Across the street, the sedan’s headlights cut through the gloom.

Aria stepped back into the shadows. “Stay away from me.”

“You don’t mean that.” His voice was smooth and certain, almost dismissive.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

His quiet laugh carried no warmth. “You touch the gold chain around your neck whenever you’re frightened. You order coffee you can’t afford and skip lunch to pay for it. You visit your mother every morning before work, even when she’s unconscious. And when you lie, you rub the inside of your left wrist.”

Aria looked down in horror. Her right hand was wrapped tightly around her left wrist from when she told him to stay away.

She dropped her hand as if burned, looking for a camera. Surely he couldn’t see her that well from the sedan. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Go home, Aria.”

“Answer me!”

“You have forty-six hours and thirty-eight minutes.”

The line went dead.

Across the street, the sedan pulled smoothly into traffic and disappeared.

Aria stood frozen, until the cold air forced her to move. Her apartment was six blocks away. She walked quickly, checking every dark doorway and reflection in the glass shopfronts. By the time she reached her building, she had nearly convinced herself that Damien was bluffing about the eviction.

Then she saw her belongings piled in the hallway.

Two garbage bags. One cardboard box. Her mother’s old blue quilt folded carefully on top.

A brightly colored notice was taped across her apartment door: ACCESS PROHIBITED PENDING EVICTION PROCEEDINGS.

“You can’t do this,” Aria whispered to the empty hall.

She pounded on the superintendent’s door until her knuckles ached, but no one answered.

Her phone vibrated with a system notification: APPEAL DENIED. DECISION FINAL.

The hallway tilted beneath her feet. Job, home, loan—all dismantled within hours of Damien’s proposal. Coincidences required faith, and Aria had run out of that long before she ran out of money.

She pulled his business card from her purse. There was no phone number printed on it—only his name, title, and the gold crest pressed into the corner.

As her thumb brushed the smooth surface, the card warmed. A series of lit digits bloomed across the dark paper.

Before she could process it, her phone rang again.