Four

Sophie’s grip on the contract tightened as she stood across the room from Damien. The air between them felt heavier, thick with unspoken tension. She inhaled sharply, steeling herself. There was no turning back now. If she wanted revenge, this man—her ex-step-uncle—would be her ticket. But emotions had no place in her plan.

“I have three rules,” she declared, her voice unwavering. Damien’s sharp gaze locked onto hers, a silent dare flickering in his eyes.

“Go on,” he prompted, reclining lazily on the sofa. His posture was casual, but his stare was anything but.

“No emotional attachments. We will only pretend there’s something real between us. This is purely a business arrangement.” She met his gaze head-on, ensuring he understood the gravity of her words.

He smirked. “Fair enough. What’s next?”

“No physical intimacy,” she continued, her tone clipped. A faint heat crept up her neck, but she ignored it. “That means no touching unless absolutely necessary for appearances.”

One of Damien’s brows lifted, and amusement flickered across his face. “You make it sound like I’m already planning to seduce you, Sunshine.”

She ignored the nickname, keeping her expression impassive. “Rule three: This ends exactly after a year. No extensions, no loopholes, no complications.”

His smirk widened slightly, but something in his gaze turned calculating. He studied her for a beat before nodding. “I can agree to those terms. You’re making this easier than I expected.”

“Good.” She folded her arms. “Now, I have a question.”

“Only one?” His smirk returned, teasing.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Why are you so willing to go along with this? You agreed too quickly.”

Damien leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I’ve thought about this before,” he admitted. “The rumors about me… they’ve been affecting my business. Most of my partners think I’m gay because I’m still single in my forties. It’s a lie spread by my competitors, and it’s starting to take a toll. A wife—even if temporary—would silence those whispers and clean up my image.”

Sophie blinked, momentarily thrown. Of all the explanations she had anticipated, this wasn’t one of them. “So, you’re doing this for appearances?”

“That’s exactly what this is,” he confirmed smoothly. “And in return, I’ll be helping you too. A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

His words settled in her mind. After a moment, she nodded. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Damien reached for the pen on the coffee table, spinning it between his fingers before extending it toward her. “Then sign, and let’s make it official.”

Taking the pen, she let the cool metal rest against her skin before pressing it to paper. Each stroke of ink felt like a declaration of war. When she finished, she handed the signed contract back to him, catching something unreadable in his gaze.

“Your turn,” she said.

He studied her for a beat before lowering his hand to sign his name with an effortless flourish. But instead of returning the contract, he held onto it, his smirk creeping back.

“Now,” he mused, leaning back with the document still in his grasp, “about those conditions you mentioned…”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “What about them?”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, sending an inexplicable shiver down her spine. “You seem awfully concerned about boundaries for someone who just signed a marriage contract. Are you worried you’ll break your own rules?”

Stepping forward, she snatched the contract from his grasp with a sharp tug. “Worry about yourself, Damien Cavanaugh. I don’t make rules I can’t follow.”

His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with what looked suspiciously like a challenge. “We’ll see about that, Sunshine.”

She turned on her heel, fingers curling around the paper as she strode away. His words lingered in the air, leaving her with the unsettling feeling that Damien Cavanaugh was going to be a far more formidable opponent than she had anticipated.

A few days later, the sun hung high in the sky as Sophie and Damien stepped out of the courthouse. The marble steps beneath her heels felt unnervingly solid, a stark contrast to the whirlwind inside her. She clutched the edge of her purse, her knuckles white, and cast a glance at Damien.

His expression remained composed, revealing nothing. The sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom waited at the curb, its polished surface reflecting the city lights. He moved ahead, his stride confident as always, and opened the door with practiced ease. Without a word, he gestured for Sophie to enter.

She slid into the seat, the cool leather momentarily distracting her from the tight knot in her stomach. A second later, Damien followed, his presence filling the space beside her. The driver shut the door and moved to his seat, and as the car began rolling forward, Sophie turned to him.

“Did we really have to make it a legal marriage?” Her voice carried a mix of disbelief and resignation.

Damien met her gaze, his expression calm but firm. “Yes. The marriage certificate was necessary. It keeps things clean and formal, avoids any unnecessary suspicions.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Suspicion of what, exactly?”

His lips curled into a smirk, a faint glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Of the truth, Sunshine.”

Sophie exhaled sharply, turning her gaze toward the cityscape outside the window. The weight of his words settled over her like an invisible shroud.

“Now, you’re Mrs. Sophie Cavanaugh,” Damien remarked suddenly, his tone lighter. When she glanced back at him, he winked.

She let out a small laugh, though disbelief still tinged her voice. “That’s a name I never thought I’d wear.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he said with confidence, settling back against the seat.

Sophie said nothing more, her fingers gripping the edge of her purse as she stared out the window. There was no turning back now.

---

Later that evening, the soft buzz of Sophie’s phone pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. Damien Cavanaugh.

“What now?” she muttered before answering. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Damien’s smooth voice teased through the receiver. “I’m coming to pick you up in an hour. There’s a family charity gala tonight, and I expect you to look your best.”

She blinked, momentarily thrown. “A gala? Damien, I’m not exactly—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “This is part of the deal. And remember, appearances matter. I’ll see you in an hour.”

The line went dead before she could protest. She stared at her phone, conflicted. Part of her wanted to refuse outright, but she knew better. Wounds were best treated when fresh, and this gala could be the perfect stage to start reclaiming her power.

She moved quickly, selecting a deep emerald gown that hugged her figure and accentuated her shoulders. By the time Damien’s car pulled up outside the mansion, she was ready.

When she stepped out, his eyes widened slightly before his usual smirk returned. “So, this is the great Algernon Mansion,” he mused, glancing up at the towering structure.

Sophie tilted her head. “What do you mean by that?”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Nothing. Let’s go.” He gestured toward the car, and she stepped inside.

As the vehicle pulled away, Damien studied her briefly. “You look… stunning,” he said simply. The sincerity in his tone sent a surprising warmth through her.

She averted her gaze. “Thank you.”

The gala venue was grand, filled with elegantly dressed guests and dazzling chandeliers. The moment they arrived, Damien’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen, his expression darkening slightly.

“I need to take this,” he said. “I’ll find you in a moment.”

Sophie nodded and stepped further into the room. The hum of conversation surrounded her, a steady undercurrent beneath the clinking of glasses. She was adjusting the strap of her gown when a voice froze her in place.

“Sophie?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she turned.

Aaron.

His gaze swept over her, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. “Is this really you, Sophie?” His voice held a note of disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the woman before him with the one he had cast aside.

“Yes,” she replied, lifting her chin, forcing herself to appear unfazed.

“Wow. You look different.” The condescension in his tone made her stomach churn.

Before she could respond, Jeana sauntered up beside him, looping her arm through his.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” she sneered, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Aaron remained indifferent, making no effort to move away from her.

Jeana’s lips curled in amusement. “You’re so desperate now that you’ve lost Aaron. That’s why you came here looking like a princess, hoping to charm him back, isn’t it?”

Sophie’s fingers clenched around the fabric of her dress. “You think so, Jeana?” Her voice was steady, despite the fire burning beneath her skin.

Aaron chuckled, his smug grin deepening. “You must really miss me, don’t you, Sophie? Too bad.”

Jeana laughed, her eyes gleaming with malice. “You can keep wearing dresses like this—probably rented—but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re nothing. You’re like a pig—clean it up, but it’ll still return to the mud.”

Sophie barely had time to register the sting of their words before Aaron delivered the final blow. “You’re pathetic,” he sneered. “I guess that’s why I never felt anything strong for you.”

A sharp crack split the air.

Aaron staggered back, his eyes wide with shock.

Damien stood before him, his jaw tight, his hand still raised from the slap.

“Uncle?” Aaron’s voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief etched across his face.

Damien’s glare was ice-cold. “Watch your mouth when you talk to my woman.” His voice was low, dangerous—each word coated in venom.