ONE

As the rain pitter-pattered against the windowpane, the room was bathed in a soft, diffused glow. The sun, hidden behind the thick layer of rain clouds, streamed in, glistening her waist-length dark curls. Her face was pale, yet her bearing exuded a sense of grace and poise. The severely cut black velvet gown seemed to have been carefully curated to highlight her slender figure.

There was an undeniable gravity about her that imparted an aura of maturity beyond her mere twenty-four years. And yet there was something of the coquette too, a subtle playfulness that danced in her eyes.

Her delicate hands, adorned with long, graceful fingers, found their place on the windowsill, casually yet purposefully displayed against the backdrop of the drenched cityscape.

"I know things ain't looking too good. Your old man's hospital bills are piling up sky-high, your house is on the verge of being mortgaged, and your novels aren't bringing in the ‘dough’ like they used to. You have to face the facts here, Sirena. You want this. You need this!"

Mike’s words etched her mind as she gazed out at the people who were hurriedly seeking shelter from the downpour, each carrying their own stories of struggles and aspirations, fighting the battles that fate had hurled at them, much like herself.

Sirena couldn't help but acknowledge the truth in his words. The harsh reality was closing in on her and she desperately needed a way out of her dire situation.

“The fucking ‘egoistic narcissist of America’? Damian of the Crown Family. The American equivalent of royalty? That Damian?" Sirena had asked, her shock and incredulity evident.

Her skin turned pale when Mike nodded, confirming her suspicion, which caused blood to drain from her face.

The offer laid before her, however daunting or unconventional, was undeniably tempting: three years with the enigmatic Damian, coupled with a staggering payment of 40 million dollars and a generous weekly allowance.

It presented an enticing opportunity for her to break free from the confines of her current life, but three years with Damian?

That gave her a pause. Was it truly worth it?

Only in hell, it wouldn't!

What could go wrong with it that could possibly surpass the shithole of a life that she was currently enduring?

But why her? What in God's name could Damian want with an average romance author with no best-selling novel as a contract wife? Countless questions swirled in her mind.

She had nothing to offer! ‘And nothing to lose,’ her subconsciousness had chipped in.

If only reality was as enchanting as the fairy tales she wrote. Then she would have had a plethora of options to choose from. A ton of them!

Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. Startled, she reached for it.

It was Mike.

“Hey,” Sirena answered softly, her voice barely audible.

“Where the fuck are you, Sirena? We are running late!” Mike's urgent voice blared through the phone.

Sirena's heart skipped a beat. She had completely forgotten about her scheduled meeting for the 40-million-dollar contract. Panic surged through her as she realized she was running late.

And thus, the birth of her crisis.

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.

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•SIRENA•

Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched Damian order his servants to burn my manuscripts - the only solace I have had in this hellish marriage.

"You can't treat me like this! Your dad made a promise! He promised!" I screamed, my voice dripping with anger and disgust, while his lips twisted into that sinister grin that had become a source of dread for me.

I trembled in agony. A knot formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop causing a scene and shut the fuck up," he declared icily. His piercing blue eyes bore into mine, brimming with intensity.

"No," I mustered, defiance swelling within me despite the struggle to breathe. My blurred vision strained to focus on him.

“I am not a mere plaything to be commanded and possessed," My voice came out low. "I am a person with aspirations and dreams that extend far beyond the confines of this suffocating marriage. I am... I am a person with ambitions and emotions." Despair weighed heavily upon my trembling body.

But Damian yet remained unaffected, his gaze void of any warmth or understanding.

"I’ve told you countless times, contract wife, I am not my father. Your dreams hold no meaning to me," he uttered, his voice devoid of empathy. "Your ambitions are irrelevant. You are here to serve me and fulfill my desires. Your emotions, as long as they don't disrupt this façade of a marriage, are inconsequential..."

His words trailed off as he approached me.

How could someone be so devoid of emotion and empathy? How could anyone be this heartless?

"Don't cry now, Love," he sneered, wiping off my tears, his touch cruel and possessive.

Disgust and helplessness mingled within me as my body recoiled from his touch, while he held my face in his palm.

"You have years to drown in regret and endure your punishments. You write about fairy tales, don't you? Welcome to your personal hell in paradise, my dear."

His voice cut through the air like a whip, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake.

As he walked away, my knees gave way beneath me, and I collapsed to the ground. I screeched in pain, as I watched my labored months of writing, brainstorming, and researching reduced to ashes.

The sanctuary I had created, the characters that had brought me comfort these past couple of days, were all destroyed.

Anguish washed over me as I realized the cruel fate that had befallen me. I was just an ordinary girl from Brooklyn who only wanted to make ends meet, to take care of her papa’s hospital bills and the mortgage on our home.

But here I was, barely two weeks after signing that damn contract, trapped in this gilded cage of luxury where my freedom has been restricted. I’m not even allowed to see my papa, and now, even my only source of comfort has been reduced to ashes.

If only I had known that I was being contracted to hell!

What was I even expecting when I decided to marry him? How could I have believed that the man dubbed ‘Egoistic Narcissist of America’ by Forbes would possess any ounce of humanity or compassion in him? How could I have thought that the luxury of the Crowns would provide some consolation during this inhumane ordeal inflicted by that monster?

I sat there on the floor, lost in my thoughts for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't even begin to comprehend how much time had passed. Eventually, I mustered the strength to get up and made my way to my room. To my surprise, I found the female servants assigned to me, waiting there, concern etched on their faces.

At that moment, It struck me that they might see me as an inconsiderate and selfish person for not caring about them. The thought of that overwhelmed and frustrated me the more.

Just as I reached the entrance of the house, a female servant approached me, visibly out of breath.

She had my phone with her, which instantly threw me into a state of fear. Anxiously, I took the phone from her, and it turned out to be a call from the hospital.

The hospital!

My heart skipped a beat as I answered nervously, "H… hello.”

"Miss. Devanche?" a toned female voice on the other end asked.

"Yes, that's me," I replied, my apprehension growing.

"I'm Vivian from Haven-City General Hospital. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that your father is currently in a coma and has been placed on life support..."

The phone slipped from my hands. My entire being started trembling in fear. The words 'coma' and ‘life support’ echoed loudly in my ears, and tears began streaming down my face.

My papa was my only family. The sole person I had, and I hadn't seen him for the past two weeks.

There has never been a relative that I was aware of, and even if there was any somewhere, well, damn them for all I care.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” his voice boomed, shattering the fragile moment.

I had been heading toward one of the cars that Damian's father had provided me with when Damian's voice halted me in my tracks. My legs felt as if they were anchored to the ground.

"M-my... my... my dad’s in a coma," I managed to stammer amidst my tears.

"He’s not dead, is he?” he asked, his tone cold and devoid of empathy.

“No.” I answered, nodding while wiping my tears.

“Then get your ass back inside. I'm horny," he said callously, his words causing my legs to weaken beneath me.