CHAPTER 1

A Contract with the Devil

"You are what?" The words tasted strange in my mouth, and my voice broke.

I'm arranging your marriage to Roman Blackwood,” My father quietly repeated, as if he were announcing the weather or an impending business meeting.

The steady murmur of the antique clock on the mantel grew louder as I stared at him, my breath catching. "Dad, you can't be serious."

"I'm very serious." Unperturbed, he sipped from his whiskey glass while leaning back in his chair. The room smelled like leather and oak, a sharp contrast to the bitter, metallic taste rising in my throat.

"Marry him?" I hardly raised my voice above a whisper. “You want me to marry a stranger? For what? Money?”

My father put his glass down with a resounding thump, his face hardening and his jaw clenching.

“Naomi, it's not just about the money. It's about survival.”

"Survival?" I chuckled sourly, though it come out more like a sob. “You think it's survival to sell me to a billionaire?"

"Watch your tone." His cold eyes narrowed as he snarled.

The weight of his gaze silenced me for a time. Victor carter, my father, had always exuded a stifling sense of control. However, this—this was different. It was more than just control. This was desperation.

You don't know what I've done to keep this family afloat." His voice was low and bitter. "The deal I've made. The people I've begged from. You think your cushy little life has been free? It hasn’t.”

Don't you dare blame me for this." I responded in a shaky voice. My legs felt like they might collapse at any moment, my fists were clenched at my sides.

"Blame you?" He shook his head and chuckled grimly. "This isn't about blame, Naomi. This is about fixing the mess we’re in. Roman Blackwood has offered to erase everything. All the debt. The lawsuits. The foreclosure notices. Everything. And all he asks in return is you.”

I felt the harsh reality of his words hit me like a slap.

"All he asks is me." With a hollow voice, I reiterated, "Do you even hear yourself?"

"Stop being so dramatic." He yelled, "This is a chance. Roman is not a mere billionaire. He is among the city's most influential figures. If you marry him, you will have a life that most women would kill for.”

"I don't care about that!" I yelled, losing all my self-control. My eyes filled with tears, and I blinked frantically to keep them from falling. "I'm not some property you can trade away to fix for your mistakes!"

"You're my daughter,” He replied fiercely, as he stood there, his massive form looming over me. "And I'm acting in your best interests as your father."

"No," I said in a whisper, shaking my head.

You’re doing what’s best for you.”

The unspoken truth hung heavy between us, and silence was deafening.

I staggered out of the room. With my chest heaving from trying to catch my breath, Tears clouded my vision, and I barely reached the stairs before tumbling down the bottom step.

The weight of my father's words was choking me, and my hands were shaking as I held onto the banister. You are to marry Roman Blackwood.

My spine tingled at the name alone. Roman Blackwood was more than just a billionaire; he was a legend and a dark side to the city. Unforgiving in negotiations and ruthless in business. And now, apparently, my future husband.

“Naomi?” My mother’s soft voice jolted me out of my reverie. She was standing at the top of the stairs, her frail body encased in a soft pink robe, when I looked up.

She had lines of stress on her face that weren't there a year earlier, and she looked exhausted. The weight of my father’s gambling addiction had taken its toll on her, too.

“Are you okay?” she asked, descending the steps cautiously.

I wanted to shout that no, I wasn’t okay. I was being sold like some commodity to a man I’d never met. But when I opened my mouth, the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, I shook my head, tears flowing down my face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, sitting next to me and drawing me into her arms. Her embrace was warm and familiar but wasn’t enough to chase away the chilly anxiety creeping into my chest.

“He can’t do this to me, Mom,” I muttered, my voice shaking. “He can’t just... marry me off like this.”

She groaned, her grasp tightening around me. “I don’t agree with this either, Naomi. But, your father is under so much pressure.”

“Pressure?” I pulled back, staring at her in disbelief. "He's gambling again, isn't he, Mom? That's why we are in this mess!”

Her silence was enough response.

With panic brewing, I suddenly stood up and started pacing the corridor. "This is unfair. I am not to blame for this! I shouldn't be held accountable for his mistakes!”

"I know," she murmured, her eyes sparkling with tears. "But what choice do we have?"

The question hung in the air, and I hated that I didn’t have an answer.

A few hours later, I sat alone in my room with little solace from the soft hum of the city outside my window. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I picked it up with shaking hands.

It was a text from Mason, my best friend since childhood.

Mason: How are you? I am still waiting to hear from you all day.

With my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I gazed at the screen. How could I even begin to explain what was happening?

Me: No. I’m not okay.

The response was almost immediate.

Mason: Would you like me to visit?

I thought for a second about saying yes. But what could he do? What could anyone do?

Me: I can’t talk about it right now.

He didn’t reply, and I laid the phone down, collapsing back onto my bed.

My thoughts raced, each one more horrifying than the previous. What kind of man was Roman Blackwood? Would he be cruel? Controlling? Would he see me as anything more than the price he paid to settle my father’s debts?

A knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Naomi?” My father’s voice was sharp, impatient.

“What?” I called back, not bothering to hide the venom in my tone.

“Roman will be here for dinner tomorrow night,” he said through the door. “You’ll dress appropriately and be on your best behavior.”

My heart fell. "Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious."

I clenched my hands, feeling a mixture of fear and rage. I whispered, "You're unbelievable," but I wasn't sure if he heard.

I could feel the weight of tomorrow bearing down on me as his footsteps disappeared.

I sat at the kitchen table the following morning and gazed at the unfinished plate of toast. As she nervously wiped down the spotless counters, my mother darted around the kitchen.

"You should eat something." She looked at me over her shoulder and murmured.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered as I pushed the platter away.

Sitting opposite me, she sighed. "Naomi, I know this isn’t what you wanted. But maybe... maybe it won’t be so bad.”

"Not so bad?" I gave a sour laugh. "Mom, you don't even know him. None of us do.”

"Your father does,” She responded feebly, but she didn't seem persuaded.

"Right," I responded as I suddenly stood up. “Because Dad’s judgment has been so reliable.”

"Please, Naomi," she murmured, her voice cracking. "All I want is for us to survive this."

Without replying, I left the kitchen and went to the front door. I wanted distance, air, or anything else to help me think.

As I stepped onto the pavement, the city was teeming with activity, but it all seemed far away as if I were viewing it through a fog.

My mind was racing as I walked around aimlessly. How could my life have gotten so out of control?

When I eventually arrived home, the house was unusually silent. My mother was nowhere to be found, and my father's car was gone.

I climbed the stairs to my room, pausing when I noticed an envelope on my bed. My name was scrawled across the front in my father’s handwriting.

I opened it with shaking hands and took out one sheet of paper.

Naomi

I know you are angry, and I know you think this is unfair. But, I must make it clear to you that I am doing this for the family, for your mom, for you and your sister. We should not underestimate Roman Blackwood; he is providing us with a lifeline. Please don't toss it out.

Tears clouded my vision, and the letter crumbled in my hands.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. It was another text from Mason.

Mason: I'm here if you need me.

I didn’t reply. What could I say?

With the weight of my father's choices crashing over me like a tidal wave, I collapsed onto my bed and gripped the letter.

As I sat there, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was an unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was smooth, cold, and unfamiliar.

“Miss Carter,” the man said. “This is Roman Blackwood’s assistant. Mr. Blackwood is looking forward to meeting you tomorrow night. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me gripping the phone with trembling hands.

Prepare myself for what?