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Terms Of Affection

Terms Of Affection

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12 Chapters
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Elena Hart is broke, burned out, and one step from losing everything. Fired. Evicted. And I'm way too tired of pretending she's fine. She never asked to be strong-just lucky enough to breathe. Then Damien Blackwood crashes into her mess like a storm in a suit. Billionaire. Ice-cold. Untouchable. And he's offering her the kind of deal that smells like danger and desperation. Be his fiancée-fake, flawless, and available for the cameras. Six months. No strings. No feelings. Just the right image, for the right price. But lines blur fast when secrets hide behind smirks when staged kisses linger a little too long... and when your fake life starts to feel like the only place you belong. He's not supposed to care. She's not supposed to stay. And when the contract cracks, one of them will fall.

Chapter 1 First Impressions and Desperation

"This isn't an interview. It's a proposition."

She was not shivering because of the chilly marble floors.

It was the stares.

Elena Hart was holding a rumpled resume and a prayer in the lobby of Blackwood Enterprises, also known as Billionaire Central. From the lifts with their gold accents to the bored receptionist who hadn't even bothered to look in her direction, the place glistened with power.

She moved on her heels. "Hi... I just need to speak to someone from HR."

The receptionist finally blinked. "No walk-ins," she said without looking up. "Apply online."

"I did. Twice. The site kept crashing. Please-just one chance."

She hated that her voice broke at the end.

The receptionist let out a sigh as if Elena had requested a kidney. But then, with the world's slowest finger, she pressed a button under the desk. "Someone's coming down."

And boy, someone did.

The elevator doors slid open with a smooth ding and out walked six feet of trouble wrapped in tailored gray. Sharp jawline. Sharper eyes. The kind of man who didn't walk-he owned the space around him.

Damien freaking Blackwood.

Elena felt her heart fall to her stomach.

"Is that her?" he asked in a smooth but piercing voice. Like a puzzle he was eager to solve, his eyes never left Elena and never once strayed to the receptionist.

The receptionist gave a confused nod.

He said, "Come with me."

Elena blinked. "Wait-sorry, I believe something went wrong. I'm only here for a job..

"I understand exactly why you're here."

Without saying another word, he turned and walked back into the lift.

Then threw one last command over his shoulder: "Move. I don't like wasting time."

The elevator was too quiet. Too tense. Too him.

Elena stood frozen beside him, doing her best not to breathe in his cologne or look directly at the walking wall of money beside her.

"I'm Damien Blackwood," he said. Flat. No smile. "CEO."

Okay. No pressure.

"You applied twice," he added. "Didn't finish either one."

"I tried, but the site-"

"-works fine. IT checked. You clicked out."

Busted.

"I didn't think I stood a chance," she said.

Now he gave her a direct look. Cold. Calm. Calculating. He said, "You're not here for a job." "Desperation is the reason you're here."

Her belly churned. "I'm not-"

"You are."

It wasn't cruel. Just... true. And somehow, that made it worse.

Then, for half a second, he smiled. A low, knowing, dangerous smile.

"I like that."

His office looked like a rich man's icebox-glass walls, chrome finishes, and not a single trace of actual living.

He motioned toward a chair. "Sit."

She sat, because what else could she do? Her resume was still in her hand, but at this point, it felt like a joke.

Damien sat across from her, watching. Measuring. Then:

"This isn't an interview."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right. So what is this?"

"A proposition."

She could feel the silence settling on her skin because it was so thick.

He said, as if he were pleading with her to pass the salt, "I need a fiancée." "Temporary. Fake."

Elena gazed at him as if he had developed horns. "Sorry-what?"

"I need to appear stable. Domestic. Settled. It's business."

Okay, now she was standing. "This is insane. You're insane."

He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. "Six months. One hundred thousand dollars. Final offer."

Her breath stopped.

One. Hundred. Thousand.

That kind of money? It might pay for Grandma's medications, pay off her student loans, and perhaps even buy her some peace.

"You mean it," she said quietly.

"I'm not the joking type," he said, his voice steady.

Her heart was racing. It was too much. Too fast. Too perfect to be real.

Still, she didn't leave.

She said quietly, "You're not even asking me to love you."

"No," Damien replied. "Just play the role. We both will."

Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen. A hundred grand for six months of pretending. It was ridiculous. Dangerous. And probably the worst idea she'd ever had.

But sometimes? Survival makes you say yes to things that sound a lot like mistakes.

Even though she didn't feel it, she made an effort to speak steadily. "Everything should be in writing," she declared.

Damien leaned back, the same sly smile tugging at his lips.

"I thought you might."

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