Cold nights with possessive billionaire

"Mum, stop worrying. I said I've got it handled."

Aria Lennox stood by the cracked hospital window, arms folded tight across her chest as the dreary London drizzle smudged the view outside. Inside, the room was quiet save for the occasional beeping from machines that seemed to mock her. Her mother, Elaine, looked small against the hospital bed, paler than she'd been just days ago.

"Aria... I told you not to go begging to anyone. We'll find another way."

Aria swallowed the lump in her throat. "There isn't another way, Mum. Not anymore."

The mounting medical bills, the final notice on their flat, the cold-eyed debt collectors-they weren't just knocking anymore; they were tearing down the doors. And Elaine's condition was worsening. Fast.

Aria turned from the window, brushing her damp fringe out of her face. "I've found a way to clear the debt."

Elaine's eyes, dull with fatigue, sharpened. "You didn't sell anything, did you? Aria, if you've done something stupid-"

"It's legal," Aria cut in quickly. A half-truth. The paperwork was clean, the terms agreed. It wasn't illegal-just unorthodox.

Her mother sighed, sinking deeper into the pillow. "What sort of 'way' are we talking about?"

Aria hesitated. There were many ways to phrase it. She could dress it up with euphemisms. She could lie. But what was the point?

"I'm getting married."

Elaine blinked. "Married? To whom?"

Aria bent to zip up her worn duffel bag. "Someone who needs a wife more than a relationship. It's... a contract. Six months. We both get what we need."

"This isn't one of your ridiculous novels, Aria," Elaine rasped. "You can't marry a stranger like it's some quick fix."

"I already signed."

Elaine stared, stunned silent.

Aria's voice dropped. "You always told me love wasn't everything. Well, this isn't about love. It's about keeping you alive."

The words hung in the air like fog. Aria couldn't bear the look in her mother's eyes, so she kissed her forehead, whispered a promise she didn't dare repeat aloud, and left before her resolve cracked.

---

The black car waited outside the hospital like a shadow. Aria stepped in and barely buckled herself before the driver pulled off.

She was headed to the manor. Her new home, if one could call it that.

Xander Blackwood. Billionaire. CEO. Ruthless. Cold. And soon, her husband. On paper, at least.

They'd met once. A single meeting in his office-clean lines, obsidian décor, no warmth anywhere. He'd asked three questions, she'd answered. He'd handed her the contract. She'd signed. That was it.

The manor came into view, nestled among thick trees like some modern-day castle. The car pulled through the iron gates and Aria's stomach twisted.

This wasn't a home. This was a deal sealed with ink.

---

Mrs Pembroke, the housekeeper, met her at the door. She looked like she belonged in a BBC period drama-stern, composed, and utterly unimpressed.

"Miss Lennox," she said, already turning. "Follow me. You'll be shown to your quarters."

Aria followed, her boots echoing along marble floors. The house was painfully silent. Too perfect. Like a museum with no exhibits.

Her room was upstairs. Huge. White walls, dark wood, a bed too large for someone who hadn't slept properly in weeks.

"There's a wardrobe stocked to your measurements. Mr Blackwood will dine at eight. Be presentable."

Aria blinked. "Will he be here tonight?"

"He lives here."

Right. Of course he did. This wasn't pretend. This was her life now.

She bathed quickly, chose a modest black dress, and tried to make her face look less exhausted. At eight sharp, she descended to the dining hall.

Xander was already seated. A crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open. He didn't rise. Didn't smile.

"Sit."

She did.

They ate in silence for several minutes. The food was delicious, but tasted like cardboard in her mouth.

He finally looked up. "How's your mother?"

Startled, Aria blinked. "Stable."

A nod. No follow-up. No comfort. Just blank efficiency.

When dinner ended, she stood.

"Wait," he said. "There's one thing left."

He opened a drawer from the sideboard and pulled out a velvet box. Inside, a ring-simple, elegant, sharp.

Aria hesitated before slipping it on.

His gaze lingered. "From now on, we act the part in public. Private arrangements stay private. Understood?"

She nodded.

Then, out of nowhere, he leaned in. Just close enough for his breath to brush her cheek.

"I'll have a driver take you to the hospital every morning. You'll return by six. You'll be at every event, look the part, speak when required."

"And when not required?" she asked, tone dry.

"You'll smile. That's all."

Before she could process it, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Not warm. Not possessive. But final. A signature made flesh.

She stepped back, stunned.

His eyes narrowed. "Sleep well, Mrs Blackwood."

---

That night, Aria lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling.

She was no longer Aria Lennox.

She was Aria Blackwood.

And the cost of saving her mother... was marrying a man made of frost.

Just as she drifted to sleep, her phone buzzed on the nightstand - a single message from an unknown number:

"You don't know who you've just married."