Zara Martin clutched her duffel bag tightly as the city lights blurred past the taxi window. Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, her eyes rimmed with the sting of betrayal. Just hours ago, she'd walked in on her long-time boyfriend entangled with her best friend—laughing, unbothered, as if her love meant nothing.
Her family hadn't answered her calls. Again. They never did when she truly needed them. All she had now were broken pieces, shattered pride, and a vague desire to start over.
The cab driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "You okay, miss?"
Zara swallowed hard. "I will be."
The driver nodded silently and turned up the radio. The melody of a love song filled the silence, thick with irony.
As the car pulled to a stop at a quiet corner near downtown, Zara paid and stepped out. She had no plan, no place to go. Just her determination not to return.
The street was dimly lit. She turned to walk when headlights flared behind her. A sleek black van rolled to a stop, the tinted windows adding an eerie edge. Before she could react, the door slid open.
An older woman in her sixties stepped out. Elegant. Composed. Sharp eyes and silver hair pulled neatly into a bun.
"You're Zara Martin?" the woman asked with uncanny certainty.
Zara froze. "Who's asking?"
"My name is Eleanor Blackwood. I believe we're fated to meet."
Zara blinked. "Do I know you?"
"No. But you will. And you'll come with me. Because you have no one else to turn to, and something tells me you're not afraid of the unknown."
Zara took a cautious step back. "You're a stranger."
"And yet," Eleanor said calmly, "I know your heart is broken. Your family has failed you. And the man you gave your love to? Unworthy."
Zara stared, stunned.
"I offer you a choice," Eleanor continued. "Come with me, and your life will change. There is a man—my grandsonwhose life may depend on yours. Or… walk away, and go back to being invisible."
Zara looked at the van, then at the lonely street behind her.
"I don't do cults," she said flatly.
Eleanor chuckled. "Neither do I. I deal in destiny."
It sounded insane. But Zara's instincts didn't scream danger. Just… mystery.
And perhaps, hope.
She climbed into the van.
Eleanor gave a satisfied nod as the door closed. "Wise choice."
***
The drive was silent for a while. Eleanor studied Zara with curiosity.
"You're stronger than you know," she said.
"I'm tired of being strong," Zara murmured. "It's exhausting."
Eleanor's expression softened slightly. "You won't have to be alone anymore."
After nearly an hour, they arrived at a grand estate tucked away from the bustle of the city. The gates opened as if by magic, revealing manicured gardens and a towering mansion.
"This is where Damien lives," Eleanor said. "He's… unwell. Terminally ill, though the media doesn't know."
Zara frowned. "I'm sorry. But why me?"
"Because an oracle said his fate is tied to a woman who bears the scars of betrayal. A woman with a will strong enough to stand beside him. You fit the vision."
"That sounds like nonsense."
Eleanor gave a sad smile. "And yet here you are, defying logic."
They entered the house. A butler greeted them. The air inside was warm, rich with old money and quiet tragedy.
"He doesn't know about you yet," Eleanor said. "You'll meet him tomorrow. Tonight, rest."
Zara was led to a guest room with silk sheets and a chandelier above the bed. It felt like a dream or a trap.
She didn't sleep much that night.
But deep down, something whispered that this decision—this strange turn of fate—was only the beginning.
*The Billionaire and the Bargain*
Damien Blackwood stared out from his balcony, the city skyline gleaming in the morning haze. His fingers wrapped tightly around a whiskey tumbler half empty, just like the rest of his life. The air was crisp, but it did little to cool the restlessness boiling in his chest.
Six years. That was all the doctor gave him.
He was twenty-four now. That left… what? Not even enough time to fix the wreckage he'd inherited of his health, of his family's legacy, and of the enemies circling like vultures around Blackwood Enterprises.
Behind him, the sliding door opened quietly. He didn't turn.
"Grandmother," he said dryly.
"Damien," Eleanor answered, stepping beside him.
"Why are you always trying to save something that's already dying?" His voice was laced with bitterness.
She gave him a long look. "Because I refuse to bury you. Not yet."
He scoffed and took another sip.
"I've brought someone," Eleanor said.
Now, he turned. "Another healer? Therapist? Prophet?"
"None of those. A girl. A woman, rather. Someone… different."
Damien arched a brow. "You brought me a woman like I'm a lonely prince and you're matchmaking?"
"She's more than that," Eleanor said evenly. "She's a choice."
"A choice for what?"
"To live. Maybe even to feel something again."
Damien laughed. It was bitter, sharp. "I don't need a babysitter, and I certainly don't need your magical fate girl."
"She's not magic," Eleanor said. "She's broken, like you. But unlike you, she hasn't given up."
Damien's expression shifted slightly.
"I'll meet her once," he said finally. "After that, you stay out of it."
Eleanor nodded. "That's all I ask."
***
Zara stood in front of the mirror, her hands wringing the hem of the dress the maid had helped her into. Soft blue, simple, elegant. Her curls were pulled back loosely, and though her eyes still carried the weight of last night, there was a quiet fire within them.
She wasn't sure what she was doing here.
But something told her to see it through.
A knock came at the door.
"Miss Martin," the butler called. "Mr. Blackwood will see you now."
Her heart kicked. She took a breath and stepped out, following the butler through winding halls and into a sitting room that felt more like a modern museum.
Damien stood by the window, back turned, tall and sharp in a black shirt and slacks. He turned slowly when she entered.
Their eyes met.
For a beat, the air stilled.
Zara wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't this. Damien was coldly beautiful intense hazel eyes, tousled dark hair, and an expression that looked like it had forgotten how to smile. He looked at her like he was trying to solve a riddle.
"And you are?" he asked.
"Zara," she said, voice steady.
He nodded once. "So. My grandmother thinks you're my miracle."
"She told me about your condition," Zara said quietly. "And the prophecy. I think it's ridiculous, to be honest."
His lips twitched barely. "Good. I prefer honesty."
They studied each other.
"I'm not here to fall in love with you," she said.
"Excellent," he replied. "I'm not here to be saved."
A strange silence followed. Then he added, "But you're here. So we might as well make it work."
"Work?" Zara asked. "What does that mean?"
Damien walked toward her, slowly. "A marriage. On paper. To calm the board, silence the rumors, and maybe, just maybe, buy me some time."
Zara blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I need a wife," Damien said flatly. "You need a new life. Let's help each other."
Zara stared at him, stunned. "You want to marry a stranger?"
"It won't be real. Just appearances. A few public events. You get a new home, protection, and compensation. I get peace."
Zara folded her arms. "And if I say no?"
"You're free to leave," Damien said. "But something tells me you're not ready to walk away."
She hesitated.
It was insane.
But… what did she have to lose?
She lifted her chin. "Fine. But I have rules."
Damien's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Let's hear them."
"No touching. No interference in my personal space. And no lies."
He smirked. "Agreed. I have a few of my own."
"Let's hear them."
"No drama. No emotions. And no expectations."
Zara nodded. "Deal."
And just like that, fate began to write its story.
Not with love.
But with a bargain.
A dangerous, fragile bargain.