The smell of worn paper and old wood filled the cramped room behind the bookstore counter, but it no longer brought comfort. Instead, it felt like a cruel reminder — a scent soaked in memories that were slipping away faster than I could hold on.
Harper & Sons was dying.
I sank into the faded leather chair, the one Dad had picked out when he first opened this place twenty-five years ago. His fingers had gripped that counter, his dreams stitched into every corner of this store. Now, it was just me, trying to stitch the frayed edges of our family's legacy before it unraveled completely.
The worn ledger sat open on the desk, and my eyes scanned the figures again — numbers that screamed failure in cold, precise language. Our profits had shrunk month after month, squeezed out by the sprawling shadow of Blackwell Corporation looming over every small business in town.
Mom's soft sobs echoed from the kitchen, where she sat with Dad, their hands intertwined but trembling with helplessness.
"Lila," Dad said quietly as he approached, his face drawn and pale under the dim light. "We have a problem."
I looked up to see the envelope he held out, thick and official. I didn't want to see it, but I knew what it was before I even opened it.
The eviction notice from our landlord.
Thirty days.
Thirty days to close the doors of the only home Harper & Sons had ever known.
I forced myself to meet their eyes. "There has to be another way. We can fight this."
Mom shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Dominic Blackwell isn't someone you fight. He's a storm — unstoppable, relentless."
The name hit me like a slap. Dominic Blackwell — the billionaire tycoon who had turned small businesses into his personal chess pieces, who crushed dreams beneath his empire's iron boots without a second thought.
And now, his eyes were set on our little bookstore.
That afternoon, I found myself standing in front of the Blackwell Corporation skyscraper — a monument of glass and steel reflecting the sky like a mirror that showed nothing but cold indifference.
Every step inside felt heavier than the last, the sterile lobby humming with quiet efficiency. My hands trembled slightly as I clutched the folder containing my proposal — a desperate, fragile hope to save my family's legacy.
And then, like a force of nature, Dominic Blackwell appeared.
He was everything the rumors promised and more — tall, impossibly elegant in a tailored suit that made him look like a man born to rule. His dark hair was perfectly styled, but it was his eyes that held me captive — sharp, calculating, and disturbingly magnetic.
"Ms. Harper," he greeted me with a slow, deliberate smile that made the air between us crackle. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I'm here to talk about my family's business," I said, voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "It's in danger of being swallowed by your corporation's expansion."
His smile didn't falter. "You're brave, coming here alone."
"I'm not here to negotiate pleasantries." I squared my shoulders. "I want to save Harper & Sons."
Dominic stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. The faint scent of leather and something darker wrapped around me like a challenge.
"What do you propose?" he asked.
Before I could respond, his assistant glided forward, presenting a sleek portfolio. Dominic opened it with a practiced motion, revealing a contract that gleamed under the bright lights.
He looked at me, his eyes cold and unreadable. "Marry me. One year, contract marriage. In return, your family's business remains untouched."
The words slammed into me like a punch.
"Are you out of your mind?" I hissed, pushing the chair back. "I'm not some bargaining chip in your game."
His gaze sharpened, a predator's smile curling his lips. "You already are. The question is whether you'll play along — or watch your family lose everything."
The weight of the contract pressed down on me, and my heart twisted in a battle between pride and desperation.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look into those dark eyes — eyes that held promises and threats all at once.
"Fine," I whispered, voice breaking. "One year."