Chapter 4 - THE CONTRACT WITH ONE RULE DAMIAN COULDN’T BUY
The police photographed the threat.
Damian’s private security photographed it.
Phoebe photographed everyone photographing it.
Nadia noticed.
“Why?”
“Because I want my own copy of what happens to me.”
Nadia nodded approvingly.
Good.
At two in morning, Damian wanted Phoebe moved.
Not asked.
Wanted.
He stood in the employee sitting room with Marco Bellini, his head of security, and attorney Leah Park, who had been called from downtown.
“We have a secure apartment.”
Phoebe folded her arms.
“I have a room.”
“Someone reached that room.”
“Yes.”
“That makes it compromised.”
“It makes your mansion compromised.”
Marco almost coughed.
Damian stared.
Phoebe continued.
“If I leave, does everyone else?”
“No.”
“Then solve mansion security.”
“Phoebe.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
This was where change becomes difficult.
It is easy to respect no when stakes are dinner.
Harder when fear arrives.
Damian said:
“I cannot allow—”
Phoebe stood.
“You don’t allow where I sleep.”
Silence.
Leah Park looked toward ceiling.
Probably enjoying billable hour.
Damian closed eyes.
When he opened them, anger remained.
But voice changed.
“You’re right.”
Good.
He looked at Marco.
“What can we offer?”
Offer.
Not order.
Marco said, “Temporary room on secured family floor, or hotel under independent booking, or additional agent outside employee wing.”
Phoebe considered.
“Agent.”
“Inside?”
“Outside.”
“Two?”
“One.”
“Phoebe.”
“One.”
Damian breathed.
“Okay.”
That was how first threat ended.
Not with Damian winning.
With compromise.
The next morning, Phoebe met the independent attorney Damian had offered.
She paid the consultation herself.
It hurt.
One hour cost nearly half a week’s wages.
Still worth it.
Attorney, Simone Harris, read proposed fake-relationship confidentiality agreement Damian’s team had drafted after gala publicity.
“This is too broad.”
Phoebe smiled.
“I thought so.”
“It prevents you from discussing nearly anything involving Mr. DeMarco.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Can we rewrite?”
“Yes.”
They did.
Phoebe wanted a short agreement because media now believed she and Damian were romantically involved.
The public appearance had created professional and safety consequences.
She would agree to maintain privacy about security and legitimate confidential business matters she observed while employed.
Nothing more.
No restriction on discussing her own life.
No clause preventing her from reporting misconduct.
No penalty for ending public arrangement.
No morals clause.
No control over clothing.
No exclusivity unless they both explicitly agreed the relationship became real.
Simone raised eyebrow.
“You expect that?”
“No.”
“Then why include?”
“Because billionaires have lawyers who think three months ahead.”
Simone smiled.
“Correct.”
Damian read revised agreement that afternoon.
His attorney expected objections.
He signed.
Without change.
Phoebe stared.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to negotiate?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because most of your edits are things I should not have requested initially.”
That answer was irritatingly mature.
Then he added his own handwritten line.
PHOEBE’S EMPLOYMENT STATUS, HOURS, PAY, HOUSING, AND REFERENCES SHALL NOT BE AFFECTED BY THE PERSONAL ARRANGEMENT OR ITS END.
She looked up.
“Your lawyers approve this?”
“They will survive.”
Good.
Public arrangement extended seven days.
Not because Phoebe loved idea.
Because gala photographs were everywhere.
Walking away immediately might look like Damian used her to humiliate Gianna.
That mattered to Phoebe.
Gianna had not deserved that.
Damian also needed time to determine whether threat was linked to Salvatore, Enzo, or some outsider angry about failed alliance.
Phoebe agreed to two public appearances.
A foundation luncheon.
One dinner.
No kissing requirement.
No private travel.
No money.
One rule she added verbally:
“If you protect me by taking my choices away, I leave.”
Damian looked at her.
“Even if leaving makes you less safe?”
“Yes.”
He hated it.
She saw.
“Why?”
He asked.
“Because I have spent my entire life having people decide what is best for me because they think my size means I should be grateful anyone cares.”
His expression changed.
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
She laughed without humor.
“Doctors who blame every symptom on weight.”
“Dates who expect secrecy because being seen with me threatens their image.”
“Customers who call me sweet because they assume I’m safe and desperate.”
“Relatives who say I have a pretty face.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
Phoebe continued.
“Protection can become another version of that.”
“I know better.”
“Do you?”
Silence.
Good.
“Then learn.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
The foundation luncheon was the following day.
Smaller than gala.
More dangerous socially.
Now everyone knew.
Phones appeared.
Whispers.
Damian did not touch Phoebe until she reached for his arm first.
She noticed.
So did Salvatore.
His uncle approached.
“Phoebe.”
“Mr. DeMarco.”
“You’ve become famous.”
“I was hoping for dental insurance instead.”
Salvatore looked confused.
Damian almost smiled.
Then Salvatore lowered voice.
“This world can be unkind.”
Phoebe stared.
“Which world?”
“Ours.”
“I wasn’t aware I joined.”
“People will assume things.”
“They usually do.”
“They may say Damian is using you.”
Phoebe’s chest tightened.
“Is he?”
Salvatore smiled.
“That depends how long you remain useful.”
There.
Not subtle.
Damian stepped forward.
Phoebe touched his wrist.
Again.
She had this.
“Mr. DeMarco.”
“Yes?”
“Is this how you talk to women when your nephew is standing beside them?”
Salvatore’s smile thinned.
“I speak honestly.”
“No.”
Phoebe smiled.
“You speak indirectly enough to pretend later you didn’t insult anyone.”
Damian looked away to hide reaction.
Salvatore’s eyes chilled.
“You’re clever.”
“I’m a maid.”
The words came deliberately.
“People talk around us.”
Salvatore left.
Damian looked at her.
“I should hire you for negotiations.”
“No.”
“Fair.”
Then Gianna arrived unexpectedly.
Without father.
She asked Damian:
“Can I speak to Phoebe?”
He looked at Phoebe.
Her choice.
“Yes.”
They walked to quiet gallery.
Gianna handed her folded paper.
Phoebe did not open.
“What is it?”
“A copy of a draft agreement.”
“Between?”
“Our families.”
Phoebe frowned.
“Why give me?”
“Because Damian will assume anything I give him directly might be manipulated by my father.”
“He’ll assume less if I carry it?”
“No.”
Gianna’s expression sharpened.
“You will ask questions he won’t.”
That was probably true.
“Why not your lawyer?”
“My lawyer reports to my father.”
There.
Gianna was richer than Phoebe could imagine.
Still controlled.
“What agreement?”
“Marriage trust.”
Phoebe’s stomach turned.
“It transfers voting interests.”
“Whose?”
“Mine and Damian’s future marital entities.”
“Damian hasn’t agreed.”
“I know.”
“So how?”
“My father and Salvatore designed conditions around family trusts.”
Phoebe looked at paper.
“I’m not qualified.”
“No.”
Gianna’s voice softened.
“But you’re outside the system.”
That could matter.
Phoebe handed paper back.
“No.”
Gianna stared.
“I can’t be your courier.”
“Why?”
“Because Damian and I are already pretending publicly. If I secretly carry documents from you, I become part of whatever family war this is.”
Gianna’s shoulders dropped.
“Right.”
Phoebe thought.
“Do you have independent counsel?”
“No.”
“Get one.”
“With what?”
Phoebe stared at her designer dress.
Gianna laughed bitterly.
“Money isn’t problem.”
“Control is.”
“Yes.”
Phoebe wrote Simone Harris’s name.
“My lawyer.”
“Yours?”
“Independent.”
“Not Damian?”
“Exactly.”
Gianna took card.
Then:
“You’re not what they said.”
Phoebe stiffened.
“What did they say?”
Gianna hesitated.
“That you were desperate.”
There it was.
“Because I’m a maid?”
“Partly.”
“Because I’m fat?”
Gianna winced.
“Yes.”
Phoebe nodded.
“Good to know.”
“I didn’t believe—”
“You did enough to remember.”
Gianna looked ashamed.
Fair.
Then she said:
“My father believes women who are afraid of losing a man are easy to control.”
Phoebe smiled faintly.
“Then your father doesn’t know me.”
Gianna smiled back.
“No.”
“He definitely doesn’t.”
That evening Phoebe returned to mansion.
The agent outside employee wing remained.
No new threat.
She showered.
Changed.
Then found Damian in library.
Same place this began.
He looked up.
“Everything okay?”
“Gianna tried to give me a marriage agreement.”
His face hardened.
“She what?”
Phoebe explained.
“And?”
“I refused.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.”
She sat.
“You need to know she’s frightened.”
Damian’s anger shifted.
“Of Enzo?”
“And maybe Salvatore.”
He looked down.
“I should have spoken to her months ago.”
“Yes.”
He accepted.
Phoebe studied him.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought refusing my uncle was enough.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
Then Damian said:
“I’m meeting Gianna tomorrow with independent counsel.”
Good.
“Her choice?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Then he looked at Phoebe.
“I’m sorry people talked about your body.”
She stiffened.
“Who told you?”
“Gianna told me what was being said.”
Of course.
Phoebe shrugged.
“I’m used to it.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“No.”
“But don’t start threatening people because they called me fat.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
She raised eyebrow.
“I was considering buying their companies.”
Phoebe laughed.
Actually laughed.
“See? This is exactly what I mean.”
“I know.”
“Damian.”
“I’m joking.”
“Are you?”
A pause.
“Mostly.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then his voice softened.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t see you as an exception to what I want.”
Her heart stumbled.
“Fake-boyfriend line?”
“No.”
Dangerous.
Phoebe stood.
“Our seven days are not over.”
“I know.”
“Don’t make them complicated.”
His eyes held hers.
“They became complicated when I arrived at Lakeview.”
She walked away before he could see how much that affected her.
The next morning, Gianna failed to appear for her meeting with independent counsel.
Her phone was off.
Her apartment empty.
Her driver claimed she had canceled all appointments.
Enzo Rinaldi said she had gone to Europe.
Damian did not believe him.
Neither did Phoebe.
And at noon, Simone Harris received a package from Gianna.
Inside was the marriage agreement.
May you like
And a handwritten note.
IF I DISAPPEAR, ASK WHO BENEFITS FROM DAMIAN MARRYING A WOMAN WHO CAN’T SAY NO.
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