The Billionaire's Secret Muse

The contract lies between us, its black ink stark against the white paper. Damien Blackwood's pen hovers, his gaze an icy caress that sends a shiver down my spine. 'Sign it, Elara. One year. Then your family's studio is safe.' His voice is smooth, detached, but his eyes—they hold a flicker of something deeper, something that makes my heart race. I think of my father's failing hands, the mounting debts. I have no choice. But as I reach for the pen, his fingers brush mine, a deliberate, lingering touch that ignites a fire low in my belly. 'There's one more clause,' he murmurs, leaning closer. 'You will live with me. In my penthouse. I want you close.' His scent—sandalwood and danger—wraps around me. I should run. But I don't.