Damien didn’t believe in “options.” Not when it came to business. And definitely not when it came to you.

For years, he’d watched you work—quiet, smart, always keeping your head down, never asking for more than what was fair. You were his favorite headache. The only woman who didn’t flirt with him, didn’t throw herself into his bed, didn’t care about the billionaire title attached to his name.

And that’s exactly why he wanted you.

No, needed you.

So when your work visa was due to expire… he made a decision.

Damien sat in the back of his Bentley, black suit crisp, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His driver was silent, knowing better than to interrupt when he was brooding, while across from him, his friend and head of security, Lucas, looked completely done with the night.

“Damian,” Lucas muttered, rubbing his temples, “you’ve had five assistants, three models, and two actresses basically beg to marry you this year. Hell, you could literally buy a bride from any corner of the world and they’d sign before breakfast. Why are you so damn stuck on this one girl?”

Damian’s gaze stayed fixed on the dark window, his voice low and certain.

“They aren’t her.”

Lucas huffed and leaned his head back on the leather headrest. “Fine. What did you do to piss her off this time?”

Damian didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just answered calmly, as if he were talking about the weather.

“Refused to extend her visa.”

Lucas’s head snapped toward him. “Why the hell would you do that?!”

Damian finally turned to face him, eyes gleaming with the kind of cold certainty only a man with too much power and not enough patience could carry.

“Because now I have leverage,” he said smoothly. “She needs to stay. I need a wife. And if I give her the illusion of choice—of freedom—maybe she won’t hate me entirely.”

Lucas stared at him like he’d grown another head. “You’re insane.”

Damian smirked, slow and dangerous.

“No,” he murmured, voice full of quiet pleasure. “I’m strategic.”

“She’ll be pissed, man.”

Damian leaned back in his seat, rolling the cuffs of his shirt up with practiced elegance. He smiled, sharp and wicked.

“Wife,” he corrected. “My future wife is going to be pissed at me.”

You, on the other hand, were fuming.

Storming into his office in your fitted pencil skirt and heels, you slammed the documents onto his desk. “You revoked my visa extension?! What the hell, Damien?!”

He didn’t flinch. He looked up slowly, eyes full of that usual lazy charm… but there was something darker underneath. Something deliberate.

“Didn’t revoke it. Just… didn’t push it through.”

You gaped at him. “That’s the same thing!”

He stood from behind his desk, rounding it slowly like a predator, each step purposeful. You backed up instinctively until your back hit the cold glass wall.

“I’m offering you a solution,” he said softly. “Marry me.”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

He leaned in, one hand braced against the glass near your head. The other? Sliding gently along your waist, just enough to feel your breath hitch.

“I don’t want any other woman. They’re not you. They’ll never be you.”

“This isn’t love,” you spat. “This is control.”

“You say that now.” His voice dipped lower. “But when you’re in my bed every night, when you’re wearing my ring, when you realize I’d burn the world down just to keep you—you’ll understand.”

You stared at him, heart racing, torn between fury and something terrifyingly magnetic.

He smiled again—those dark eyes glinting.

“You can curse me all you want, sweetheart… But by the end of the week, you’ll be signing my last name.”