Darkly His: The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée
WARNING ⚠️: This book contains sex scenes and mature contents not fit for readers below 18+.
If you love steamy romances and emotional stories, this book is the one.
By day, Damon follows her rules in the kitchen: chopping, kneading, burning his fingers, and surviving her sharp mouth.
By night, she follows his.
Damon Blackwell is a cold, dangerous billionaire who hates Christmas, women, and anything that smells like joy. Haunted by tragedy and trauma, and memories of the girl he once loved and lost, he lives like a machine: money, control, and pleasure without attachment.
Then his grandparents and three ruthless brothers dare him to do the impossible:
Live like a normal man for 12 days to Christmas: no staff, no luxuries, no protection, no control and no bad temper. He has to change and be easygoing with investors.
Fail, and he loses the biggest business deal of his life.
Indulgence is over for him.
The only place Damon knows he can grab survival? A small-town Christmas cooking competition hosted by that one woman who broke his heart years ago.
Merry Steele never expected to see Damon again. The man she left without a word. The man who haunted her dreams after she broke his heart back now stands in her kitchen offering a deal she can't refuse:
Cook for him. Sleep with him. Pretend to be his fiancée until the end of the year.
The pay is tempting. The temptation is even greater.
Before Christmas, can they resist the heat, desire, and lingering love they once shared and keep it strictly business?
As family obligations, enemies, and a high-profile Christmas ball close in, Damon and Merry must correct old heartbreak, passion, and dangerous feelings.
Will Damon ever forgive his fuckmate?
Can Merry resist the billionaire who once stole her heart... or will old flames burn hotter than ever under the snow, the lights, and the Christmas feelings?
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Chapter 2
SIX YEARS LATER
The smell of burnt sugar filled the kitchen.
Merry Steele coughed, jolting out of her deep thoughts and waving smoke away with one hand as she yanked the pan off the stove.
The caramel had gone too far again. Bitter, blackened, useless. Just like her mood.
"Damn it," she cursed.
Her apron was dusty with flour. Her hair was tied in a messy bun that had started slipping hours ago.
The clock on the wall read 5:47 a.m. She had been up since four, fighting a failing oven and ringing the plumber over a leaking pipe, trying to prepare pastries that barely sold enough to keep the lights on.
Outside, the early winter sky was pale and cold.
She scraped the ruined sugar into the trash and leaned both palms on the counter, breathing slowly.
Rent was overdue. Her father's medication cost more every month. Her sister's college tuition reminder sat unread on her phone. And the landlord had already hinted that his patience was running thin.
She closed her eyes shut.
History seems to be repeating itself. Don't think about him.
The thought came anyway.
Snow. A voice. A face that hardly softened.
Her chest tightened.
She turned up the mp3 player to drown it out.
****
****
Damon Blackwell stood in front of a wall of windows seventy three floors above the street, fingers wrapped around a crystal tumbler. The city woke far downstairs with cars horning and people moving.
He felt nothing.
Behind him, a voice cleared. "You were late yesterday."
Damon didn't turn. "I own my time."
Jeffery sighed. "You also own responsibilities."
"Spare me that, Jeff."
Silence.
Damon finally turned. His suit was immaculate. His face beautifully carved from discipline.
The man had no softness left in him. No warmth. Just control.
"Board meeting's in an hour," Jeffery said. "They're watching you closely."
"They always are."
"You're still unstable, man. Your father's going crazy about it."
Damon's jaw flexed. "I'm keeping their money safe. That should satisfy them."
"It doesn't. You need to clean up your image," Thomas added. "No scandals. No explosions. They enjoy your diligence but...."
Damon's eyes darkened.
"Say what you mean." He said.
"I mean," Jeffery said carefully, "you need a woman."
Silence slammed between them.
"A fiancée. A wife. A presence. Someone who makes you look human."
Damon let out a slow, humorless breath. "I don't pretend to love."
"You said you did it once."
"Fuck you, Jeffery. I was drunk."
Jeffery grinned. "Think about it. I can always help with the preparations."
When the door shut, Damon finally moved-one hand gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles whitened.
His chest burned.
A familiar pressure crawled up his throat.
Not now.
He reached for the drawer and pulled out the pill bottle. Shook it once. Twice.
Empty.
His breath hitched.
The memory came uninvited.
Snow. A door. Her voice saying his name like it meant something.
He slammed the drawer shut.
He buzzed the intercom.
"Mrs Harvey. Send my pills in now."
****
****
Merry dropped a tray of cupcakes onto the display shelf just as her phone buzzed.
A message from the bank.
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
Her throat tightened.
She leaned against the counter, dizzy.
"Breathe," she whispered.
The bell above the door jingled as her waitress walked in late, offering a rushed greeting and apology. Merry nodded, barely hearing her.
She wiped her hands and checked her messages again.
A new message notification flashed across the screen.
From: BlackByte Corporate Affairs.
Her heart slammed.
She didn't open it.
Five years ago, she'd walked away from a boy who couldn't love her out loud.
Now the man he'become was suddenly knocking on her life again.
She stared at the unopened email, fingers trembling.
Don't.
She clicked it anyway.
"We would like to formally invite you to discuss a business proposition involving a private culinary contract..."
Her breath caught.
The name at the bottom burned through her eyes.
Damon Blackwell.
The room swam.
She closed her eyes-and for a split second, she could hear his voice again.
"I just need space."
Her hands shook.
"No," she whispered. "Not again."
Across the city, Damon stared at his reflection in the glass.
His phone buzzed.
A notification from his assistant.
"She opened the message. No reply yet."
His chest tightened painfully.
****
****
It was three days now and Merry Steele wasn't showing any sign of interest.
The phone buzzed.
Merry glanced at the screen, frowned at the unfamiliar number, then answered.
"Yes?"
A cold yet soothing tenor came in.
"Hello, Merry Steele. Damon Blackwell on the line. You're invited to BlackByte tomorrow...."
No greeting. No introduction.
She blinked once. "Pardon?"
A pause. Calm. Annoyingly sure of itself.
"You heard me, Steele."
Her mouth curved slightly - not a smile. More like disbelief.
"Ah...." she said. "Behold the audacity."
"Call it anything. You'll report to BlackByte by 12 today," he continued. "You'll be compensated well."
"You're calling a stranger and issuing commands. Is this how you usually introduce business?"
"I don't waste time."
"Sadly, you've wasted some today."
Controlled irritation slipped into his voice. Just a bit.
"Stop being difficult!"
Merry laughed softly. Dry. "No, I'm being sensible. There's a difference."
"You applied here...."
"Years ago," she corrected. "Stupidest attempt of my life."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"I need someone competent," he said. "You'll do."
"You don't need me."
"You're overthinking this."
"And you're underthinking basic respect."
"You'll regret turning this down."
Her smile vanished.
"That line only works when I care. But, sadly, I don't."
A breath on the other end. Sharper now.
"Be at my office tomorrow."
"No."
Flat. Clean. Final.
She ended the call.
Her phone buzzed instantly.
She didn't look at it.
Merry exhaled slowly, irritation boiling all through her mind.
Not because he was intimidating.
But because he'd spoken like someone used to being obeyed, and she hated that it still made her spine straighten.
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8.6
It was my birthday, but instead of celebrating, I was bleeding on the floor of my own bedroom. My sister Serena had just smashed a champagne bottle over my legs, her eyes filled with a dark madness because our father allowed me to wear the family diamonds.
To escape her, I bolted into a pitch-black guest suite, only to be grabbed by a man who felt like a wall of solid muscle. He was drugged, unstable, and pinned me against the wall, his teeth sinking into my neck in a primal claim that left a permanent mark.
I managed to flee, but the nightmare was just beginning. My father didn't care about my injuries; he only cared that I had "insulted" the man in that room—Delos French, the most powerful CEO in New York. He threatened to stop paying for my mother’s critical care facility unless I went to Delos and begged for his forgiveness.
My brother Julian was even worse, intentionally pouring scalding coffee over my bandaged wounds just to see me flinch. They forced me into a revealing gold dress, treating me like a high-priced commodity to be sold to the highest bidder to save their failing company.
I didn't understand how the people who were supposed to love me could be more predatory than the monster in the dark. I had spent my life fixing their scandals, yet they were ready to throw me to the wolves the moment I became useful as a pawn.
But when I stood before Delos French at his gala, he didn't see a trophy. He recognized my scent, my touch, and the fire in my eyes. He trapped me in his private lounge, kneeling to clean the blood from my injured feet.
"Marry me," he whispered, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "And I will give you the power to burn your family to the ground."
I looked into the eyes of the man who had hunted me and realized he was the only one offering me a weapon to destroy the people who had broken me.
"Okay," I whispered.
8.9
For three years, Alana acted as the sole tactical brain for the Dawnbreaker squad, keeping them alive despite being labeled a useless "Dud" Conduit.
But right before the crucial Ascension Trials, squad leader Cash handed her a corporate sponsorship contract. The condition? She had to become the "private companion" to a greasy corporate heir just so the squad could get high-tier gear.
When she refused, the teammates she had bled for unanimously voted to kick her out.
"You're just window dressing, a liability."
They revoked her safehouse access, burned her belongings, and the academy advisor even tried to force her into a state-sanctioned breeding program. They left her to freeze in the slums, betting she would desperately crawl into the rich man's bed.
What they didn't know was that her inability to summon an Eidolon wasn't a lack of talent. Her teammate Dallin had been secretly sabotaging her rituals for years, crippling her potential just to keep her chained as their free tactician.
Stripped of everything and pushed to the absolute brink, Alana's despair morphed into a deadly resolve.
Using a million-credit black market loan and a forbidden blood matrix, she forcibly anchored an Apex-Tier cosmic wolf disguised as a harmless silver pup.
When her ex-squad tried to publicly humiliate her and burn her new "pet" alive in the cafeteria, a flash of silver light severed Dallin's hand instantly.
Looking at her screaming former teammates, Alana finally smiled.
8.4
Everything in Chris' world changes when he meets Kate.
Chris Cena who is a young billionaire CEO controls one of the most powerful empires built by his late father.
Chris lives under the shadow of his mother, Elisabeth Cena. The ruthless woman who once ruled the empire before handing it to him.
Kate Milmar who is brillant, sensual and emotionally guarded moves confidently among powerful men without ever allowing herself to belong to any of them.
When she publicly challenges a wealthy client, her fearless defiance immediately captures Chris's attention.
Chris offers her a dangerous proposal for her to leave her world and exclusively belong to him.
As their attraction grows slowly, Kate notices strange cracks in the history of the Cena Empire. Chris's father died suddenly years earlier and in the aftermath, Elisabeth took control of the company briefly before passing it to her son.
What once seemed like a normal transition begins to look suspicious as Kate uncovers missing records, hidden documents and a mysterious change in the company's will.
Elisabeth sees Kate as a threat to both her son and the legacy she had built and a silent war begins between the two women .
Chris gets caught between his loyalty to his mother and the growing feelings he has for Kate.
9.3
"Adrian, why would you lie to me? Why would you let her push my mum like that?"
Yvonne's voice trembled, holding back tears.
Adrian smirked. "Wake up, Yvonne. You really thought I wanted you when Tricia was right here?"
That was how Adrian-her first crush, the boy she thought cared-chose to humiliate her in front of everyone as she was the cleaner's adopted daughter.
But fate had other plans.
Because the Diamond Belfort brothers-the heirs everyone adored were coming to their school in search of their missing heiress- baby sister. But the queen bee steals the chance that should have been hers. Then again, secrets don't stay buried forever. With her true identity waiting to explode, Yvonne must decide to rise from the ashes, claim her place, and bring down everyone who tried to destroy her.
Because the real heiress doesn't beg.
She takes rather.
Now, Yvonne is done playing small. It's her time to rise, reclaim her crown, and make everyone regret ever doubting her.
7.9
Eileen Goff was a nobody, scrubbing diner tables to survive while her greedy family bled her dry.
On the eve of her twentieth birthday, the government's mandatory marriage algorithm matched her with a spouse.
It wasn't a plumber or a teacher. It was Harrison Butler, the ruthless, untouchable billionaire king of Butler Industries.
At the registry, Harrison's glamorous intended fiancée threw a half-million-dollar check at her.
"Take the money, get out of here, and never show your face again."
The registry supervisor even offered her a million dollars to sign a cancellation agreement, trying to erase her from the system.
At their first high-society gala, Harrison's stepmother and the fiancée locked Eileen in an empty room, plotting to humiliate her and prove she was just cheap trash.
Eileen was terrified and confused. Men like Harrison Butler didn't just accept federal matches with girls who smelled like fried onions.
But instead of abandoning her, Harrison smashed the door open, publicly banished his own family, and kissed her in front of the entire city's elite.
Why was this billionaire going to such extreme lengths to protect a complete stranger?
Then she overheard his assistant talking about a marriage clause in his grandfather's trust fund.
He didn't love her; he just needed a powerless, state-mandated wife to lock his parasitic family out of his empire.
Realizing she was a highly valuable pawn, Eileen stopped trembling, looked the billionaire in the eye, and spoke.
"I believe we can have more than just a legal relationship. We can have a business arrangement."
7.7
Silas Vane, a billionaire on the edge of ruin, needs his ex-wife's signature to save his tech empire-and June Ashby, his scorned orchard-owning ex, wants only one thing: to make him suffer.
The deal is brutal, simple, and non-negotiable: Silas must move back to their small hometown, trade his silk suits for calloused hands, and work the orchard harvest for six months. Worse? He has to play her doting husband for the press-fake marriage, real contract, no room for error.
What starts as a revenge-fueled game quickly spirals. As the sun dips below the orchard trees, old sparks reignite, and the line between fake and real blurs into something dangerous.
Silas came to town for a patent to save his empire. But he might just walk away with a broken contract-and a heart completely owned by the woman who set out to destroy him.