CHAPTER FOUR

ARI’S POV:

Blackwood Holdings was nothing like the pictures in the financial blogs.

In person, it was a monument. A tower of dark, reflective glass that speared the morning sky, so tall I had to tip my head all the way back to see where it ended. It didn’t just stand among the other buildings, it dominated them, cold and sleek and untouchable.

I clutched my small, worn purse to my side, my knuckles white. Get it together, Ari. I shook my head, and walked toward the entrance.

The automatic glass doors slid open silently.

If the outside was imposing, the inside was… another world.

The lobby was huge and quiet. The ceiling felt miles high. The floor was a smooth, pale stone that shone under soft lights. The air was cool and smelled clean, like lemon and expensive air freshener.

People moved through it quietly, dressed in perfect, grey suits. They looked like they’d never worn anything secondhand in their lives. Unlike me.

A tall man in a perfectly tailored black suit approached the small cluster of us hovering near the security desk. I wasn’t the only interviewee. A few others stood, clutching folders, adjusting ties, their faces having the same nervous hope I felt.

“Good morning. Are you here for the junior executive assistant interviews?” His voice was even clear.

We all nodded or murmured a “yes.”

“I am Martin Vance, Mr. Thorne’s executive secretary. Please follow me.”

He led us to a checkpoint, issued temporary passes, and handed each of us a lanyard with a card. INTERVIEWEE – 8:00 AM BLOCK. I slipped it over my head.

This was it. My only real chance. Not just for a job, but for a lifeline. For Mom’s treatments, for Lena’s tuition, for a way out of the drowning dark.

This could be the page where my new life began.

I sat in the air-conditioned waiting room. But even the chill in the air couldn’t stop me from sweating on the inside. I chewed on the inside of my lip.

I was last. Every other person called before me had walked into the meeting room and come out minutes later wearing a strange look. And each one was quietly escorted out by security. No one spoke. No one looked back.

I had no idea what was happening in there.

By the time my name was called, my nerves were wound tight. I stood up, smoothed my cheap dress, and took a shallow breath.

Well. Here goes nothing. Or everything.

The man on the other side of the table was unfamiliar. Late thirties, maybe. Stern face, thin-framed glasses resting low on his nose. He didn’t smile.

“You’re Ari Johnson. Twenty-four years old.”

“Yes… yes, sir,”

He hummed, flipping through a file in front of him. “Who is your father?”

I blinked. “My father?”

He glared at me and It pushed the answer out of me.

“I… don’t know where he is. He was a drunk. He left my mom and my sister years ago.”

“I believe he left significant debt.”

Was that a question or a statement? “Yes. He did.”

“And you are the one attempting to pay it.”

I nodded slowly. What kind of interview was this? I came for a job, not to have my life picked apart.

“And your mother has cancer. Without extensive treatment, she will die.”

That was it.

I stood up. My chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Is this an interview,” I said, my voice trembling, “or a mockery of someone’s life?”

“Miss, I advise you to sit down.”

“No.” I pointed a finger at him, my hand shaking. He didn’t flinch. “I’m done with these questions. Are you so bored that you hold fake interviews just to make fun of people?”

The door opened during my outburst.

The man across from me stood up immediately, his posture stiffening. “Good morning, Mr. Thorne.”

Mr. Thorne?

As in the CEO.

I turned slowly.

And there he was. Mr night sea blue eyes. The man from the restaurant. His lips were set in a thin line. Everything about him was hard, carved from stone and authority.

I swallowed thickly. All my angry words vanished, lost somewhere deep in my stomach.

“Miss," he said, his voice a low, husky vibration in the quiet room. “It seems there is a problem.”

A shiver I couldn’t control ran straight through me.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to steady. "Your employee seems to enjoy humiliating people. Is that company policy?"

Mr Thorne’s expression didn’t change. "Yes. You’re right, Miss. I do take a certain… satisfaction in listening to the circumstances of a person’s life. Especially when it benefits me."

My hands tightened around my purse strap. Then a cold, sickening realization hit me. "How do you even know all this?"

He didn't answer. Just held my gaze, steady and unblinking.

And it clicked. "You ran a background check. On every applicant. That's an invasion of privacy. I could go to the police. They’d arrest you for—"

He cut me off, his voice dangerously calm. "You’re free to try. Let’s see who they believe."

My breath caught. "What do you want from me?"

He turned his head slightly toward the other man and gave a faint nod.

The man adjusted his glasses. "Miss Johnson, of all the applicants, you are the most… qualified for this position."

"What position?"

"You’re to be Mr. Thorne’s wife."

The air left the room.

"…What?" I didn’t know when I started laughing. “I’m done here.”

“I will pay all your debts,” he said, his voice even. “I will ensure your mother receives the best treatment available. I will compensate you generously.”

I turned and glared at him, this beautiful, cold man in his perfect suit. “Take your money,” I said, “and shove it.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I brushed past him, my shoulder hitting his arm harder than I’d intended, and walked out of the office without looking back.

I was qualified, my foot. My life was more miserable, they meant. Why did he have to hold interviews to claim a wife when most ladies are willing to be my his side.

The more I thought about it, the more I was getting angry. This was my only hope.

I was already a block away from Blackwood holdings when my phone rang, and it was Lena. I picked it up, "Lena can you believe what just–"

"Sis, they want to take mum off the machines." Her voice choked and trembling. "I'm calling my sister now. Please don't do that. Please."

"Lena." My blood running cold. "talk to me. What is happening?" My legs picking up in haste.

“They said… the last payment didn’t clear. We can’t afford the next phase of treatment." She broke into sob.

“I’m coming. Don’t let them do anything. I’m on my way.”

My legs moved before my mind could catch up. I was already running back to the Blackwood's holding. My heels slapping against the pavement, my heart beating too fast.

The receptionist looked up. "Miss, you can't_"

"Is Mr. Thorne still here?" My voice was shaking.

"I need to check_"

I didn't wait. I ran for the elevators.

Security moved."Miss! Stop!"

I slammed my palm against the button. The doors slid open. I jumped in and pressed the floor number, my finger stabbing the same button over and over.

The doors closed just as hands reached for them.

I leaned against the cold metal wall, gasping.

When the doors opened. I ran out, confused, the hallway stretching in both directions. I didn't know where to go.

Then I saw Mr. Vance stepping out of a door, I lunged forward, reaching him just before it closed. My mouth opened to ask to where Mr Thorne was

Then I saw him through the glass. Sitting behind his desk.

I didn't think. I pushed past Vance and shoved the door open.

"I agree to the deal." I announced.

He leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. "The deal is off," he said calmly. "I don't offer second chances."

My knees hit the floor. I didn't care who saw. Didn't care about the shame burning through me.

"Please, Mr. Thorne."

He looked down at me, his face unreadable. "You are desperate."

"Yes." My voice cracked.

"I'll be your wife whether you like it or not."