Bound By The CEO's Deal

New York City in October always wears an air of haughtiness, with cold winds whistling through the gaps between skyscrapers like the shrieks of lost souls. On the 88th floor—the highest level of the Power Group Tower—the lights from massive tempered glass panels cast a cold, blue glow, reflecting the face of the man who stood at the helm of one of the most powerful financial empires: Aiden Power.

Aiden stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, separated from the New York skyline by only a thin layer of frigid glass. He held a glass of red wine but did not drink. At thirty-two, he possessed a look that would make supermodels envious: a straight, chiseled nose, a sharp jawline, and deep eyes that held the cold, calculating gaze of a seasoned market veteran. To the world, Aiden was the embodiment of perfection—a flawless god among men.

But no one knew that to achieve this majestic aura, he had endured fifteen years of brutal effort to completely shed the ghosts of his past. Immediately after high school, he chose to vanish from his hometown, personally severing all ties to the years of being suppressed and despised. He had spent his entire youth "restructuring" himself, from his soul to his physical form. Now, standing at the pinnacle of glory, he thought he had triumphed over destiny. But life is an ironic play.

Knock, knock.

The sound of the knocking was dry and abrupt. His secretary entered, her breath somewhat labored, holding a red-labeled envelope: "URGENT - FROM ST. JUDE HOSPITAL."

"Mr. Aiden, the package from London has arrived. I think you should see it immediately."

Aiden didn't turn around; his voice was low and muffled: "Leave it there. You may go."

The door closed, returning the room to a haunting silence. Aiden set down his wine glass, his long, slender fingers lightly brushing the edge of the envelope. He had been waiting for this for two weeks, ever since the first headache caused him to collapse in the middle of a contract signing. At the time, he reassured himself it was merely overwork. But the instinct of an alpha wolf told him otherwise: there was a monster silently gnawing away inside his skull.

He tore open the envelope. The thin piece of paper fell out, carrying the scent of antiseptic and a cruel fate. Aiden scanned the complex medical terms in English until his eyes stopped at a line printed in bold, blood-red ink: "Glioblastoma Multiforme – Stage IV."

The world around Aiden suddenly spun. The skyscrapers outside seemed to collapse. The steady legs that had once navigated the fiercest business arenas now trembled, forcing him to grip the edge of the desk to keep from falling.

Six months.

That was the number the doctor had noted after a brief confirmation call. Six months for a brilliant life that had only truly just begun. Six months to end an empire he had traded blood and tears to build.

"How ridiculous..." Aiden uttered a self-deprecating laugh, so bitter his throat ached.

He thought of his parents—people who were yearning for their only son to carry on the family lineage after his older brother's death years ago. If he fell now, the Power Group would fall into the hands of greedy relatives, and his parents would grow old in solitude. The pride of a successful man would not allow him to depart like a defeated loser. He needed an heir. Immediately.

The headache struck again, as intense as a thousand needles piercing through his brain. Aiden let out a low roar, his arm swinging violently, sweeping everything off his desk. The computer, documents, and wine glass shattered across the floor; the red liquid stained the white carpet like a bloody crime scene. He slumped down, clutching his head, his breath ragged in the darkness of despair.

In that suspended moment between life and death, a mad, ruthless, yet rational thought emerged. He had no time for romance, no time for the tedious rituals of courtship. He needed a contract. The coldest, most straightforward transaction.

Aiden staggered to his feet and dialed a familiar number.

"Nolan, come to my office immediately."

Ten minutes later, Nolan Alice—Aiden’s special assistant and right-hand man—rushed in. Witnessing the chaos and Aiden’s pale face, Nolan was horrified: "Aiden! What happened? Were you attacked?"

Aiden didn't answer; he pushed the test results toward his friend. The room fell into a deathly silence. Nolan’s eyes reddened: "We will find the best doctors in the world. Don't give up!"

"It’s useless, Nolan. I know my body," Aiden interrupted, his voice regaining a terrifying decisiveness. "I didn't call you here for comfort. I need you to carry out a top-secret mission. My parents must not know, and the board of directors must not scent a thing."

"What do you want me to do?" Nolan asked, trembling.

Aiden turned his back, staring into the deep New York night, where the lights still flickered like the fleeting dreams he was about to leave behind.

"Find me a woman. Someone with a clean background, perfect intelligence, and health. I will draw up a surrogacy agreement with the strictest terms. A fair trade: she will receive enough money to change her life, and I... I need a legal successor for this empire."

Nolan was stunned: "You’re insane! This... even as a contract, it’s too cold. What about love? What about a real marriage?"

"I don't have time to love, Nolan!" Aiden suddenly turned, his bloodshot eyes staring directly at his friend. "I only have six months! I cannot let a woman enter my life only to force her into immediate mourning. I need a commitment on paper—someone willing to bear my child without emotional attachment. Starting tonight. Recruit the most promising candidates; I will interview them personally."

Nolan looked at his friend, painfully realizing that Aiden’s pride was being driven into a corner by death. He understood that for Aiden, leaving an heir was not just a family responsibility—it was his way of taking revenge on fate.

"I understand. I will get on it immediately. Actually, within our executive databases and the charitable foundations we sponsor, I have always maintained records of individuals with exceptional IQs and backgrounds who are currently facing financial crises. I will begin the screening process tonight."

When Nolan departed, the room succumbed once again to a terrifying silence. Aiden clenched his fists, feeling physical agony intertwine with the profound loneliness of his soul. He stood up, walked slowly to the glass cabinet, and poured another glass of strong liquor, draining it in one gulp. The burning liquid seared his throat, yet it failed to thaw the icy chill deep within his chest.

He did not know who would walk through those doors to sign this devil’s contract. Nor did he care who she was, where she came from, or what desperation drove her to sell her freedom. To Aiden, at this moment, everything in the world had been reduced to a cold, calculated transaction.

That night, the King of New York did not sleep. He sat in the darkness, his tall silhouette stretching across the cold marble floor. Beyond the transparent glass walls, the city remained ablaze with lights—a glittering mirage that never faded. Millions were still living, loving, and dreaming of eternity.

Aiden’s lips curled into a self-deprecating smile. To him, love and loyalty both carried a price tag, and he had just spent a fortune to buy out the dignity of a stranger. He didn't need a partner; he needed a sacrificial lamb to fill the final days of the Power empire.

He thought to himself: "The moment she signs, she ceases to be a person. She becomes an asset, a plaything, a legal slave under the shadow of Aiden Power."

The wheels of fate had begun to turn. Tomorrow morning, here on the 88th floor, two extremes of despair would collide: one who had nothing left to lose, and one who used gold to buy everything. Aiden Power’s world would never be the same again.