Bound by the Billionaire's Relentless Desire.

Bright afternoon sunlight streams through the large windows of Margo Fashion House, casting golden hues on polished wooden floors beneath. Nothing seemed forthcoming that would warmly impact Sherry Hart's emotions.

The family business teetered precariously on the edge of financial ruin. Piles of unpaid invoices cluttered her desk alongside grim financial reports every single day, becoming a constant reminder of impending doom.

The fashion houses that once thrived now suffocate under the weight of mounting debt, with their impeccable designs largely forgotten slowly.

Her father, Thomas Hart, built this business from scratch, pouring decades of sweat and sheer dogged determination into it slowly. It began modestly as a boutique, flourishing rapidly into a household name within the fashion industry.

His declining health suddenly left everything squarely in Sherry's shaky hands beneath a massive burden of responsibility.

She exhaled shakily, her gaze drifting slowly upward toward a framed photograph sitting quietly on the desk. Her parents stood proudly in front of their inaugural storefront, beaming with evident delight. Margo Hart's mother had designed dresses while her father handled the business side.

They had fashioned something pretty darn extraordinary in collaboration. Giving up was completely out of the question now. Sherry ran a hand through her dark hair that fell down her back in loose waves, frustration still clawing at her deeply.

She couldn’t allow Margo Fashion House to collapse. It was not only about the family legacy; hundreds of workers relied on the company for their livelihood—people who had dedicated years, some even decades, to the brand, trusting that it would always stand strong.

But no bank was willing to help. Her pleas for loans were rejected repeatedly, her emails were ignored, and her calls went unreturned eventually. She spearheaded numerous ventures, proposed innovative strategies, and offered potential investors shares in the company via private placements somehow. Yet, every single one had turned her down.

They feigned enthusiasm, nodding silently as she laid out her plans so they could reject them abruptly afterward. Every shutdown hovered ominously over struggling companies like a suffocating vise that gradually tightened daily. Her mom's voice still loudly echoed deep within her mind somehow.

"You can't do this alone, Sherry. Sherry can't manage this solitary endeavor by herself. Sherry felt utterly drained and completely exhausted by her circumstances somehow.

She'd have no one backing her play if she didn't go all out for it now. Her phone buzzed loudly on the desk, pulling her abruptly from deep contemplation. Sophie Grant's name suddenly flashed across the screen.

“Sherry, you need a miracle,” Sophie declared without hesitation. Sherry picked up slowly beneath her breath and braced herself inwardly for what was coming. “And I know where you might find one.”

“I’m listening,” Sherry replied warily.

“Enzo Blackwood.”

Sherry’s grip tightened on the phone. Sophie bluntly said Sherry needs a miracle now. Her friend's voice rang out remarkably bold. “He’s not exactly known for charity,” Sherry said dryly.

“No, but he’s known for results,” Sophie countered. “If anyone can pull Margo Fashion House out of this mess, it’s him.”

Sherry exhaled slowly. Sherry replied warily, I'm listening. “How do I even get a meeting with someone like Enzo Blackwood?”

“Leave that to me,” Sophie said confidently. “You just need to be ready.”

That afternoon, Sherry found herself standing in the grand lobby of Blackwood Industries. Sherry's grip suddenly tightened fiercely around the phone. Everybody knew that guy a cutthroat billionaire behind Blackwood Industries' sudden ascent into a formidable worldwide entity. His deals were utterly legendary, so his reputation for being ruthlessly cold and calculating preceded him.

Sherry said somewhat sarcastically, He's hardly renowned for generosity. Sophie countered, He's known for results. Margo Fashion House's salvation rests with him now. Sherry breathed out slowly beside him. She was out of options and took a wildly improbable chance. "How do I meet someone like Enzo Blackwood now?

Sophie said she'd handle it with confidence. And that Mr. Blackwood is ready to see me today.

Sherry stood alone in Blackwood Industries' grand lobby that afternoon. You just need to be supremely ready somehow. The sleek glass building loomed large as a symbol of immense power and prestige somehow. Its sheer size made her feel utterly insignificant in that vast space surrounded by towering structures.

Her heart pounded rapidly as she adjusted her blazer, smoothing the fabric with incredibly clammy hands beneath dim light. The elevator ride upward felt smooth yet eerily tense somehow.

Every faint ding somehow caused her breathing to become slightly erratic. She felt the eyes of fellow pros in the elevator on her sharp gazes, making her intensely aware of the high stakes. She stepped into a minimalist yet opulent waiting space after doors swung open slowly at last. Poised behind a massive mahogany desk, a seemingly composed secretary glanced upward suddenly.

"Good afternoon, Ma."

"Miss Sherry Hart, right?" The secretary asked.

"Yes, please," Sherry answered.

"Mr. Blackwood awaits you."

Sherry trails behind her through a hallway lined with dark hardwood floors beneath softly glowing lights, and her nerves intensify. His office doors were made of dark wood, had gold handles, and were pretty massive overall. The secretary pushed the doors open with a flourish, gesturing wildly for Sherry.

Sherry stepped inside, and the scent of rich leather enveloped her amidst expensive cologne fragrances. The office space felt overwhelmingly modern and pretty intimidating somehow.

Their heels echoed faintly against the marble as they stepped into the office, sleek, shadowy, and almost intimidating in its elegance.

"Sir, Miss Sherry Hart is here," the secretary uttered.

"You can leave us," Enzo mumbles.

breath.”

The door clicked shut behind the secretary, leaving Sherry alone with him.

Enzo stood with his back to her, still as a sculpture carved in shadow.

The window light spilled over him like honey, catching on the fine lines of his jet-black suit, hugging the sharp cut of his shoulders, and defining the curve of his back. His controlled, alert posture made her mouth go dry.

He looked like a man built for war… and for sin.

Girls can even kill just to have a handshake with him.

"Don’t lose your head now, Sherry," she muttered inwardly, clenching her fists at her sides.

Her eyes betrayed her, tracing every inch of him like fingers would slow and greedy. She imagined stepping closer, slipping her hands beneath his fine jacket. Sherry was feeling the heat of his body through the fabric. Her fingertips brushed over the rigid strength of his back. Her cheek pressed to him.

In her daydreaming mind, he turned, eyes heavy with intent, grabbing her wrist firmly but unhurriedly and pulling her flush against him. She could almost feel the heat of his breath skimming her lips, the tension coiled in his body ready to snap. Her skirt pushed up. His belt was unfastened. No words, just the raw, breathless sound of surrender against the glass...

“Are you finished undressing me with your eyes?” Enzo’s voice snapped like a whip—cool, cruel, and far too amused.

"Don’t waste your imagination."

His voice cracked through the silence, cold and cruel.

She blinked. But she recovered quickly, lifting her chin.

Burning.

Caught.

“If you’re here to beg,” he added, still not facing her, “save your breath.”

And suddenly, her knees didn’t feel so steady.

Sherry squared her shoulders, determined not to let him intimidate her. “I don’t beg. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a pretty breathtaking panoramic view of the city skyline, and her focus was somewhere else entirely upstairs. Enzo Blackwood stood by the window, his back turned away from her completely. “I’m listening,” he said, his tone carrying both challenge and intrigue.

Sherry inhaled deeply. This was her moment.

“Margo Fashion House is drowning in debt, but it’s still one of the most recognizable brands in the fashion industry. With the right investment, we can turn it around. You’ll be investing in a legacy, Mr. Blackwood. One that could bring significant returns.”

Enzo’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. “And what do you offer in return?”

Sherry swallowed hard, knowing this was where the stakes heightened.

Sherry reached into her bag and pulled out a carefully prepared contract.

"This proposal outlines my terms of joint control, with profits shared once we stabilize. Skilled artisans and fiercely loyal customers are integral parts of a brand built largely on exceptionally high quality.”

Enzo tilted his head slightly, tapping a finger against his desk. “Interesting.”

A tense silence stretched between them before he finally spoke again. “I don’t do charity, Ms. Hart. "You want me to throw good money after bad?"

"I’m asking you to see potential," she countered. "And I’m willing to offer something in return."

If I invest in something, I expect full control.”

Sherry’s stomach twisted. “Full control?” Enzo’s voice was cold, unwavering.

Enzo leaned back, crossing his fingers.

Sherry’s heart sank. "What do you mean?"

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken challenges.

A faint, chilling smile played on his lips. “I take what I want, and if I help you, I want full control, no conditions. And I expect something in return." His voice lowered, deliberate and commanding.

"Five years. You’ll be my assistant. No complaints, no exceptions. That’s the deal." You’ll report to me. Every decision, every move, you answer to me.”

Sherry blinked, stunned by the audacity of his demand. "Five years? That’s absurd."

"Completely take it or leave it," he said flatly. "You came to me because you’re desperate."

Sherry’s lips parted, a protest forming on her tongue. But the truth was glaring at her: this was her only option.

Enzo said calmly. "You have until the end of tomorrow to decide. After that, my offer disappears."

Sherry stood immediately, frustration and disbelief battling within her. "I won’t be your puppet."

Enzo’s expression didn’t change. "Then walk away. But remember, when Margo Fashion House collapses, it won’t be my problem."

The battle had just begun, and she had no intention of losing.