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Married to My Cold Hearted Boss

Married to My Cold Hearted Boss

Romance
last updateDernière mise à jour : 2025-08-20
Par:  Nicole WilliamsEn cours
Langue: English
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Synopsis

Age Gap

Blind Date

Contract Marriage

CEO

Arrogant

Secretary

First-Person POV

Fast-Paced Plot

Sweet Love

A forced marriage. A ruthless CEO. And a contract that could ruin—or rescue—her heart. Ayla Morgan thought losing her father was the worst thing that could happen. She was wrong. Within weeks, her family restaurant is seized by debt collectors, her stepmother kicks her to the curb, and her arrogant CEO fires her in front of everyone over a petty mistake. With nothing left but humiliation and bills, Ayla is forced into a blind date arranged by her greedy family… and accidentally ruins the wrong one. That “wrong date”? Damon Cross. Her ex-boss. The coldest man she’s ever met—richer than sin and twice as dangerous. But instead of being furious, Damon makes her a shocking offer: Marry me. Three years. No feelings. No questions. In return, I’ll pay your family’s debt and give you your life back. To him, it’s just a contract. To her, it’s a lifeline. Living under the same roof, working as his personal secretary, Ayla swears she’ll never fall for a man who sees love as weakness. But behind Damon’s icy exterior hides a broken man forced to marry by his dying grandfather—and a loneliness that mirrors her own. As enemies become reluctant allies and fake kisses turn real, Ayla finds herself questioning everything. What happens when the contract ends… but her heart doesn’t? And will Damon let go of control long enough to realize that love might be his only salvation?

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16
The Day Everything Fell Apart
It was just a regular Saturday at Morgan’s Table—the restaurant my family had run for nearly two decades.The scent of slow-roasted and fried chicken and meatloaf filled the air, blending with the laughter of satisfied customers and the clatter of silverware. Morgan’s Table wasn’t just known for its food; it was the soul of East Bridge. Everyone came for our meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and crispy fried chicken—but they stayed for the warmth. For us.My father, the ever-smiling face of the place, was behind the register, cracking jokes with our regulars like always. His booming laughter echoed off the walls. To anyone watching, he looked like the happiest man in the world.But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that smiles lie. Even the brightest ones.I’m Ayla Morgan. Twenty-one years old, born and raised right here in East Bridge—a big, bustling city.East Bridge wasn’t as massive as New York or Chicago, but it had its share of sky-high buildings, glass offices, and secrets.I lost my mot
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Fired By The Hottest Ice Cube Alive
If grief was a storm, then the days that followed my father’s death were the flood.The first wave hit on a cloudy Thursday morning, just a few days after we buried him.I hadn’t resumed work yet—I had taken a week off to settle the family issues.I was wiping the photo frames behind the counter at Morgan’s Table—my father’s pride, his life’s work—when two unfamiliar men in black suits walked in like they owned the place.They didn’t order food. They didn’t ask for a table.One of them headed straight for the front door, pulled out a hammer, and nailed a seizure notice to the glass.“By court order,” he said flatly. “This property now belongs to the creditor.”“What?” My voice cracked. “No—this must be a mistake—”“Talk to your lawyer,” he said, already walking away.The sign on the door read:SEIZED. Property forfeited due to unpaid debt. Further trespassing is prohibited.My stomach turned. I ripped the notice off the door with shaking hands.Anna was behind me in seconds, her heels
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Marry Now Or Prepare My Funeral
The sound of his phone rang sharp and sudden, slicing through the stillness of Damon Cross’s office.He didn’t look up from the contract he was reviewing—until he saw the name flash on his screen.“Cedarvale Medical Center.”His pen dropped.And he picked up the call urgently.A second later, he was already on his feet, grabbing his coat.He rushed to his car, picked up his keys, and drove off.Damon’s car sped through the sleek iron gates of Cedarvale Medical Center—the luxury private hospital tucked in the heart of East Bridge’s elite district. It wasn’t just any hospital; it was one of the few where the Cross family held major shares. A quiet power move they never flaunted—but everyone in their circle knew.By the time Damon reached the hospital, his usual cold exterior had cracked. Just slightly. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed, as he stormed through the white hallways with the kind of energy that made nurses get out of the way without being told.He rushed past the nurses an
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I Agreed to the Date… But Not the Marriage
The moment I stepped into the house, I threw my bag across the couch and kicked off my shoes like they were burning my feet. Talking to myself like a mad woman,“Damon Cross, may thunder kiss your edges. May you mistakenly buy a face hair wash that makes you lose all your front hair,” I muttered, stomping straight to my room. “You cold-hearted, Armani-wearing devil. May your coffee always be lukewarm. May your shoelaces untie in every board meeting. May your espresso machine explode every Monday morning. And may the woman you marry serve you burnt toast for the rest of your miserable life! Who will even marry you? May you remain single all your life!”I was still fuming, but I felt relieved as I sent him my bundles of curses.Getting fired was one thing. Getting fired without even being given a chance to defend myself—and labeled incompetent, with my name echoing across the Sky Lounge like I was a public disgrace? That was next-level humiliation.I stripped out of my clothes and walke
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The Cold CEO Fires His Blind Dates Like Secretaries
Damon Cross didn’t believe in dating.He believed in deals. Partnerships. Strategic mergers. Marriage, to him, was a contract—not a love story. So when his grandfather forced him into blind dates through a matchmaking agency, he treated them like failed business meetings from the start.Three dates. One day. All disasters.⸻Date One: The Late OffenderThe woman arrived exactly two minutes late.Damon didn’t even wait for her to sit before glancing at his Rolex and scoffing.“You’re two minutes late,” he said flatly.She smiled politely. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Parking—”“That’s one minute and forty-eight seconds of my life I will never get back,” he cut in, dead serious. “Do you know what I could’ve done with those minutes?”The woman blinked. “Um…”“I could’ve closed two international deals, fired someone mediocre, and still had time to admire my reflection in the elevator mirror.”Her face fell.Damon simply waved the waiter over. “Cancel the wine. We won’t need it.”Ten minutes later,
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I Was Supposed to Marry a Grandpa, Not Rescue My CEO
That morning, I had dressed for doom. A tight red dress I hated, lipstick too bold for my comfort, and heels that pinched like hell. My stepmother insisted I needed to look “irresistible” for this blind date. Her exact words? “Old men love red. Especially the rich, single ones with dead wives.”Yes. Dead wives. Plural.I was about to meet a 65-year-old widower whose three previous wives had all died under mysterious circumstances. What in the Netflix documentary was I walking into?But I had no choice.We were neck-deep in debt, and I had been jobless since Damon Cross decided I wasn’t worthy of standing in his precious Sky Lounge. According to my stepmother, if I played my cards right tonight, I could become Wife Number Four—and possibly the last, if history repeated itself.Finally, I set out for the restaurant.The restaurant smelled like fresh basil and heartbreak.I sat at a corner table, dressed in the most uncomfortable red dress I owned—tight in the wrong places, itchy at the
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Signed Up for a Dinner . Got a Fake Relationship Contract Instead
The moment she disappeared, I pulled out the chair and sat. Damon stared at me like I’d just escaped an asylum. “What the hell was that? And who are you?” he asked under his breath. He was still staring at me, eyes wide in disbelief. I leaned forward a little and said quietly, “Please sit down. People are already watching.” He hesitated, then sighed and sank into the seat like he had no energy left. He looked at me again, frowning. “Who… are you?” I smiled nervously. “Um… I’m Ayla. Ayla Morgan.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I… I used to work for you. You fired me two days ago… in your office. The Sky Lounge issue? The champagne trays?” I reminded him softly, hands folded in front of me. His eyes widened a bit in recognition. “Oh. Right… that girl.” He paused, then frowned again. “But what are you doing here? Why did you get involved in my date?” I looked down for a second, then met his eyes again. “I… I didn’t plan to interfere. I was here for a blind date too—arranged by
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Signed for $240K: My Deal with the Cold CEO
I blink at him, slowly, like maybe my ears just made it up.“A contract?” I repeat. “You want to pay me… to pretend to be your girlfriend?”Damon doesn’t flinch. “Two years. Appearances only. No strings. And in return, I’ll pay you $10,000 a month.”My breath catches. $10,000?I stare at Damon like he’s just grown a second head.“Ten thousand dollars?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.He nods, his expression unreadable. “Per month. And I will pay for a year upfront.”I blink, trying to process the number. “For how long do you call it?”“Two years. That’s two hundred and forty thousand. All paid upfront.”Upfront.My mind blanks.I open my mouth, then close it again. Is he serious?“You’re offering me… over two hundred grand to pretend to be your girlfriend?” I ask, making sure I’m not dreaming. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe this is some twisted hallucination.“Yes.” His voice is calm, businesslike. “It’s a simple arrangement. You smile when needed. Attend family dinners. Convin
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He Offered Me $10K a Month Not to Love Him
The next day. It’s the weekend. I get up, dress, and prepare myself to sign my life-changing contract. Even if I didn’t want to get up early, my stepmother wouldn’t stop calling me reminding me to go meet my ex boyfriend just as I told her . And just like that I set off. I knew he was rich. I mean, duh. A man doesn’t throw around $240,000 like spare change unless he has vaults hidden somewhere. But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for the house. No. This kind of mansion. I step out of the taxi and nearly forget how to breathe. The gate alone is taller than most buildings in my neighborhood, guarded with sleek black steel and shiny gold trim. Beyond it, a winding driveway curls through manicured lawns, sculpted hedges, and trees that look like they were imported from a royal garden in some European country I can’t pronounce. And then the house itself… Jesus. It’s a freaking modern castle. Wide glass windows glint like diamonds in the sun. There’s marble actual mar
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The Contract That Bought My Freedom
The taxi ride home felt dangerous. Not because the driver was reckless — he was the calm, radio-humming type — but because I had the equivalent of a small fortune sitting in my lap. An unassuming brown envelope. Heavy. Too heavy. I clutched it tighter, trying not to look like someone who could be mugged for a year’s rent. Every bump in the road sent my stomach lurching. My brain was already doing the math — this chunk for the debt, this much left over… and maybe, just maybe, I’d finally be free from my stepmother’s pressure at home. “Big day?” the driver asked, catching my eyes in the rearview. I schooled my face into neutral. “Just… work stuff.” Work stuff. Right. If “work” meant signing a fake relationship contract with the man who’d fired me last week a man whose gaze could freeze over oceans. But hey… if it paid my debt, saved me from my stepmother’s schemes, got my job back, and was technically legal… then yeah. Work stuff. Outside, the city streaked past in red and gre
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