Cold Proposal

Rain streaked down the wide windows of Harper & Co., the once-proud family-owned publishing house that now stood on the brink of ruin. The office smelled faintly of old ink and desperation, a reminder of days when Elena Harper’s father ran the company with pride. Now, her mother’s soft sobs carried through the hallway, muffled only by the thunder outside.

Elena stood near her father’s chair, her hands gripping the armrest so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Twenty-five years old, bright and capable, she had never imagined her life reduced to bargaining with sharks to keep her family afloat. Yet here she was—cornered by debts, threatened by banks, betrayed by partners who had once toasted to her father’s health.

“Mr. Cross has sent his car,” Adrian Cole, the CEO’s assistant, announced as he stepped inside. His tone was polite but firm, betraying no sympathy. “He expects you at his office within the hour.”

Elena’s heart skipped. Damian Cross—the infamous billionaire whose empire stretched across finance, media, and real estate. Newspapers painted him as ruthless. Employees whispered that he was a man without warmth, without mercy. And now, he held her family’s fate in his hands.

“Do I have a choice?” she asked bitterly.

Adrian gave her a measured look. “He doesn’t usually give choices.”

The drive to Cross Enterprises felt like a journey into another world. Elena sat rigid in the backseat of a sleek black car, her reflection fractured in the tinted glass. She had worn her best dress—navy blue, modest, but professional—yet she felt like an imposter entering a kingdom of predators.

When the car stopped before a towering skyscraper of glass and steel, Elena drew in a shaky breath. The building seemed to pierce the storm clouds, its lights burning defiantly against the gray sky.

Inside, the lobby was all marble and silence. Assistants glided by in tailored suits, their heels clicking with precision. No one smiled. No one lingered. This was a temple built for efficiency, and at its throne sat Damian Cross.

Adrian escorted her to the top floor. The elevator doors opened into an office that seemed less like a workspace and more like a fortress. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. The décor was stark—steel, glass, leather. Behind a massive desk, Damian Cross looked up.

He was everything the rumors promised: tall, broad-shouldered, a suit molded perfectly to his frame. His black hair was slicked back, his face sharp as a blade. His gray eyes were colder than the storm outside.

“Elena Harper,” he said, his voice smooth but void of warmth. “Sit.”

She obeyed, though her legs trembled.

“I hear you’re here to beg for your company,” he continued.

Her chin lifted despite the lump in her throat. “I’m here to save my family. If that means asking for your help, then yes.”

A shadow of amusement flickered in his eyes. “Honesty. Rare.”

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Your company is drowning. Your debts exceed your assets. Any sane investor would let you sink. But I…” His gaze lingered on her, assessing, dissecting. “…I don’t do charity. I make deals.”

Elena swallowed. “What kind of deal?”

The corner of his mouth curved—not into a smile, but into something sharper. “Marriage.”

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him. The rain hammered against the windows, filling the silence between them.

“Marriage?” she echoed, disbelief in her voice.

“Yes,” Damian replied without hesitation. “A contract marriage. You will be my wife for one year. In return, I will absorb your debts and secure your family’s future.”

Her breath caught. Of all the scenarios she had imagined, this was not one of them. “Why… why me?”

His eyes darkened. “Because you’re desperate. Because you’re intelligent. And because unlike the women who throw themselves at me, you don’t want me. That makes you useful.”

Anger flared in her chest. “You think you can buy me?”

“Not buy,” he corrected calmly. “Bind. You’ll get security. I’ll get… appearances.”

She frowned. “Appearances?”

“My board expects stability,” he said coolly. “Investors trust a married man more than a bachelor rumored to destroy everything he touches. A wife, even a temporary one, will silence questions.”

Elena’s heart pounded. She wanted to scream, to refuse. But then she pictured her mother’s weary face, her brother Harper’s future slipping through their fingers. Was her pride worth their ruin?

“And if I say no?” she whispered.

Damian leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “Then I crush Harper & Co. by tomorrow morning. I will not lift a finger, and your family’s legacy will be dust. Do you want that, Miss Harper?”

Her hands trembled in her lap. The weight of the decision pressed down on her, suffocating. “You’re ruthless.”

His expression didn’t waver. “I’m a businessman.”

Tears burned at the edges of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “What would this marriage look like?”

“Public appearances. Shared residence. Obedience to the terms of our contract. Nothing more, nothing less,” he replied. “I don’t want your love, Elena. I don’t want your devotion. Just your signature—and your silence.”

The cruelty of his words should have repelled her. Yet somewhere deep within, she sensed a fracture, a wound hidden beneath his icy mask. A broken man wearing armor made of steel.

Elena exhaled shakily. “And after one year?”

“You walk away with your company intact, free of debt, and a generous settlement,” Damian said flatly. “One year of your life in exchange for your family’s survival. Decide now.”

Her pulse roared in her ears. She thought of her father’s legacy, her brother’s dreams, her mother’s sacrifice. One year. She could endure one year. Couldn’t she?

Her voice cracked as she answered, “I’ll do it.”

For the first time, Damian’s lips curved—not in kindness, but in victory. “Good.”

He slid a contract across the desk. The pages were thick with clauses, cold as chains. With trembling fingers, Elena picked up the pen.

When she signed her name, she felt a piece of herself slip away.

Damian rose, extending his hand. “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Cross.”

Elena stared at his outstretched hand, her heart hammering. She took it. His grip was strong, unyielding, like the man himself.

But as their eyes locked, she swore she glimpsed something flicker in his—loneliness, maybe, or longing. It was gone in an instant, replaced by ice.

And just like that, her fate was sealed.

Elena walked out of his office hours later, her mind numb, the contract heavy in her bag. The rain had stopped, but the city felt colder. Above her, the skyscraper loomed like a prison.

She whispered to herself, as if trying to believe it: It’s only one year.

But deep down, she knew nothing about Damian Cross would ever be that simple.