CHAPTER 3

Elena's POV

The moment the door to Oliver Wyatt’s office clicked shut behind us, the air rushed out of my lungs. My legs felt like lead as I followed Frank toward a small, sleek desk tucked just outside the main suite.

Oh my god,  I thought, my hands trembling so hard I had to set my notebook down before I dropped it again. That was him. That was actually Oliver Wyatt.

He was on the front of every business magazine and half the tabloids in the city. I should have recognized him instantly. The sharp jawline, the perfectly tailored gray suit, the arrogant tilt of his head—it was completely obvious. But my mind had been so far gone, buried under the weight of Chloe’s medical bills and the image of my ex in that apartment, that I hadn't even looked at him. I had just seen an annoying, impatient guy in a stairwell and snapped.

"Are you alright, Elena?" Frank asked, turning to look at me. He had a kind face, with deep lines around his eyes that made him look like a man who spent a lot of time solving other people's problems.

"Yes," I lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just... a lot to take in on the first morning."

"It can be overwhelming," Frank said, pulling out a sleek black rolling chair for me. "Oliver—Mr. Wyatt—is a force of nature. And given the press outside today, the energy in this building is higher than usual. But don't let it shake you. Your resume is exceptional, and that's why you're here."

He laid a heavy, black leather folder on my desk. "Inside is your onboarding schedule, the login credentials for your terminal, and a breakdown of your daily responsibilities. You’ll be handling my secondary correspondence, scheduling his mid-tier meetings, and managing the digital filing for the upcoming tech merger. Think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely," I said, desperate to sound professional. "I'm ready to dive right in."

Frank smiled, but then his expression turned a little more serious. He glanced back toward the heavy glass doors of Oliver’s office. "One more thing. Mr. Wyatt requested that you step back into his office in ten minutes. He wants a private word with you."

My stomach dropped straight through the floorboards. "A private word? About... about my onboarding?"

"He didn't specify," Frank said, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "But don't worry. He likes to test the new hires. Just hold your ground, be direct, and you'll do fine. I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Thank you, Frank," I whispered.

The second Frank walked away toward the copy room, I grabbed my phone, slid out of my chair, and practically ran toward the nearby breakroom. It was empty, smelling faintly of expensive coffee beans and stainless-steel cleaner. I ducked into the corner behind a large refrigerator and dialed Maya's number.

She picked up on the second ring. "El? Are you okay? Did you find a place to hide from the Liam drama?"

"Maya, it's worse," I hissed into the receiver, pressing my hand against my forehead. "Way worse. Forget Liam. I think I'm about to get fired."

"What? It’s literally nine in the morning! How could you possibly get fired already?"

"Because I am an idiot," I said, my voice cracking. "The elevators were broken, so I was in the stairwell trying to talk to the hospital coordinator about Chloe's deposit. I was crying, I was stressed, and this incredibly rude guy in a suit marched up and basically told me to get out of his way because his time was more important than mine."

"Okay... and?"

"And I snapped at him, Maya! I told him he was barking orders, called him 'Mr. Important,' and gave him a massive attitude." I took a ragged breath. "Maya... it was Oliver Wyatt. The CEO. My new boss."

There was a dead silence on the line. Then, a tiny, horrified, "Oh my god."

"Yes! Oh my god!" I panicked, pacing the small width of the breakroom. "I didn't recognize him because I was so distracted by the hospital call. He just walked into his office, realized who I was, made a horrible comment about the stairwells, and now Frank says he wants to see me alone in five minutes. He's going to fire me. I know it."

"El, breathe. Just breathe," Maya urged, her voice turning practical. "He can't just fire you on day one for being grumpy in a stairwell. You have a signed contract."

"He's a billionaire, Maya, he can do whatever he wants," I said, a tear finally escaping and sliding down my cheek. "If I lose this job, the insurance is gone. The signing bonus is gone. The hospital wants a thirty-thousand-dollar deposit to secure Chloe’s donor organ, and I've already maxed out every single card I own. I can't lose this. I literally can't."

"Listen to me," Maya said firmly. "Go in there, apologize, and swallow your pride. Tell him you had a massive family emergency this morning and you lost your temper. Put on your best customer-service face and charm him. You are doing this for Chloe, remember?"

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, staring at my reflection in the microwave door. "Right. For Chloe. I can do this."

"You can. Call me the second you get out. Good luck, El."

"Thanks."

I hung up, took three deep, steadying breaths, and walked out of the breakroom. My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I walked back to the executive suite. I smoothed down my blazer, grabbed my notepad, and stood before the heavy glass doors of Oliver Wyatt’s office.

I knocked twice.

"Come in," a smooth, deep voice called out from inside.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the massive, sunlit room. Oliver was sitting behind a giant dark wood desk, his jacket off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his forearms. He didn't look up immediately; he was signing a stack of papers, his fountain pen scratching sharply against the paper.

I closed the door behind me and stood at attention, keeping my hands clasped tightly in front of me.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Wyatt?" I asked, keeping my voice as polite and even as humanly possible.

He finished his signature, capped the pen, and finally looked up. His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back in his leather chair, studying me like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"Sit down, Miss Golding," he said, gesturing to one of the plush velvet chairs opposite his desk.

I walked over and sat on the very edge of the cushion, keeping my posture perfectly straight. "Mr. Wyatt, before we begin, I want to sincerely apologize for my behavior in the stairwell this morning. It was incredibly unprofessional. I was dealing with a very difficult personal matter, and I let my emotions get the better of me. It won't happen again."

Oliver let out a low, amused breath that didn't sound like an apology acceptance at all. "A difficult personal matter. Is that what we're calling a thirty-thousand-dollar medical emergency these days?"

I froze, the air suddenly turning icy in my chest. "You... you heard that?"

"The acoustics in that stairwell are excellent," he said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "I heard enough to know you're desperate. And I know you've maxed out your credit limits trying to save your sister."

A flush of pure humiliation heat up my cheeks. It was one thing to be broke; it was another to have your billionaire boss throw your financial ruin in your face on your first day.

"My personal finances do not affect my ability to do this job," I said, my voice dropping its sweet tone, the natural defiance slipping back out before I could stop it. "I am a hard worker, and I will do exactly what Frank requires of me."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Oliver said smoothly. He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick document, and slid it across the glossy desk toward me. "But I have a completely different job description in mind for you, Miss Golding."

I looked down at the document. Taped to the front was a sticky note with a number written on it that made my head spin.

One Million Dollars.

I blinked, looking back up at him. "What is this?"

"That is the amount I am willing to deposit into your bank account by the end of the business day today," Oliver said, his voice entirely calm, as if he were discussing the price of a cup of coffee. "It will cover your sister's surgery, her post-op care, and leave you with more than enough to never worry about rent again."

My heart stopped. I stared at him, completely bewildered. "I don't understand. Why would you do that?"

Oliver smiled, a sharp, dangerous look that made my stomach flip.

"Because in exchange, Miss Golding, I need something from you," he said, leaning back again. "I need a wife. And you're going to marry me."