THE 6-MONTH TROPHY HUSBAND

Elena's POV

“Your uncle Victor just called another informal meeting with the board members at the main office. He made sure to emphasize to them that your twenty fifth birthday is exactly thirty days away."

Clara stood in the doorway of the private fitting room, her face pale against the rich mahogany walls and heavy velvet drapes of the boutique. 

"Let him talk," I said calmly.

I did not move from the velvet stool. Two tailors knelt at my feet, their fingers trembling as they pinned the hem of my trousers. The boutique was dead silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft rustle of silk.

"Elena, he is not just talking," Clara pushed on, her knuckles white around her tablet. "He reminded the board that according to your late mother's trust agreement, you must be legally married by your twenty fifth birthday to take full control of her fifty one percent stake in Rostova Atelier. If you remain single when the clock strikes midnight on the thirtieth day, control automatically transfers to the secondary trustee. Which is Victor."

"I am aware of my mother's terms," I replied, my voice completely flat.

I looked at my reflection in the three-way floor-to-ceiling mirror. The tailored charcoal blazer fit impeccably, structured and cold—just like the wall I had built around myself three years ago.

"The board is getting nervous," Clara said, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Victor is telling them that you have no prospective partners, that you are unpredictable, and that leaving the company in the hands of an unmarried woman with no family backing is a business risk. Two major investors signed off on his proposed emergency review this morning."

I reached for my silver wristwatch on the velvet side table and strapped it around my wrist. The cold steel pressed firmly against my skin.

I smoothed the front of my jacket, looking back at the mirror.

My reflection looked cold, sharp, and totally unreadable. It was hard to believe that three years ago, the girl in the glass used to smile easily.

Three years ago, I was soft. I was stupid. I was completely, hopelessly in love with my former fiancé, Daniel.

I had trusted him with everything. I gave him access to my thoughts, my life, and my heart. I thought we were building a future together. Then came the night of our engagement party. I went looking for him in the private estate suite, wanting to share a quiet moment away from the crowd.

Instead, I opened the heavy oak door and found him in bed with my childhood friend.

The image still burned in the back of my mind like acid, but what hurt worse was what Daniel said when I confronted him. He didn't even bother to pull the sheets up. He just poured himself a glass of expensive scotch, looked me in the eyes, and laughed.

Did you really think I loved you, Elena? he had sneered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. Look at you. You're naive. Your mother's fortune is the only reason anyone stays in the same room as you for more than five minutes. You were just a stool to step up my social status. 

I remembered standing there, my chest tearing open, feeling like I couldn't breathe. That night, the soft, trusting girl named Elena Rostova died in that hallway.

I learned the hardest lesson of my life: men do not see women like me as partners. They see us as targets, paychecks, and stepping stones.

When I wiped away my tears that night, I swore a silent oath to myself. No man would ever use me again. If love was just a game of money and power, then I would be the one playing it. Men were not going to be my weakness anymore. They were going to be my accessories. Just like a designer handbag or a pair of expensive shoes, a man was something you bought for status, used to get where you needed to go, and threw away when the season was over.

"Elena?" Clara's voice pulled me back to the present. "Are you listening to me? What are we going to do? You cannot let Victor take your mother's company."

"He won't," I said smoothly. I picked up my leather purse from the lounge chair. "Cancel my afternoon appointments. We are going back to my office."

Twenty minutes later, the private elevator deposited us directly on the executive floor of the Rostova building. I walked through the glass doors, ignoring the curious looks from the staff, and marched straight into my corner office.

I sat down behind my massive dark oak desk and rested my hands flat on the polished wood.

"Bring me the files," I commanded.

Clara set a thick black binder on my desk. "These are the candidates compiled by the discreet agency you asked me to contact last week. Men from good families, respectable backgrounds, who might be willing to enter a temporary arrangement."

I flipped open the first page.

Richard Sterling. Thirty two. Hedge fund manager.

I shook my head immediately, closing the tab. "Too ambitious. He will try to use my company's assets to cover his own fund's losses within a month."

I flipped to the next profile.

Marcus Thorne. Thirty five. Real estate heir.

"No," I said coldly. "He has three ongoing lawsuits with his own family. He is aggressive and greedy. He will try to renegotiate the contract halfway through and demand voting rights on the board."

"Elena, these are the top eligible men in the city," Clara pointed out gently. "You need someone who looks credible to the board."

"I need someone I can control," I corrected her, turning another page. "I do not want a partner. I do not want an equal. I want someone broke, desperate, and completely harmless. Someone who needs my money so badly that he will sign whatever I put in front of him, keep his mouth shut, and disappear the moment the six months are over."

I turned to the final tab in the binder.

A photograph was paperclipped to the top right corner. The man in the picture had dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, sharp cheekbones, and dark, unreadable eyes. He wasn't smiling for the camera.

Dante Hayes.

I paused, my eyes scanning the text beneath the photo.

"Tell me about this one," I said, pointing at the page.

Clara leaned over the desk, squinting at the name. "Oh. Dante. He is the youngest son of the Hayes family, but he is completely disgraced. He was cast out of the family business three years ago after some internal fallout. The rumors say he is a quiet failure who lives off small family handouts in a rundown apartment on the west side. He has no corporate power, no allies, and no money of his own."

"Does he have debts?" I asked.

"Plenty," Clara said. "His name comes up in several private collection inquiries. He is practically living on borrowed time and whatever table scraps his older brother sends him."

I looked down at the photograph again.

Dante Hayes looked rough around the edges compared to the polished businessmen on the previous pages, but that was exactly what made him perfect. He had a big family name that would satisfy the board's desire for high society blood, but he was completely broke and powerless. He wouldn't have the legal resources or the leverage to fight me.

He was a nobody with a famous last name. A man who would take a quick cash payout and do exactly what he was told.

"He is the one," I said, closing the binder with a loud snap.

Clara blinked in surprise. "Are you sure? He is a total outcast, Elena. Your uncle will mock his reputation."

"My uncle can mock him all he wants," I said, standing up from my chair. "The trust agreement says I must be married to a man of equal social standing by blood. It says nothing about his bank account. Dante Hayes gives me the legal checkmark I need, and because he is desperate, he will be easy to manage."

I pulled my fountain pen from my desk drawer and signed my name on the authorization page.

"Contact his representative immediately," I instructed Clara, sliding the binder back to her. "Set up a private meeting for tonight at eight o'clock. Book the back room at the St. Regis lounge. Tell him to come alone."

Clara took the binder, holding it nervously. "And what should I tell him the meeting is about?"

I walked over to the floor to ceiling window overlooking the city skyline, looking at my reflection in the dark glass as the sun began to set.

"Tell him I am offering him a job," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "A six month acting gig that pays more money than he will ever see in his entire life."

Clara nodded quickly. "Right away, Miss Rostova."

She turned and left the office, the door clicking softly behind her.

I stood alone in the quiet room, watching the streetlights flick on down below. Thirty days was more than enough time. I was going to save my mother's company, I was going to destroy my uncle's ambitions, and I was going to do it all on my own terms.

Dante Hayes was going to be my most expensive piece of jewelry for the next six months. And once his time was up, I would throw him away just like the rest of them.