CHAPTER 11: DO NOT BUY ME, LOVE ME

My mother was waiting for surgery, and the hospital needed thirty thousand dollars before they would proceed. The payment plan I had requested was refused.

"I can pay part now," I said into the phone. "Please. My mother has just come through a crisis."

"I am sorry, Miss Rose. The account must be settled."

The call ended. Pride could not protect my mother.

Damian crouched in front of me.

"Let me cover the deposit," he said. "We can put it in writing as a loan in your name. You can repay one dollar a month until you are able. No interest. No deadline."

I stared at him. "You think that makes it easier?"

"No. I think it gives you a choice when the hospital has left you with very few."

"You could solve this with one signature. Then what? Every time I disagree with you, will I remember I owe you thirty thousand dollars?"

His jaw tightened. "You will never owe me obedience."

"You cannot promise that for the man you become when you are angry."

He did not look away. "Then put that in writing too. If I ever use this loan to control you, you owe me nothing."

I wanted to refuse. But my mother was behind those doors, and I could not make her pay for my fear.

"Do not buy me, Damian," I whispered. "Love me."

His expression changed. The hard CEO disappeared, leaving the man who had held me through the worst hours.

"I am not asking to buy you, Elena. I am asking you to let me stand beside you while you fight for her." He offered his hand. "You decide. I will not transfer a cent unless you say yes."

I looked toward the operating room doors. Then I placed my hand in his.

"Make it a loan. In my name. And I will repay you."

"Agreed."

He made the transfer only after I read the terms and signed them. When the billing office confirmed the deposit, I nearly collapsed. The procedure went ahead that afternoon.

I leaned against him and let the tears come freely at last.

"I was so scared," I admitted.

"I know."

"I hate that I needed you."

"Then hate the situation. Not yourself."

I lifted my head. He brushed a tear from my cheek, waiting until I leaned toward him. I kissed him with fear and relief. He returned it with fierce tenderness.

"I want to be the man you reach for," he said. "Not the man you are afraid to owe."

I wanted to believe him. More frighteningly, I was beginning to.

By the time Martha was allowed to rest, I had arranged for our neighbor to keep the bakery running. Damian never tried to make decisions for me. He asked what I needed, then helped with the things I chose to hand him.

When I returned to Manhattan, we kept our distance in public. He remained my demanding CEO, and I remained determined to earn my place. He challenged my ideas in meetings and texted after work to ask if I had eaten.

On Friday evening, he asked me to stay after the staff had left. He stood beside the windows, his tie loosened, city lights reflected in the glass.

"I do not want us to keep stealing moments and pretending they mean nothing," he said. "I want a real relationship. Ninety days. We tell the truth, respect each other, and make decisions together. No buying forgiveness. No using money as leverage. If you do not want a future with me at the end, I will let you go."

"Ninety days sounds like another contract."

"I know." He placed one page on the desk. "That is why you can change every word."

I read it carefully. It gave neither of us ownership over the other. It promised honesty, time together, and the right to say no. At the bottom, he had written by hand: You owe me nothing. I want to earn the right to be the man you call home.

My throat tightened. "You wrote this yourself?"

"Every word. I would rather have ninety honest days with you than a lifetime you feel trapped inside."

I studied him. "And if I say no?"

"I will be hurt. I will still respect your answer."

I was used to love arriving with a price. He was offering a choice and accepting that the choice might break his heart.

I signed. I believed him.

"I am choosing you," I said.

His breath left him slowly. He reached for my hand, but waited until I moved closer before drawing me into his arms. For once, I did not feel purchased or rescued. I felt wanted.

"My lease is almost over," I told him. "I am tired of going home alone and pretending I do not wish you were there."

His eyes searched my face. "Move into my penthouse. Not because I can give you a better life. Because I want to wake up beside you. You can keep your job, your money, and every choice that makes you Elena."

"Ninety days," I reminded him. "And if you try to control me, I leave."

"Then I will spend ninety days learning how to love you properly."

My old apartment was never beautiful, but every unpaid bill and lonely night there had been mine. Leaving it felt like stepping away from the only proof I had that I could survive alone.

I took the key he placed in my palm. "One key. No locks on my life."

I rose onto my toes and kissed him, choosing the closeness I had been afraid to want. He held me as if he understood that my yes was not a surrender. It was a beginning.

I carried my suitcase into the penthouse, telling myself this was only the beginning of our ninety days. I did not know a photograph from two years earlier waited in Seabrook, ready to challenge everything I believed about him.