An Unexpected Offer

Cleopatra's POV

Two days had passed since the wedding disaster, but that was all the time it took for my entire life to fall apart. I sat motionless on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at my phone as another notification lit up the screen with a buzz.

Appointment Canceled, the subject line read.

It was the third email today. The bride whose floral arrangements I had spent three weeks designing had decided to hire someone else. The gala I had been planning for two months had sent a polite note saying they were changing directions. Birthdays, anniversary parties, launches, every single client had backed out.

No one wanted to work with the woman whose ruined wedding had become the country's favorite piece of trashy gossip.

I tossed my phone onto the mattress and buried my face in my hands. "I didn't do anything wrong," I whispered into the quiet room.

Across from my bed, my father's photograph sat on the bookshelf. His warm smile looked back at me from the frame. He had been a simple photographer who believed in hard work and honesty. I missed him so much it physically hurt.

A knock at the door startled me. Before I could stand, the door swung open and my best friend, Grace, walked in carrying two paper coffee cups and a bakery bag.

"I brought caffeine, carbs, and zero sympathy for you wallowing in the dark," Grace announced, setting the items on my small kitchen table.

I wiped my face and forced a weak smile. "I'm not wallowing."

Grace raised an eyebrow, scanning my disheveled appearance. "Cleo, you've been wearing that same oversized sweater for forty-eight hours. Drink the coffee."

I walked over and picked up a cup, letting the warmth soak into my hands. "Thanks for coming over."

"Always," she said softly. She sat down, pulling her phone out before quickly locking the screen and placing it face down.

I caught the movement immediately. "Are they still talking about me?"

Grace hesitated. "You don't want to read it."

"Tell me, Grace. I'd rather know."

She sighed deeply. "The tabloids gave you a nickname. They're calling you 'The Billionaire's Abandoned Bride.' And... half the internet is debating whether you were in on Chris's scheme."

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "In on it? I didn't even know the man had a second fiancée, let alone that he was using my bank information to hide stolen funds!"

"I know, Cleo. The people who matter know you're innocent," Grace said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "It will blow over."

"Will it?" I picked up my phone, against my better judgment, and opened a major news site. Right on the front page was the photo of me fainting into Desmond Walton's arms. The comment section was filled with strangers tearing my character apart.

"I don't even recognize my life anymore," I whispered, locking the phone again.

"You'll rebuild," Grace promised. "You're strong."

"With what money?" I gestured around my small apartment. "My event business is dead. My accounts are frozen because of the investigation. I had to list my dad's vintage camera online this morning just to cover rent."

Grace gasped. "Not his camera! You love that thing."

"I love having a roof over my head more," I said quietly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

We spent the morning together in my apartment and by late afternoon, Grace had to leave for work, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.

I opened my laptop to check my bank portal, only to be greeted by red bold text: ACCOUNT FROZEN / PENDING LEGAL REVIEW.

Below that was an alert from a private lender. I clicked it open, my blood running cold as I read the attached document. It was a personal loan application for fifty thousand dollars in my name, carrying a forged signature that looked similar to mine. Chris had taken out a huge loan under my identity, and the final repayment deadline was tomorrow.

At that moment, a sudden, aggressive knock sounded at my door.

When I opened it, two men in suits stood in the hallway. The lead man handed me a thick legal envelope.

"Cleopatra Sander?" he asked.

"Yes," I said cautiously.

"We are representatives for Apex Capital. This is a formal notice regarding your defaulted loan. If fifty thousand dollars is not remitted by six o'clock tomorrow evening, we will initiate asset seizure and legal proceedings."

"I didn't take out this loan!" I protested, holding the envelope back out to him. "My ex-fiancé forged my signature!"

"You'll need to settle that in court, Miss Sander," the man said dispassionately. "Have a good day."

They turned and walked down the hall. I stood in the doorway, staring at the paper as reality closed in on me. I was completely broke, facing financial ruin, and potentially facing criminal charges for crimes I didn't commit.

My phone rang from the table. It was an unknown number. Normally, I would have ignored it, but out of sheer exhaustion, I answered.

“Hello?”

“Miss Sander,” a deep, controlled voice spoke through the speaker.

I instantly recognized the cool authority in that tone. My grip tightened around the phone. “Desmond Walton.”

“I see you recognize my voice,” he said smoothly.

“How did you get this number?” I demanded, my anger flaring.

“That is irrelevant,” Desmond replied calmly. “I am calling because I have a proposition for you.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “A proposition? After you blew up my life, humiliated me publicly, and destroyed my career?”

“Chris destroyed your career,” Desmond corrected without a hint of hesitation. “I simply exposed the foundation it was built on.”

“You finished the job!” I yelled. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“I want to hire you,” he said cleanly. “My financial manager position opened up today. I want you to fill it.”

I froze, pulling the phone away to stare at it in disbelief before putting it back to my ear. “Are you out of your mind? Why on earth would I ever work for you?”

“Because you need money, and I pay exceptionally well,” Desmond stated, his tone pragmatic and cold. “You are facing immediate financial distress due to Chris’s fraud. Working for me provides a substantial salary, legal protection, and a clear signal to the public that Walton Global does not consider you an accomplice.”

I stared down at the fifty-thousand-dollar collection notice in my hand. Every fiber of my being wanted to curse at him and hang up. But as I looked around my empty apartment, I knew I had no other options. Besides, returning to Walton Global would give me the chance to take my revenge on ‘the billionaire who ruined my wedding’.

“Why me, Mr. Walton?” I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Are you feeling guilty after what you did to me?”

“I don’t make business decisions based on guilt,” Desmond replied. “I need someone smart, someone who isn’t intimidated by me, and someone who will replace Chris Cross. You fit the criteria.”

A long silence stretched between us over the line.

“Think about it, Miss Sander,” he added softly. “You have until nine tomorrow morning to decide.”

The line went dead.