The Billionaire's Deal

Elizabeth's point of view "Your sister's condition is critical. If we don't operate on her soon, I'm afraid you may lose her," the nurse's words hit me like a sledgehammer. 'Lose her' The phrase echoed in my mind as I stared at Jessica's still form lying on the bed, her frail body plugged into various machines like a puppet. "Is there any way you can help me? Just do the operation before I get the money," I pleaded, even though I knew it was futile. "I'm sorry, we can't. Not without at least a deposit," she responded, her words making my legs feel weak. Jessica was the only family I had left. I couldn't afford to lose her. But where was I supposed to find fifty thousand dollars? I had no money, and the bank had only offered me a fifteen-thousand-dollar loan on the condition that I had a white-collar job. "Ms. James, I can only give you three days to bring the money. If not, I'm afraid we’ll have to discharge her. Our hospital can't be responsible for what happens to her," the n

Richard's point of view: "I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was I dreaming? Was this a nightmare? It felt like déjà vu—Laura on her knees in front of my father, all over again. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ I roared, my voice echoing through the office as my fists clenched at my sides. ‘Richard!’ my father exclaimed, springing to his feet. The woman remained where she was, kneeling on the floor, her head bowed. ‘What is going on?’ I demanded again, stepping closer, my eyes narrowing on the woman in front of me. ‘Elizabeth came for an interview,’ my father stammered. ‘She accidentally spilled water on my—’ His words faltered. Elizabeth? My gaze softened briefly as I waited for her to look up. Slowly, she rose, her face partially obscured by her jacket. But it didn’t matter—I knew her. The woman from the club. The memory of last night surged forward. I’d gone out of my way to ensure no man touched her, yet here she was, standing in my father’s office. Did she come to sell

“What?” I exclaimed, trying to ensure I’d heard correctly. Wasn’t this the same man who had insulted me in his father’s office? What was he doing here? Was he following me? “Mr. Richard,” Rose began to stammer, “b-but you just…” She was about to say more when Richard cut her off. “I said I would pay for it, Rose. Are you going to stand here arguing with me, or are you going to start preparing for the treatment?” His tone was commanding, and I noticed Rose jump slightly as he spoke. Rose turned to the nurse, who was already near the machine. “You heard Mr. Richard. Get her the consent form and inform the doctor,” she barked. I stood there, confused, watching them scatter across the room. Taking a deep breath, I felt a small wave of relief wash over me as I turned to the man, a warm smile on my lips. “Thank you,” I whispered to Richard, who wore a smug smile. “Don’t thank me yet. This is not free,” he replied. I sighed. Why was I not surprised? He seemed nothing like his kin

Elizabeth’s Point of View Mr Sandra turned around her eyes scanning the environment, her eyes were getting close to me when, I ducked behind the bush, barely breathing, my eyes locked on her, she stood stubbornly at my door. Any sane person would have walked away by now, but not her. She was persistent. I just had to wait her out. “Elizabeth, what are we doing here?” A voice said and, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning around, I found a man crouching beside me. He looked oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I had seen him before. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said with a warm smile, his brown eyes glinting in the morning light. His gaze shifted toward my door, where Mrs. Sandra was still standing like a guard on duty. “You’re hiding from Mrs. S?” he guessed, amusement flickering in his expression. I nodded. “Oh, I can help with that,” he offered easily. “I’m Jake, by the way. Your neighbor. I also work at the hospital where your sister is—I'm

"Where are you?!" His deep voice cut through, sharp and demanding. Before I could even form a response, my mind raced, scrambling for words. Why was I so hesitant to tell him where I was? It wasn’t as though I was doing anything illegal. "I thought you cared about your sister," Richard spat, his voice laced with venom. "But clearly, you'd rather sell yourself than take responsibility for your own blood." His words stung, not because they were true, but because of the sheer audacity. I inhaled deeply, forcing back the frustration clawing at my throat. I hated that I had to explain myself to this narrow-minded jerk. "I am at work," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended, trying—failing—to mask my irritation. "And I am not the kind of woman you think I am. I am an honest worker, who works sincerely to make ends meet." Why was I even explaining myself? He let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Honest worker," he echoed with sarcasm, making it sound like the most ridiculous thing he