CHAPTER 2: The Offer

POV: Avalon Pierce

The city lights sprawled like a living organism forty-five floors below Avalon’s office windows, a shimmering sea of neon veins pulsing through San Francisco’s restless heart. From this lofty vantage point, he watched the intricate dance of countless lives unfolding beneath him—people bustling with purpose, free from the shadow of manipulation or unseen strings pulling at their fates. Yet, here he was, ensnared in an invisible trap left behind by the woman who had once been his anchor.

Nene’s will sat on his desk like a bomb that had already detonated. An edict issued from beyond the grave—it was less a request and more a command, an ultimatum disguised as a final bequest.

Marry Selene Castellano within thirty days.

The scotch in his glass caught the amber glow of his desk lamp. He’d poured it two hours ago and hadn’t taken a sip. This ritual—the act of filling the glass, the weight of it in his hand—was all that remained as a vestige of control amid the chaos. Control was all he had left. That, and rage so cold it felt like clarity.

His grandmother had always been a meddler, yes, but undeniably loving in her own stern and imperious way. Even dying hadn’t stopped her from orchestrating his life like some cosmic chess match where he was apparently too stupid to make his own moves.

Without warning, the door creaked open, betraying the solemn silence that clung to the room. Margaret Chen entered—his CFO, confidante, and the closest person to family he had left. In her hands were two cups of coffee. She set one down beside the scotch, then took the chair opposite him with the casual authority borne of years spent navigating his turbulence.“You’re going to wear a hole in that carpet,” she said.

Avalon didn’t turn from the window. “Did you know?”

“About the will? No.” Margaret’s voice was steady, honest. Twenty years of working together meant he could hear the truth in her inflexions. “But I’m not surprised, Nene loved you. In her own way, she was only trying to help.”

“Help.”

The word tasted bitter. “By forcing me to marry a woman who destroyed me?”

“By giving you a second chance with the woman you never stopped loving.”

At last, Avalon turned, meeting her gaze. Margaret was fifty-two—sharp, unwavering, like a shard of broken glass that could cut through any defence. She’d mentored him since he was a brash, twenty-two-year-old tech wunderkind, armed with nothing but ambition and a social media app. She saw through every facade he erected, every mask he donned.

“I don’t love her anymore.” The lie came easily. He’d been practising it for ten years.

“Avalon.” Margaret sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim. “I was there. I saw you after she left. You didn’t eat for two weeks. You built Nexus into a four-billion-dollar company because work was the only thing that didn’t remind you of her.”

“Exactly. I moved on.”

“You buried yourself. There’s a difference.”

He finally crossed to his desk, sank into the leather chair that cost more than most people’s cars. Everything in his life was expensive, curated, perfect, everything except the gaping hole where his heart used to be.

“Marcus gets everything if I don’t comply,” Avalon said. “The company, the estate, the foundation. He’ll dismantle it all and sell the pieces.”

“I know.”

Forty-two hundred employees lose their jobs. The cancer research Nene funded gets cut. The scholarships disappear.”

“I know.”

“So I don’t have a choice.”

Margaret set down her cup. “You always have a choice. The question is, what are you willing to sacrifice?”

Avalon powered up his laptop, fingers flying as he typed Selene Castellano’s name into the search bar. The private investigator on retainer had sent the report just hours ago, well before he’d left the lawyer’s office. Thorough, efficient—a quality Avalon respected even when it brought unwelcome news.

Selene Castellano. Age thirty-two. Last known address: a fourth-floor walkup in the Tenderloin. Three part-time jobs: bookkeeper, tutor and a nonprofit assistant. No social media presence. No criminal record. Just one younger sister, Maya, who is undergoing treatment for stage three lymphoma at UCSF Medical Centre.

There it was. The lever. The pressure point.

Medical bills didn’t pay themselves, especially not experimental treatments that insurance companies loved to deny. He knew desperation when he saw it in numbers—six figures of debt for a woman working as a bookkeeper, tutor, and nonprofit assistant.

“You’re going to find her,” Margaret said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Avalon answered, voice cold and resolute.

“And offer her money.”

“It’s what she needs.”

“It’s not what she wants,” he replied.

Avalon looked up sharply. “You don’t know what she wants. Neither do I. She made sure of that when she disappeared without a word.”

Margaret stood, smoothing her jacket. “I know that people don’t vanish without reasons. Maybe you should ask what those reasons were before you treat this like a business transaction.”

“It is a business transaction. Marriage for money. Very clean. Very simple.”

“Nothing about this is simple.” She paused at the door. “Avalon, what if she says no?”

He hadn’t considered that. Couldn’t afford to consider it. Marcus was already circling, already talking to board members about his vision for Pierce Holdings’ future. A future that involved selling off Nexus piece by piece to the highest bidders.

“Everyone has a price,” Avalon said quietly. “I’ll find hers, and she’ll agree.”

“That’s a very cynical way to approach the woman you once wanted to marry.”

He had wanted to marry her. Had bought a ring during their senior year, planned to propose at Big Sur, where they’d first said I love you. Then she’d vanished, no explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as she’d never existed outside his imagination.

Three credits shy of her degree, she’d disappeared. He’d searched for weeks, apartment empty, phone disconnected. Her sister Maya, only fifteen then, had looked at him with sad eyes and said, “She’s gone. Please don’t look for her.”

Now Nene was forcing his hands.

“Find her address,” Avalon said. “The current one. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“And say what?”

He closed the laptop, finished the scotch in one burning swallow. “I’ll tell her the truth. I need a wife, and she needs money. We can help each other. One year, after that, we both get what we want and never have to see each other again.”

Margaret’s expression was unreadable. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m saving a company and four thousand jobs.”

“You’re reopening a wound that never healed.”

She left before he could argue. The office felt sunken without her steady presence. Avalon returned to the window, watched the city breathe and pulse below. Somewhere out there, in a fourth-floor walkup with probably no elevator and definitely too many stairs, Selene Castellano was living a life he knew nothing about.

The girl who used to fall asleep in the library with economics textbooks pillowed under her head. Who took her coffee black because she claimed sugar was cheating. Who had laughed at his terrible jokes and looked at him like he was someone worth knowing, not just worth knowing because of his last name.

That girl was gone and had to be, and maybe that was good. Maybe the woman she’d become would be practical, businesslike. Someone willing to sign a contract and keep their distance.

Maybe this time, his heart wouldn’t be collateral damage.

Avalon picked up his phone, texted the investigator: *Send complete file. I want everything.*

The response came immediately: *Already in your email.*

Of course it was. Everyone was so efficient in his world. Everything moved at the speed of money and power.

Tomorrow, he’d find Selene Castellano, he’d make an offer she couldn’t refuse, and he’d pretend his hands weren’t shaking at the thought of seeing her face again.

But tonight, he’ll stand at this window and remember what it felt like to be twenty-two and stupid enough to believe in love.

The scotch bottle was right where he’d left it.