The Empire's Price

The city looked like a circuit board from up here.

I stood at the window of my office on the sixty-second floor of Cross Tower, watching the lights blink and pulse in the darkness below. Ten PM. Most people had gone home hours ago.

I preferred it this way. Quiet. Empty. No one asking questions I didn't want to answer.

"Mr. Cross?" My CEO, Richard, cleared his throat behind me. "Should we go over the Laurent proposal?"

I turned from the window and walked back to my desk. The file was already open on my tablet. Pages of financial projections, patent documentation, merger terms.

"Their European art authentication patents," Richard said, pulling up a slide on the screen. "Revolutionary technology. If we integrate it into our luxury real estate division, we could corner the high-end market. Authenticated provenance for every piece of art in our properties. No forgeries. No questions."

I scrolled through the numbers. The patents were worth more than the Laurents probably realized. Their company was bleeding money, but the technology itself? Gold.

"What's the catch?"

Richard shifted in his seat. "They're drowning in debt. Fifty million, give or take. Creditors circling. They need this merger to survive."

"So they're desperate."

"Very."

Good. Desperate people made bad negotiators.

"And the marriage clause?"

"Standard merger arrangement for old-money families. You marry the heir, you get the patents. Clean transfer of assets."

I leaned back in my chair. Marriage. The word tasted like metal in my mouth.

"Marcus Laurent," I said. "Refresh my memory."

Richard pulled up a photo. Mid-twenties, cocky smile, expensive suit. The kind of guy who'd never worked for anything in his life.

"You met him at the Rothschild charity gala six months ago. Brief conversation. He was... memorable."

That was one way to put it. I remembered now. Loud. Arrogant. Spent the whole night name-dropping and drinking too much. He'd cornered me by the bar, rambling about his family's legacy while whiskey sloshed out of his glass.

Forgettable, really. Except now I was supposed to marry him.

"Three years," I said. "That's the contract term?"

"Yes. After three years, automatic dissolution unless both parties agree to continue."

Three years. Then freedom. I could do three years standing on my head.

"Draw up the papers."

Richard nodded and started packing up his tablet. "I'll have legal send over the final draft by morning."

After he left, I sat in the silence of my office. The city hummed below. Alive. Indifferent.

Marriage is business. That's all this was. A transaction. Assets exchanged, contracts signed, everyone gets what they need.

Love was the liability. I'd learned that lesson the hard way.

The door opened. Victoria walked in carrying a tablet and a cup of coffee I hadn't asked for but needed anyway.

"Background check on the Laurents," she said, setting both on my desk.

I took the coffee. Black. No sugar. She'd been my assistant for five years. She knew.

I scanned the report while I drank. James Laurent, the father. Gambling problem. Bad investments. A trail of debts stretching back a decade. Claire Laurent, the mother. No income. No assets in her name. And Marcus. The golden son. The heir.

The failure.

"They're desperate," Victoria said quietly.

"I noticed."

"Sir, have you actually talked to Marcus Laurent? Beyond that one conversation at the gala?"

I looked up at her. Victoria had this way of asking questions that weren't really questions. More like warnings disguised as curiosity.

"Do I need to?"

"You're marrying him."

"I'm acquiring his family's patents. The marriage is just paperwork."

She was quiet for a moment. Then, "Have you thought about what happened with Derek?"

My hand tightened on the coffee cup. Derek. Of course she'd bring up Derek.

"That was different."

"Was it?"

I set the cup down harder than I meant to. Coffee sloshed over the rim.

Derek Stone. Three years ago. I'd thought I knew what love was. Thought I'd found someone who understood the pressure, the weight of running an empire at twenty-nine. Someone who got it.

He'd understood, all right. Understood exactly how to steal my tech secrets and sell them to my biggest competitor.

I'd found out the day before our wedding. Confronted him in our apartment. He didn't even deny it. Just smiled and said business was business. That I should understand better than anyone.

I'd had him arrested. Watched security walk him out while my mother's ring still sat in its box on the counter.

The board meeting after was worse. Watching the investors I'd built relationships with question my judgment. My leadership. All because I'd been stupid enough to trust someone.

To love someone.

"Derek was a mistake," I said. My voice came out flat. Cold. "One I won't repeat."

Victoria's expression softened. "I'm not saying don't do the merger. I'm saying maybe have a real conversation with the man you're planning to marry. Even if it's just business."

"I don't need to know him. I need his family's patents."

She sighed. The kind of sigh that meant she thought I was being an idiot but wasn't going to argue anymore.

"I'll make the arrangements," she said.

She was halfway to the door when she stopped. Turned back.

"Oh. This arrived by courier about an hour ago." She pulled an envelope from her tablet case. Expensive paper. Laurent family crest embossed on the back. "From Marcus Laurent."

My stomach tightened. Not nerves. I didn't get nervous. Just... awareness. That feeling when you know something's about to go wrong.

I took the envelope and opened it.

Inside was a single piece of paper. Thick. Cream-colored. The kind of stationery rich people used to prove they had money to waste on paper.

One word was written in the center in black ink. Handwritten. Slightly smudged like the person had been shaking.

NO.

I stared at it. Read it again. Still just one word.

No.

Marcus Laurent was refusing the marriage.

Victoria watched me from the doorway. "Sir?"

I set the paper down on my desk. Carefully. Precisely. Like if I moved too fast, something might break.

"Get James Laurent on the phone," I said. My voice was calm. Controlled. "Now."