อ๋องขี้โรคกับสตรียอดนักฆ่า

Elena's POV

The eviction notice in my purse felt like it was burning a hole through the leather. It was a neon-orange slip of paper, the kind that screamed failure in a font large enough for the neighbors to read from the sidewalk. Three months overdue. Seven days to vacate. Every time the strap of my bag shifted, I could feel the crisp, cheap paper crinkling—a mocking reminder that the Rossi name, once legendary for its craftsmanship, was currently worth less than the dust on the floor of my father’s workshop.

I stared at the mahogany doors of the executive suite on the 64th floor of Vane Enterprises. Outside these glass walls, Manhattan was a blurred map of shimmering lights and ambition. Inside, the air was different. It smelled of expensive sandalwood and the kind of quiet that only comes with extreme wealth—a silence so heavy it felt pressurized.

"Mr. Vane will see you now, Ms. Rossi."

The receptionist didn't even look up. She was a vision of corporate perfection, pointing toward the towering double doors with a polished, dismissive finger.

I smoothed the skirt of my only professional suit and pushed the doors open.

Silas Vane was framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunset casting a bloody orange glow over his broad shoulders. He was hunched over a tablet, his stylus moving with surgical precision. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in three days, yet somehow, he still looked like he could buy and sell everyone in the building without checking his balance.

"You’re four minutes late, Rossi," he said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate in my chest.

"The elevator was held up," I lied. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Don't lie to me. It's a waste of my billable time." He finally looked up. His eyes were the color of the Atlantic in mid-winter—cold, gray, and deep enough to drown in. He tossed a thick manila folder onto the desk between us. "Sit down."

I sat, keeping my spine as straight as a ruler. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me tremble.

"I know why you're here, Elena," he began, leaning back in his Italian leather chair. "I know about your father’s failing health. I know that the Sterling Development Group has bought the debt on your family’s shop in Red Hook. And I know that in seven days, they intend to bulldoze the Rossi legacy to build a parking garage."

The blood drained from my face. "How do you know that? That's private—"

"Everything is public if you pay the right people," he interrupted. "You’ve been working in my records department for two years, Rossi. You’re efficient, you’re invisible, and most importantly, you have a name the Board of Directors will respect. The Sterling-Vane merger is built on old foundations, and I need a Rossi to stabilize my position."

"Is this the part where you fire me?" I snapped.

Silas let out a short, dry laugh. "Quite the opposite. I’m making you an offer. One that will stop those bulldozers and pay for the specialist your father needs."

He pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. It was a contract. At the very top, in bold letters, it read: MARRIAGE AGREEMENT.

"To me," Silas said, as if discussing a business merger. "My grandfather, Arthur Vane, has invoked a 'Moral Stability' clause in the family trust. Unless I am married by the end of the month, the Board has the legal right to vote me out and install my cousin. I have no intention of letting that happen."

I looked from the paper to his face. "Why me?"

"Because you're desperate enough to say yes," he said, walking around the desk to stand just inches away from me. The scent of his cologne—dark and woodsy—hit me like a blow. "And because I know you hate me. That makes you safe. You won't fall in love with me, and you won't make a scene when I hand you a check for two million dollars and a divorce decree twelve months from now."

Two million dollars. It was my father’s life. It was the shop.

"Two million," I repeated.

"And a monthly stipend," he added. "In exchange, you move into my penthouse. You play the part of the doting wife at every gala and board dinner. You smile when I touch you in public."

"And in private?"

Silas leaned down, caging me in with his arms. "In private, we are strangers. No physical intimacy. No emotional expectations. You are a line item on a balance sheet, Elena. Nothing more."

The coldness should have insulted me. Instead, it was a relief. I knew how to handle a business deal.

"What if I say no?"

Silas straightened up, his shadow looming over me. "Then you leave this office, you lose your job, and you watch your father lose the only thing he has left. The Sterlings will have the Rossi shop leveled by Monday."

I reached into my purse and touched the orange eviction notice. Then, I looked at the gold-embossed "Vane Enterprises" logo on the wall.

I didn't need until 8 AM. I already knew. I was going to sell my soul to the Ice King to save my father's heart.