Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Broken Contract: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Riley's POVThree hours. I'd been sitting in this hospital lobby for three hours, watching the entrance to the west wing like a predator stalking prey."Mommy, I'm hungry," Lily whispered against my shoulder.My stomach clenched. The vending machine sandwich I'd bought her with my last five dollars was hours ago. "I know, sweetheart. Just a little longer."The charity event was winding down. I could see well-dressed people trickling out, their laughter echoing off the marble walls. Designer gowns, expensive suits, the kind of wealth that could solve every problem in my life without even noticing the expense.Then I saw him.Brett Graham was impossible to miss. Six feet four inches of controlled power, moving through the crowd like a shark through water. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his gray suit probably cost more than most people's cars, and his steel-gray eyes seemed to catalog every detail around him.Three men in dark suits flanked him,security, obviously. His assistant, a

Riley's POVThe car windows were fogged with our breath, and I could barely see the hospital parking lot through the condensation. Lily was curled up in the backseat, finally sleeping after hours of restless crying.I stared at Brett Graham's business card in the dim light from the street lamps. The paper was thick, expensive. Even his business cards probably cost more than my monthly food budget.My phone's battery was at three percent, but I used what little power remained to google him. The search results made my stomach clench with fear."Ruthless Tech Mogul Destroys Competitors" "Brett Graham: The Ice King of Silicon Valley" "Graham Industries CEO Known for Crushing Opposition"The photos showed him at business events, always surrounded by beautiful women. Models, actresses, socialites. They all looked the same—tall, thin, perfect. Everything I wasn't.One article from six months ago caught my attention: "Graham's Engagement Ends in Scandal."I clicked on it, squinting at the sma

Riley's POV I woke up in a room that felt like a high-end hotel suite designed by someone who'd never experienced warmth. Everything was white and gray, the walls, the furniture, the single window that looked out onto an air shaft instead of the Manhattan skyline. The bed was comfortable, but it might as well have been a prison cot for all the comfort it provided my soul. "You're awake." A woman in her fifties stood in the doorway, her uniform crisp and her expression neutral. She stepped into the room with practiced efficiency, her hands clasped behind her back. "I'm Mrs. Cheni, the head housekeeper. Mr. Graham asked me to explain the arrangements." I sat up, my head still fuzzy from whatever the doctor had given me last night. The room spun slightly as I tried to focus on her face. "Where am I?" "The staff quarters of Mr. Graham's penthouse," she said, walking to the window and adjusting the blinds with precise movements. "This is your room for the duration of your... employment

Riley's POV "You look tired." Marcus said as he appeared beside me in the penthouse kitchen, his voice gentle. He moved quietly, like he was trying not to startle me. I was making tea, but my hands were still shaking from yesterday's humiliation. I set down the teapot with a sharp clink. "I'm fine." "No, you're not." He pulled out a chair at the small staff table, the legs scraping against the tile floor. "Sit. I'll make the tea." I hesitated, watching his face for any sign that this was another test. Then I sat slowly as Marcus moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. I realized this wasn't the first time he'd offered kindness to someone in my position. "How long have you worked for him?" I asked, wrapping my robe tighter around myself. "Eight years." Marcus poured hot water into two cups, the steam rising between us. "He's not always like this." I let out a bitter laugh. "What's he usually like?" "Complicated." Marcus sat across from me. "He's been through things that wo

Riley's POV The small white bottle sat on my nightstand like a question mark. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands while reading the label: "Alprazolam - For anxiety - Take as needed." My name was on the prescription, but I hadn't filled it. I'd never even been to see a doctor. Yet here it was, along with a note in Marcus's neat handwriting: "The Dr. is expecting you on Thursday at 2 PM for follow-up." I set the bottle down, my hands trembling slightly as the plastic clicked against the wood surface. Someone had arranged everything. The doctor's visit I didn't remember making, the prescription I didn't remember filling, the medication that would help with the panic attacks that had been destroying my life. Someone who didn't want me to know he'd helped. A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. I quickly shoved the bottle into the nightstand drawer. "Come in." Mrs. Cheni entered with a breakfast tray. "Mr. Graham wanted me to make sure you ate something substantial today." I