The Cross Tower stood tall, seventy stories of glass and steel.
Emma stood before it, wondering why she had agreed to come.
She took a deep breath and went in.
She had sacrificed her sleep last night to search up Damien Cross.
Thirty-two. Worth five billion. Graduated Harvard at twenty-three. Known for hostile takeovers.
The tabloids called him the Ice King.
And he wanted to talk to her. The waitress who'd told him off and quit her job.
This was either very good or very, very bad.
The lobby made her feel poor. All marble and luxury.
The thrift clothes she wore screamed "you don't belong here."
She walked up to the receptionist.
"Emma Chen for Mr. Cross."
The receptionist's smile was professionally perfect. "Seventieth floor. Ms. Winters is expecting you."
Everything screaming money and power.
Claire waited by a massive desk, looking effortlessly put-together. "Ms. Chen. Right on time." She gestured toward a door. "He's ready."
She stepped inside. It was as if the air changed immediately she entered. Like it was a different air from outside she was breathing in. A different air from the poor people like her.
His office was bigger than her entire apartment. Damien Cross stood by his window, looking as handsome as ever.
If she didn't know what a rude fuck he was she would have fangirled over him.
"Ms. Chen." He didn't turn around. "Sit."
Emma sat in a leather chair that probably cost more than Tyler's monthly medications. The office smelled expensive...cologne and leather and old money.
Damien finally turned. Those grey eyes got her. Cold. Assessing. Looking at her like she was a problem to solve.
"I have a proposition," he said, sitting across from her. "I need a wife."
"What?"
"A wife. Twelve months. You live in my house, attend events as my spouse, maintain appearances." He pushed a folder across the desk. "In return, ten million dollars. Upfront."
Emma's brain short-circuited. "This is insane."
"This is business. My Dad's will says I have to be married before I'm thirty three to get my inheritance. He was a firm believer of family and familial love bullshit. So I need this. I have only two months left."
"So marry someone you actually care about."
His smile was ice-cold. "I don't believe in love, Ms. Chen. Love is a chemical reaction people use to justify bad decisions. I prefer contracts."
Emma opened the folder.
"Why me?"
"Because you need money and you hate me. That makes you perfect. You won't confuse business with feelings."
Claire stepped forward with another sheet. "Terms: You'll live at Cross Manor. Separate bedrooms. Public affection only when necessary. No intimacy. You attend required events. After twelve months, quiet divorce, clean split."
Emma's head spun. Ten million. Tyler's surgery cost five hundred thousand. That left nine and a half million for his care, for rebuilding their lives, for breathing.
But marrying this man? This cold, calculating stranger?
"I can't." Emma stood. "This is crazy. Find someone else."
"There is no one else." Damien stood too. "I had you investigated, Ms. Chen. Three jobs, drowning in debt, a brother who needs surgery you can't afford. You're desperate."
"Not that desperate."
"No?" He raised a brow, "In six months, your brother dies. Take this. Your pride is not worth his life."
"You bastard. You don't know anything about us!"
"I'm a realist."
She scoffed.
"Sign the contract. Save your brother. Walk away in twelve months with enough money to never struggle again. Or leave now and watch him die knowing you had a choice."
Emma stared at the pen. At the contract. At those cold grey eyes.
Tyler's face flashed through her mind. Pale. Weak. Those machines keeping him alive.
"I…I need time."
"Time is not what I have Emma."
"Just a little more time."
"One day. Twenty four hours. Anything more than that and the offer is off the table."
She grabbed the document and ran.
Could she do it?
A whole year married to a cold billionaire. To a man she would rather die than marry.
Her phone rang. Tyler.
"Em?" His voice was so weak. "Where are you? I'm scared."
And Emma knew her answer.
-----
She came back the next morning at nine. Claire was waiting in the lobby like she'd known Emma would return.
"He's expecting you."
This time Emma walked into that office with her spine straight. Damien stood by the windows like he'd never moved.
"I'll do it," Emma said. "But I have conditions."
He raised a brow.
"You are not in any position to negotiate."
"Neither are you. Two months to find a wife who'll agree to this insanity." Emma pulled out her list. "First, Tyler gets his surgery immediately. Money goes to the hospital before the wedding. Second, I want my own bank account you can't touch. Third, after twelve months, we never contact each other again."
"Agreed. Anything else?"
"Yes." Emma met his gaze. "I don't care if you don't believe in love. I don't care if this is business. But for twelve months, I'm your wife. You treat me with basic human respect."
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe.
"Deal," he said, extending his hand.
Emma shook it, sealing her fate.
They married three days later at City Hall.
The wedding… if it could be called that, was stiff and fast. They signed the documents like they were signing an ordinary business deal. No smiles, no excitement like the other couples at the registry.
Only Claire, his assistant seemed a bit happy about it. She clapped each time they did anything important. Maybe she was trying to encourage them.
The ceremony took seven minutes. The judge pronounced them husband and wife. Damien's kiss was brief, cold, nothing like a real wedding.
When he pulled away, his grey eyes met hers. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Cross."
Emma looked at the ring her finger and knew instantly that she had gotten herself into something that she won't be able to survive.
The Cross Tower stood tall, seventy stories of glass and steel.
Emma stood before it, wondering why she had agreed to come.
She took a deep breath and went in.
She had sacrificed her sleep last night to search up Damien Cross.
Thirty-two. Worth five billion. Graduated Harvard at twenty-three. Known for hostile takeovers.
The tabloids called him the Ice King.
And he wanted to talk to her. The waitress who'd told him off and quit her job.
This was either very good or very, very bad.
The lobby made her feel poor. All marble and luxury.
The thrift clothes she wore screamed "you don't belong here."
She walked up to the receptionist.
"Emma Chen for Mr. Cross."
The receptionist's smile was professionally perfect. "Seventieth floor. Ms. Winters is expecting you."
Everything screaming money and power.
Claire waited by a massive desk, looking effortlessly put-together. "Ms. Chen. Right on time." She gestured toward a door. "He's ready."
She stepped inside. It was as if the air changed immediately she entered. Like it was a different air from outside she was breathing in. A different air from the poor people like her.
His office was bigger than her entire apartment. Damien Cross stood by his window, looking as handsome as ever.
If she didn't know what a rude fuck he was she would have fangirled over him.
"Ms. Chen." He didn't turn around. "Sit."
Emma sat in a leather chair that probably cost more than Tyler's monthly medications. The office smelled expensive...cologne and leather and old money.
Damien finally turned. Those grey eyes got her. Cold. Assessing. Looking at her like she was a problem to solve.
"I have a proposition," he said, sitting across from her. "I need a wife."
"What?"
"A wife. Twelve months. You live in my house, attend events as my spouse, maintain appearances." He pushed a folder across the desk. "In return, ten million dollars. Upfront."
Emma's brain short-circuited. "This is insane."
"This is business. My Dad's will says I have to be married before I'm thirty three to get my inheritance. He was a firm believer of family and familial love bullshit. So I need this. I have only two months left."
"So marry someone you actually care about."
His smile was ice-cold. "I don't believe in love, Ms. Chen. Love is a chemical reaction people use to justify bad decisions. I prefer contracts."
Emma opened the folder.
"Why me?"
"Because you need money and you hate me. That makes you perfect. You won't confuse business with feelings."
Claire stepped forward with another sheet. "Terms: You'll live at Cross Manor. Separate bedrooms. Public affection only when necessary. No intimacy. You attend required events. After twelve months, quiet divorce, clean split."
Emma's head spun. Ten million. Tyler's surgery cost five hundred thousand. That left nine and a half million for his care, for rebuilding their lives, for breathing.
But marrying this man? This cold, calculating stranger?
"I can't." Emma stood. "This is crazy. Find someone else."
"There is no one else." Damien stood too. "I had you investigated, Ms. Chen. Three jobs, drowning in debt, a brother who needs surgery you can't afford. You're desperate."
"Not that desperate."
"No?" He raised a brow, "In six months, your brother dies. Take this. Your pride is not worth his life."
"You bastard. You don't know anything about us!"
"I'm a realist."
She scoffed.
"Sign the contract. Save your brother. Walk away in twelve months with enough money to never struggle again. Or leave now and watch him die knowing you had a choice."
Emma stared at the pen. At the contract. At those cold grey eyes.
Tyler's face flashed through her mind. Pale. Weak. Those machines keeping him alive.
"I…I need time."
"Time is not what I have Emma."
"Just a little more time."
"One day. Twenty four hours. Anything more than that and the offer is off the table."
She grabbed the document and ran.
Could she do it?
A whole year married to a cold billionaire. To a man she would rather die than marry.
Her phone rang. Tyler.
"Em?" His voice was so weak. "Where are you? I'm scared."
And Emma knew her answer.
-----
She came back the next morning at nine. Claire was waiting in the lobby like she'd known Emma would return.
"He's expecting you."
This time Emma walked into that office with her spine straight. Damien stood by the windows like he'd never moved.
"I'll do it," Emma said. "But I have conditions."
He raised a brow.
"You are not in any position to negotiate."
"Neither are you. Two months to find a wife who'll agree to this insanity." Emma pulled out her list. "First, Tyler gets his surgery immediately. Money goes to the hospital before the wedding. Second, I want my own bank account you can't touch. Third, after twelve months, we never contact each other again."
"Agreed. Anything else?"
"Yes." Emma met his gaze. "I don't care if you don't believe in love. I don't care if this is business. But for twelve months, I'm your wife. You treat me with basic human respect."
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe.
"Deal," he said, extending his hand.
Emma shook it, sealing her fate.
They married three days later at City Hall.
The wedding… if it could be called that, was stiff and fast. They signed the documents like they were signing an ordinary business deal. No smiles, no excitement like the other couples at the registry.
Only Claire, his assistant seemed a bit happy about it. She clapped each time they did anything important. Maybe she was trying to encourage them.
The ceremony took seven minutes. The judge pronounced them husband and wife. Damien's kiss was brief, cold, nothing like a real wedding.
When he pulled away, his grey eyes met hers. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Cross."
Emma looked at the ring her finger and knew instantly that she had gotten herself into something that she won't be able to survive.