The private office smelled faintly of leather and expensive cigars. Elena sat rigid in the plush chair, the antiseptic scent from the hospital ward still clinging to her clothes. Her fingers twisted in her lap, knuckles white.
Across the mahogany desk, Mr. Blackwood leaned back, his presence filling the room like a predator in no hurry to strike. His silver hair gleamed under the warm light, his dark eyes assessing her like she was an investment portfolio.
"I understand your… predicament," he said slowly, as though savoring each word. "Your mother's surgery will cost more than you can ever afford. Time is not on her side."
Elena's voice was raw. "Please. If there's any charity fund, any payment plan"
He raised one manicured hand. "There is another way. One that ensures her immediate treatment… and her continued care."
Her breath caught. "What… way?"
He didn't flinch. "Marry my son."
The air left her lungs in a single, stunned exhale. "What?"
"Adrian needs… stability," Mr. Blackwood continued, his tone clipped, as if discussing the weather. "His reputation has suffered. You will be that stability. In return, your mother's bills will be handled. Completely."
Elena's nails bit into her palms. Marry a stranger? Sell her future like a bargaining chip? The very thought curdled in her stomach.
"I don't even know him," she whispered.
"You'll have time to adjust." His smile was cold, transactional. "Or, you can walk out and pray your mother's heart doesn't give out before you find another miracle."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. The door opened without a knock.
Adrian Blackwood stepped inside, tall and devastatingly composed in a tailored black suit. His eyes, icy, unreadable flicked over her once, lingering just long enough to feel like a judgment.
A slow, cutting smile curved his lips. "So," he drawled, his voice a velvet blade, "this is the woman you want to chain to me?"
Elena froze.
Her fate, it seemed, had just walked into the room.