Natasha's POV
Natasha stared at the threatening text message, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Saw you at Chen Ventures. Interesting choice of boyfriend. Careful, Tasha. Some men are more dangerous than they appear. A Friend
Someone had been watching her. Someone knew about the meeting with Elias.
Her fingers trembled as she looked around the lobby. Businesspeople rushed past, security guards stood at their posts, everyone focused on their own lives. Any one of them could be the person who'd sent the message.
Or maybe they were already gone, watching from somewhere else, laughing at her panic.
Natasha deleted the text and shoved her phone into her purse. She needed to think clearly. Someone was trying to scare her, trying to make her paranoid.
It was working.
She pushed through the revolving doors and stepped onto the busy street, sucking in deep breaths of city air. The morning sunshine felt too bright, too cheerful for the dark thoughts spinning through her mind.
Her phone buzzed again.
Natasha yanked it out, expecting another threat. Instead, it was a text from James Park: Contract attached. Review and sign by 5 PM today. First appearance scheduled for Saturday gala. Details to follow.
She opened the attachment. The contract was twenty pages of legal language that basically said she'd pretend to be Elias's girlfriend, attend events, maintain the illusion, and keep her mouth shut. In exchange, she'd receive monthly payments totaling one million dollars over six months.
It looked legitimate. Professional. The kind of contract that could actually protect both of them.
But contracts could be traps. Marcus had taught her that. Beautiful words on paper that hid poison underneath.
Natasha's phone rang, making her jump. James Park's number flashed on the screen.
Ms. Quinn, his professional voice came through. I wanted to confirm you received the contract.
I got it. I'm reviewing it now.
Good. Also, I need to inform you that Mr. Chen would like to meet again this afternoon to discuss cover story details and public appearance protocols. Are you available at two o'clock?
Natasha checked her watch. That gave her four hours to decide if she was really doing this.
I'll be there, she heard herself say.
After James hung up, Natasha walked to a nearby coffee shop and bought the cheapest thing on the menu with the last few dollars in her account. She sat in a corner booth and read through the contract word by word, using every skill she'd learned as an investigative journalist to look for traps.
She found none. The contract was surprisingly fair. Either Elias Chen was honest in his business dealings, or he was smart enough to hide his manipulation where she couldn't see it.
At 1:45 PM, Natasha rode the elevator back up to Chen Ventures' top floor. This time, James escorted her to a different room—a conference room with a massive table and windows overlooking the city.
Elias was already there, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking at his phone with a frown.
He glanced up when she entered. Ms. Quinn. Sit.
No greeting. No pleasantries. Just straight to business.
Natasha sat across from him, keeping the table between them like a barrier. I read the contract. It seems fair, but I have questions.
Ask them.
What happens if your grandmother dies before the six months are up?
Something flickered across Elias's face—pain, maybe, or fear—before his expression went neutral again. The arrangement continues until the board formally votes to confirm my position as permanent CEO. My grandmother's will stipulates that I must be in a committed relationship at the time of her death and for three months after. If we break up too soon, Richard can challenge my position.
So I might be stuck in this longer than six months.
Potentially. The contract includes compensation adjustments for extended timelines.
Natasha nodded slowly. Next question. What if someone discovers we're faking?
Then we both lose. I lose my company. You lose your payment and any chance of me helping you destroy your enemies. We have equal motivation to maintain the illusion.
What about physical affection? The contract says 'appropriate public displays' but doesn't define what that means.
Elias's jaw tightened slightly. Hand-holding, embracing, kissing when cameras are present. Nothing more. I'm not paying you to sleep with me, Ms. Quinn. I can find that elsewhere if needed.
The blunt statement shouldn't have stung, but it did. Natasha pushed the feeling aside. Fine. Last question. Why should I trust you won't use this against me somehow? You have all the power in this arrangement. You're rich, connected, and I'm nobody. What stops you from destroying me the way Marcus did?
Elias set down his phone and looked at her directly. Really looked at her, his dark eyes intense and focused.
You want honesty? Here it is. I don't care about you enough to destroy you. You're a business transaction. A means to an end. If you fulfill your obligations, I'll fulfill mine. If you betray me, I'll ruin you. It's that simple.
The cold assessment should have made Natasha angry. Instead, she felt oddly relieved. At least he was honest about his intentions. No false promises of friendship or care. Just clean, brutal honesty.
That's the saddest thing I've ever heard, she said quietly.
Elias raised an eyebrow. Why?
Because you've convinced yourself that using people is better than trusting them. That transactions are safer than relationships. That's not strength. That's fear.
His expression hardened. I'm not afraid.
Yes, you are. You're terrified of being hurt, so you've built this whole life where nobody can touch you. Where everything is controlled and nothing is real. Natasha leaned forward. I know because I'm doing the same thing. We're both so scared of being betrayed again that we'd rather have fake connections than risk real ones.
Silence filled the room. Elias stared at her, his jaw clenched, something dangerous sparking in his eyes.
Don't psychoanalyze me, Ms. Quinn. You don't know anything about my life.
I know you're willing to pay a million dollars to avoid a real relationship. That tells me everything.
Elias stood abruptly, walking to the windows. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his back rigid with tension.
My parents died when I was nineteen, he said, his voice flat and controlled. Car accident. Except it wasn't an accident. My uncle tampered with their brakes because he wanted control of the family business. I spent two years trying to prove it, but he had better lawyers and more money. He walked away clean while my parents stayed dead.
Natasha's breath caught. She hadn't expected him to actually share something real.
I learned a lesson that day, Elias continued, still not turning around. Trust gets you killed. Love makes you weak. The only person you can rely on is yourself. So yes, I keep people at a distance. Yes, I treat relationships like transactions. Because at least transactions have clear terms. At least contracts can't break your heart.
The pain in his voice was carefully hidden, but Natasha heard it anyway. This wasn't just a cold businessman. This was someone who'd been shattered and rebuilt himself into something harder, something that couldn't be broken again.
She understood because she'd done the same thing.
I'm sorry about your parents, she said softly.
Elias turned back to face her, his expression carefully blank again. I don't want your pity. I want to know if we have a deal or not.
Natasha thought about the contract. About the money that could change her life. About the revenge she desperately wanted against Marcus and Simone.
About the strange connection she'd felt when she shook Elias's hand.
This was dangerous. This man was damaged and closed-off and possibly just as capable of hurting her as Marcus had been.
But maybe that was exactly why it would work. They both knew the score. They both understood betrayal. They both wanted something badly enough to risk everything for it.
I have one condition, Natasha said. Something that's not in the contract.
Elias's eyes narrowed. What?
When the six months end and you've secured your company, you use every resource you have to destroy Marcus Webb and Simone Park professionally. You make them feel what I felt. You ruin them so completely they'll never recover.
The request was harsh, vindictive, ugly. The old Natasha would have been horrified. But the old Natasha was dead, killed by the people she'd trusted most.
Elias walked back to the table and stood directly across from her. A slow smile spread across his face—the first real smile she'd seen from him.
It was cold and sharp and absolutely terrifying.
I'll do better than that, he said quietly. I'll make them beg for mercy. I'll strip away everything they built on your stolen reputation. I'll make sure their names become synonymous with failure and disgrace.
Why? Natasha whispered. Why would you go that far for me?
Because I hate people who destroy others through betrayal. Because your enemies are connected to my enemies. And because making them suffer will be extremely satisfying.
He extended his hand across the table.
Do we have a deal, Ms. Quinn?
Natasha looked at that hand. This was it. The moment she either walked away or committed to six months of lying, pretending, and possibly getting her heart broken again.
She stood and shook his hand.
The electricity was back, that strange spark that shot through her the moment their skin touched. This time, Elias didn't pull away immediately. His fingers tightened around hers, his thumb brushing against her wrist where her pulse hammered.
We have a deal, Natasha said.
They stood like that for a long moment, hands clasped, eyes locked, something neither of them wanted to name crackling in the air between them.
Then Elias released her hand and stepped back, professional distance sliding back into place.
James will send you details about Saturday's gala. Dress, jewelry, car service—everything will be provided. Just show up and play your role.
I can play a role, Natasha said. I've been doing it my whole life.
She turned to leave, but Elias's voice stopped her at the door.
Ms. Quinn? One more thing.
She looked back.
His expression was serious, almost concerned. That text message you received this morning. The threatening one. I need you to forward it to James immediately.
Natasha's blood ran cold. How did you know about that?
Because I received one too. Five minutes after you left my office. He pulled out his phone and showed her the screen.
Your new girlfriend has interesting secrets. Careful, Elias. Some women are more dangerous than they appear. —A Friend
The message was almost identical to hers. Same anonymous sender. Same threatening tone.
Someone's watching both of us, Natasha whispered.
And they want us to know they're watching. Which means they're either trying to scare us apart, or they're planning something bigger. Elias's expression hardened. Forward me that text. We need to figure out who sent it before Saturday's gala.
Natasha nodded, her hands shaking as she pulled out her phone.
But when she opened her messages, her blood turned to ice.
The threatening text was gone. Deleted from her phone completely.
And in its place was a new message: See you Saturday, Tasha. Can't wait to see what you're wearing. —Marcus