The Billion Dollar clause

CHAPTER TWO

~DAMIEN~

The boardroom fell silent the moment I closed the folder. Twenty-three executives, four lawyers, three investment bankers — not one of them dared to speak. "Is there a reason you're all looking at me?" No one answered, and I leaned back in my chair. "Either the proposal is flawless," my gaze swept across the room, "or every one of you has suddenly forgotten how to do your job."

A man near the end of the table nervously adjusted his tie. "Our analysts were hoping you'd reconsider the acquisition." "I already did." "And?" "I decided they're wrong." Silence again. I'd grown used to it. People often mistook silence for respect. Most of the time, it was fear.

I slid the proposal back across the polished table. "Page twelve." Several heads dropped immediately. "Third paragraph." More pages turned. "Second line." The CFO cleared his throat. "'Projected annual revenue assumes a seven-point-eight percent increase in market value—'" "It should be seven-point-three." His face paled. "How..." "You approved this report yesterday." "I..." "You didn't read it."

Nobody moved. If a pen had dropped at that moment, I was certain I would have heard it. After some time passed, I stood. "If no one else has any objections, the acquisition moves forward Monday morning." The meeting ended before anyone could argue, as usual.

"You're becoming your father." The familiar voice stopped me halfway down the hallway. I turned to find Amir Rahman leaning against the wall outside the boardroom, both hands tucked inside his coat pockets. Most people knew him as Head of Security. I knew him as the closest thing I had to family, and the only person who dared to talk to me that way — aside from my devilish stepmother, of course.

"You've been eavesdropping." "I was waiting." "Same thing." He shrugged. "I've done worse." That earned half a smile. Half. It disappeared as quickly as it came. "You scared them." "They're paid to make difficult decisions." "They're paid to advise you." "They were wrong." "They're also terrified." I continued walking. "They'll survive." "They said the same thing about your father."

My footsteps slowed. Amir rarely mentioned him, not unless it mattered. "What happened?" He fell into step beside me. "Your father collapsed again." The elevator suddenly felt much farther away. "Has the doctor arrived?" "An hour ago." "And?" "He asked for you." My jaw tightened. "He asks every day." "This time..." Amir hesitated. "...he made me promise I'd bring you."

The private hospital occupied the entire top floor. Reporters and visitors without clearance weren't allowed through — money bought many things, and privacy happened to be one of them. My father looked smaller than I remembered. Illness had a way of shrinking even the strongest men, and the machines surrounding his bed filled the room with a steady rhythm.

He opened his eyes before I reached the chair. "You took your time." "I had a meeting." "You always have meetings." "They pay the bills." A weak laugh escaped him. "Still as charming as ever." "I learned from the best." His smile faded. "So you did." For several moments, neither of us spoke.

Then he reached into the drawer beside his bed and pulled out a thick manila envelope. "I've updated my will." "I assumed as much." "You haven't asked what's inside." "I don't need to." "You should." He placed the envelope on my lap. "Everything belonging to Ashford Global transfers to you." I looked up. "I thought that was always the plan." "It was." The pause that followed told me everything had changed.

"There's a condition." Of course there was. "There always is." "You'll inherit the company only if you fulfill one final requirement." I didn't bother opening the envelope. "What is it?" His tired eyes met mine. "Get married." I stared at him. "No." "You didn't let me finish." "I don't need you to." "You do."

He coughed into a handkerchief before continuing. "I don't care who she is." "No." "I don't care where she's from." "No." "I don't even care if you love her." "No." His expression hardened. "You'll marry." I stood. "I have a company to run." "You have an empire to inherit." "I've already built half of it." "And you'll lose all of it." Those words stopped me cold.

"If you refuse..." He nodded toward the envelope. "...Ashford Global passes to the Board of Trustees until a successor is chosen." I turned back slowly. "What?" "I've already signed the documents." "You're bluffing." "I've never bluffed with business." He was right. He never had. My father might have been many things — a womanizer, a workaholic, a man full of regrets — but he never lied when contracts were involved.

"I won't force another generation of Ashford men to spend their lives believing business is enough." He looked away toward the city skyline. "I already ruined one life living that way." For a second he wasn't talking about himself. He was talking about someone else, someone we'd both spent years pretending never existed.

"I know you still think about her." My grip tightened around the envelope. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Liar." The word wasn't cruel. It was tired. "You kept every report Amir ever filed." My heart skipped. "You..." "I know everything." Silence. Then — "I know you've never stopped looking for Emilia."

My father closed his eyes. "So stop watching her from a distance." "Go get her." The room fell deathly still. "I can't." "You won't." "There's a difference." "No." His voice cracked. "There isn't." He reached for my hand, his grip weaker than I'd ever known. "Don't make the same mistake I did."

The machines continued their endless rhythm. "I let the woman I loved walk out of my life because I thought protecting her meant pushing her away." His eyes filled with something I'd never seen before — regret. "I've spent twenty years wishing I'd been brave enough to choose differently." He looked directly at me. "Don't wait until it's too late."

Outside the hospital window, rain began to fall. And somewhere across the city, completely unaware that her life was about to change forever, Emilia Hart stepped out of yet another failed interview.