The billonaires last bargain

Elena “Marry him, or your father goes to prison.” The words sliced through the air like a blade. Cold. Final. No room for breath. I stared at the woman across from me—Diana Knight, in a black blazer that probably cost more than my apartment. Her red nails drummed against her glass of wine, each tap like a ticking bomb. “You can’t be serious,” I said, even though I knew she was. She didn’t blink. “You’ll marry Darius in a month. One year. No children. No scandal. Then you walk away.” I felt the blood drain from my face. She leaned forward. “Your father’s company is drowning. The fraud charges, the embezzlement… all of it can go away. But only if I say so.” My mouth opened, then closed again. I had nothing. No comeback. No way out. She was right—my dad had made mistakes, stupid, desperate ones. But he didn’t deserve prison. “You’re using me,” I said, my voice quiet. “Yes,” she replied, without shame. “And you’ll let me.” I stood from the table. The lights of the restaurant blurred behind me—New York City glittering like it didn’t just break me in half. People laughed over wine. A violinist played something slow near the bar. And I was being sold. “She’s bluffing,” I whispered to myself as I pushed through the doors into the night. But she wasn’t. I knew it. Diana Knight never bluffed. She didn’t have to. And Darius? He was worse. I hadn’t seen him in years. The last time we were in the same room, he laughed when I spilled coffee on his $10,000 suit and called me “charity in heels.” He’d grown into a colder, crueler version of that boy—ruthless billionaire, media god, destroyer of reputations. And now, I was supposed to marry him. No. I wouldn’t. I walked faster, heels clicking against the pavement. My breath came short. My phone buzzed, but I didn’t check it. I couldn’t. I just kept walking. Then I heard it. A voice. Behind me. Calm. Deep. “Elena.” I froze. Slowly, I turned. And there he was. Darius Knight. Six-foot-something of tailored black, standing like he owned the sidewalk. Hair slicked back, jaw like it was carved from stone, eyes colder than winter. His presence swallowed the street. People moved around him without looking. Like they were afraid to see him. “What… what are you doing here?” I asked, hating the shake in my voice. “I came to see what my future wife looks like when she’s running,” he said. I stared. “Excuse me?” He stepped closer. I could smell him—something expensive, sharp. His tie was crooked. He didn’t smile. “I don’t like being dragged into things,” he said. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” “Then say no,” I snapped. “Tell your mother to find someone else to play house with. I’m not interested.” He tilted his head. “But you are.” “I’m not.” He didn’t answer. Just looked at me—like he could see everything. My anger. My panic. My truth. My silence. “Your father will go to jail,” he said finally. “And the media will eat you alive. Your mother, too. The Lancasters will be a headline for months.” I turned away. I couldn’t stand the way he spoke—like my life was just another chessboard he got to flip over when he was bored. “You don’t even want to get married,” I said. “No,” he agreed. “Then why are you here?” His voice was flat. “Because my mother asked.” I spun back to face him. “So you’re a puppet now?” “I’m a businessman,” he said. “I know a good deal when I see one.” I flinched. “And you?” he asked. “Are you a good deal, Elena?” I slapped him. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and humiliating. A few people turned. My hand stung. His expression didn’t change. “Feel better?” he asked calmly. I couldn’t speak. My chest was tight. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You’ll regret this,” I said. “Probably,” he murmured. “But not tonight.” He stepped back, straightened his tie, and looked me over one last time. “One year. Play the role. Say the lines. Walk away rich.” “I don’t want your money.” “Then take your father’s freedom.” He walked off into the night like nothing happened. I stood there, shaking. Humiliated. Cornered. Alone. But not broken. Not yet. — The next morning, the papers had it all. Knight Heir to Marry Fallen Heiress in Surprise Union Billionaire Darius Knight Engaged—Sources Say It’s Strategic My phone blew up. Messages. Calls. Reporters waiting outside my door. My mother cried in the kitchen while my father locked himself in his study. And me? I sat in my room, staring at the wall. The world had already decided. A knock on the door made me jump. “Elena?” my mother called softly. “I’m fine,” I lied. She paused. “We… We should talk about the prenup.” I closed my eyes. This was real. I was getting married in four weeks to a man who didn’t love me. A man who didn’t even like me. A man who made deals, not vows. And I didn’t have a choice. — The wedding was fast. Diana Knight planned everything like a campaign. Ivory dress. Black tie. The Cathedral was packed with camera flashes and fake smiles. My father didn’t walk me down the aisle. He was “sick.” My mother cried through the whole thing. Darius stood at the altar like he was closing a business deal. He didn’t say “I love you.” He barely said “I do.” And when he kissed me, it was cold. Calculated. Like sealing a contract. We drove home in silence. The mansion loomed ahead—glass, steel, shadows. My new prison. He opened the door for me. A polite gesture. But his eyes were dead. I stepped inside. Then the door slammed. I turned. Darius stood there, staring at me. “We’re not sharing a room,” he said. “I assume you’re fine with that.” “Ecstatic,” I muttered. He moved past me. “The staff knows you’re here. Keep your schedule clean. There’ll be appearances, events, photos.” I followed him down the hall. “You don’t have to be cruel, you know.” “I’m not being cruel,” he said. “I’m being clear.” I stopped walking. “What happened to you?” He turned, slowly. “What happened to you?” The air between us was tight. Unspoken. Heavy. I hated him. I hated his voice. His arrogance. His rules. But I hated this feeling more—the one that whispered I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss him for real. I looked away. “I’ll stay out of your way,” I said. “Good,” he replied. Then his phone rang. He answered, voice low. I turned toward the stairs. I didn’t care who he was talking to. Until I heard it. A single word. My name. “Elena.” But it wasn’t Darius who said it. It was the voice on the phone. Panicked. Urgent. Male. And I knew that voice. I stopped breathing. Darius turned to me, eyes narrowed. “How do you know him?” he asked coldly. And I realized the real game had just begun.