The Billionaire 365 Days Contract Bride

The security guard at the grand entrance of the Grand Myatt Ballroom looked ready to throw Ciara Vance into the nearest dumpster. "Ma'am, for the third time, your name is not on the VIP guest list for the Sterling Global Gala," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Please step aside before I call law enforcement." Ciara adjusted the cheap, thrifted emerald gown she had practically sewn herself into an hour earlier. She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with a fiery brilliance that belied the desperation eating her alive. "And for the third time, my name was on that list until my corrupt ex-manager deleted it this morning after firing me for refusing his sleazy advances," Ciara shot back, her voice sharp and clear. "So you can either let me in to collect my stolen design portfolio from him, or you can call the police—and I'll make sure the local news hears exactly how Sterling Global covers up workplace harassment on its grand gala night." The guard hesitated, thrown off by her sheer audacity. "Please, I'm only doing my job, so could you kindly step aside? Otherwise, I promise I will be calling law enforcement." Before Ciara could answer, a sudden eruption of camera flashes lit up the hotel entrance. "There she is!" Someone shouted. "Over here!" "The cameras! Move, move!" More voices erupted around her. A crimson-red Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a stop beneath the grand canopy as world-famous actress Camela Laurent stepped onto the red carpet, her diamonds glittering under the flashing cameras. Reporters surged forward in a frenzy, microphones stretching through the crowd. "Make way! Security! Open the lane!" The guards at the entrance immediately shifted their attention, forming a protective barrier around the arriving celebrity. Even the guard who had been glaring at Ciara turned away for a split second to help control the swelling crowd. Ciara's pulse kicked into overdrive. This is my only chance. Keeping her head lowered just enough to avoid drawing attention, she slipped behind a group of elegantly dressed guests heading toward the ballroom. Their laughter and expensive perfume masked her presence as she matched their pace without missing a step. She crossed the velvet rope unnoticed. Only when the ballroom doors closed behind her did she dare to exhale. Outside, the security guard finally turned back. His eyes widened. "The woman in the green dress..." He scanned the entrance in disbelief. "... Where the hell did she go?" Ciara's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had exactly two goals tonight: get her portfolio back from her wretched ex-boss, Mr. Harris, and find a way to secure the five thousand dollars needed to keep her father from being thrown out of the ICU. She blended into the crowd, forcing herself to slow her breathing despite the panic clawing at her chest. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in warm golden light while the city's wealthiest figures drifted from one conversation to another, champagne glasses glimmering in their hands. She scanned every corner. No sign of Harris. A familiar laugh made her turn. Three of her former coworkers stood beside one of Sterling Global's exhibition displays. "Oh my God," one of them gushed. "Mr. Harris is incredible. Did you see the new collection? Every single design is brilliant." "He deserves that promotion," another agreed. "I heard Sterling executives are considering moving him to the head office." Ciara's fingers tightened around her clutch until her knuckles turned white. Brilliant? Those sketches... those silhouettes... those color combinations... Every single one had come from months of sleepless nights in her tiny apartment. Her work. Her ideas. Her future. And that lying parasite was standing beneath crystal chandeliers, accepting praise for stealing them. A flicker of movement caught her eye across the ballroom. There he was. Laughing. Can you believe it? He was holding a champagne flute as if he hadn't destroyed someone else's career that very morning. Ciara's jaw clenched. Without another thought, she started toward him. But before she could reach Harris, a ripple swept through the ballroom. It started near the entrance. Conversations stopped one after another. Politicians interrupted their conversations mid-sentence. Business executives straightened their jackets. Ciara looked up, and her breath caught. Alexandier Sterling. No one had announced his arrival because no one needed to. Attention surrendered to him long before he reached the center of the room. Alexandier Sterling walked through the grand foyer with measured, unhurried strides, four bodyguards following a respectful distance behind him. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that seemed designed less for elegance than authority. Every step carried the confidence of a man who had never questioned whether he belonged at the top. His expression revealed nothing. At twenty-eight, the billionaire CEO of Sterling Global was a living myth. He was overwhelmingly tall and broad-shouldered, his jawline looking as though it had been carved from granite. His eyes were a piercing, calculated gray—cold and unforgiving. He didn't just walk into a room. He commanded it. With an aura so intense and intimidating that people literally held their breath as he passed. "Sir," his assistant, Marcus, whispered hurriedly at his side, trying to keep pace. "Your grandfather's lawyers just called. The board is placing immense pressure on the inheritance clause. If you do not announce an engagement to a respectable woman by the end of the month, Julian will officially file a motion to seize the CEO seat." Alexandier didn't even slow down. His expression remained a mask of pure, lethal calm. "Let Julian try. I will ruin him before he even signs the petition. Find me a woman who can play the part." With an arched brow, Marcus asked, "Any requirements?" Alexandier calmly tucked his hands into his pockets. "Desperate. Intelligent. Disposable." "Right away, sir. I'll vet candidates from the high-society list—" "No heiresses," Alexandier interrupted, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that sent a literal shiver through the room. "They have families, agendas, and expectations. I want someone desperate. Someone who needs the money enough to follow my rules without question." Before Marcus could respond, a sudden commotion broke out near the VIP balcony stairs. "Get your hands off me, you bloated, thieving parasite!" Alexandier stopped dead in his tracks. His gray eyes locked onto a flash of emerald green on the staircase. Ciara had finally found her ex-boss, Mr. Harris. She was gripping the strap of her leather portfolio while Harris tried to yank it from her hands. "Keep your voice down, you crazy b***h," Harris hissed, his face turning red beneath the ballroom lights. "You were fired. This portfolio belongs to the company now. Security! Get this trash out of here!" "The only trash here is your résumé, Harris," Ciara fired back, her mouth moving faster than her fear. She yanked the portfolio with a surge of strength, sending the overweight manager stumbling backward into a towering pyramid of expensive champagne glasses. The crash echoed through the ballroom. Shards of crystal and rivers of expensive Dom Pérignon exploded across the marble floor. The entire ballroom fell silent. Ciara stood at the top of the stairs, clutching her portfolio, breathless but entirely unrepentant. Suddenly, the crowd parted again, and she found herself staring directly down the staircase at Alexandier Sterling. The billionaire stared up at her. His face was unreadable, but his gray eyes narrowed, locking onto her with the intensity of a predator marking its prey. The sheer weight of his gaze was suffocating. Anyone else would have melted into the floor beneath that intimidating stare. Ciara, however, merely squared her shoulders, tilted her head, and glared right back at him. Around her, people instinctively stepped away, terrified of being caught in the billionaire's line of sight. She didn't. She wasn't pleading for mercy or trying to impress him. Instead, she lifted her chin and glared even harder, her eyes seeming to ask one unapologetic question: Who the hell are you? Not because she didn't know his name. She simply refused to be intimidated by it. More importantly, she had risked everything for a worn leather portfolio while ignoring the shattered crystal at her feet. Whatever was inside that case mattered more to her than her reputation, her job... perhaps even her freedom. That alone set her apart from everyone else in the room. The corner of Alexandier's mouth almost moved, though no smile ever formed. Now, this is interesting. He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he turned toward his assistant. "Marcus," he said softly, never breaking eye contact with her. "Do a quick search on that lady." He gestured with his head. "Find out everything there is to know about her. Then clear the room and bring her to my private office on the penthouse floor. Now." * * * Ten minutes later, Ciara was sitting in a plush leather chair inside Alexandier's cavernous, dark-toned penthouse office. The walls were made of glass, overlooking the glittering city skyline. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, and Alexandier walked in. He took off his tuxedo jacket, tossed it onto a couch, then rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle. He didn't sit behind his desk. Instead, he walked over and leaned against the edge of it, looming over her, towering and completely dominant. "You have a very loud mouth for someone wearing a thirty-dollar dress, sweetheart," Alexandier said, his voice was calm, but laced with mockery. Ciara didn't flinch. She crossed her legs and smiled sweetly. "And you have a very large ego for someone whose managers steal from their employees, sir. If your security handled internal theft as well as they handled people who fight back, maybe your company wouldn't be facing a PR crisis." Alexandier's lips curved upward. He pressed a button on the edge of his desk. A few seconds later, the office door opened. Marcus stepped inside carrying a sleek black tablet. "Everything we found, sir." Alexandier accepted it without looking away from Ciara. His sharp eyes moved across the screen. CIARA VANCE. Age: 24. Occupation: Fashion Designer Employment Status: Terminated this morning Known Relative: Father, Richard Vance Current Status: Admitted to intensive care Outstanding Medical Balance: $4,873 Criminal Record: None Financial History: Significant debt Public Profile: No notable media presence He read the file in silence before handing the tablet back to Marcus. "So?" he asked calmly. Alexandier's gaze settled on Ciara once again. Marcus bent slightly and lowered his voice. "It is, as you see, sir. No influential family. No scandals. And she isn't afraid to fight when cornered." For the first time that evening, the faintest hint of satisfaction crossed Alexandier's face. "Leave us." Marcus gave a short nod before quietly closing the door behind him. Alexandier leaned down, placing his hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her within his space. The intoxicating scent of expensive cologne, cedarwood, and pure, raw masculinity washed over her. He was so close she could see the dark silver flecks in his eyes. "You're bold," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "Bold, sharp-tongued, and clearly in desperate need of a lawyer... or money. Which one is it?" "Both," Ciara said, her breath hitching slightly at his sudden proximity, though she refused to let her voice tremble. "But I don't take charity from arrogant CEOs." Alexandier let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest. "Good. Because I don't give charity." He pushed himself upright. "I do business." He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek, leather-bound document, placing it on the polished surface between them. "Five million dollars, Ciara Vance," Alexandier said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Your father's medical bills will be paid in full tonight. In exchange, you sign that contract, move into my penthouse tomorrow, and play the role of my doting fiancée for exactly 365 days."