Contracted To The Billionaire I Unknowingly Saved

Bang! Bang! Bang! The pounding tore through the apartment, rattling the thin walls of the tiny living room. Camila froze mid-button, her fingers still hooked in the fabric of her cream blouse. Her heart lurched, then dropped straight into her stomach. She knew that knock. Only one person hit a door like a wild animal trying to break in. She closed her eyes and took a slow, shaking breath. "No..." Another bang shook the door hard enough to rattle the crooked picture frame on the wall. "Camila!" A man's voice thundered through the wood. "Open the damn door!" Her stomach knotted. Today was Monday. The deadline she'd begged for had run out, and no amount of wishing was going to buy her another hour. For one brief, cowardly second, she considered staying silent. Pretending she wasn't home. Pretending the problem would vanish if she just ignored it long enough. Bang! Bang! Bang! "Don't make me break this door down!" A frightened voice drifted from the bedroom. "Is... is it him again?" Camila turned. Her father stood in the doorway, pale and thinner than he'd been months ago, one hand braced against the wall for support. Guilt slammed into her chest. "Go back inside, Dad." "But—" "I said go inside." He hesitated, then disappeared back into the room. Camila drew a shaking breath. Then unlocked the door. It barely opened before Rafael shoved his way in. He didn't greet her. Didn't smile. Didn't even take off his sunglasses. His eyes swept the apartment, taking in the peeling paint, the worn furniture, the silence, cataloguing every sign of what she couldn't afford. "You've got nerve." Camila swallowed. "Rafael..." "I've been calling you." "I know." "I've been sending messages." "I know." "And yet—" he stepped closer, "—here we are." Silence settled between them. Then, low and dangerous: "Where's my money?" Camila lowered her eyes. "I don't have it." "I figured." He let out a loud, ugly laugh that tore through the tiny apartment, bouncing off walls too close together to swallow the sound. "You know what disappoints me most?" She looked up. "I actually believed you." "I wasn't lying." "No?" His voice rose, sharp and mocking now. "Then explain why today's the deadline, and I'm standing in your apartment with empty hands." Tears burned at the edges of her eyes. "I started a new job," she said, her bottom lip trembling. "Please, Rafael. I'll pay you soon." "I don't care," he screamed, the words slamming off the walls. He took a step toward her, and she stumbled back until her spine hit the cold concrete wall behind her. "I get paid next week, I promise—" "You borrowed money." He closed the distance in one stride, his hand shooting out to grip her jaw. "You signed the papers. You promised to pay." He tilted her face up to his, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. "So pay." Camila's breath caught, her pulse hammering under his grip. Her eyes flicked past his shoulder to the wall clock. 8:16 a.m. Her shift started at nine. If she missed the bus... If she was late again... "Please." Her voice cracked around the word. "Just one more week." Rafael studied her for a long moment, his grip still locked around her jaw. Then, slowly, he smiled — the kind of smile that made people take a step back, even with nowhere left to go. "Seventy-two hours." He released her all at once, stepping back as though nothing had happened, the fury gone as fast as it came, which was almost worse. "That's all you have left." He straightened his jacket and turned toward the door. "If you fail," he said without looking back, "your house becomes mine." The door clicked shut behind him. Camila slid down the wall until she was sitting, her knees finally giving out, her fingers pressed to the place his had been. Her phone buzzed. *Sofia Bennett (HR): Where are you? Mr. Montclair is already asking for you.* She stared at the screen, then at her father's closed door, then at the door Rafael had just walked through. She hadn't even made it to work yet, and the worst day of her life had already begun. --- Camila bolted out of the apartment, spritzing the last of her drugstore perfume over her blouse. The faint floral scent faded almost as fast as it landed. She checked the time. 8:24 a.m. "Damn it." If she missed the bus, she'd be late. Again. She hurried down the narrow street, cutting through the morning crowd while Rafael's words looped in her head. *Seventy-two hours.* *After that, the house becomes mine.* Her stomach tightened. Three weeks. That was how long she'd worked at Montclair Group — three exhausting weeks of impossible deadlines, endless paperwork, and a boss who seemed to think sleep was a luxury his employees hadn't earned. Andrew Montclair had somehow perfected the art of making every single day feel like a punishment. Still, she couldn't afford to quit. Not when her salary was the only thing standing between her family and the street. By the time she reached the office, she was out of breath. She barely set her handbag down before the phone rang. Camila closed her eyes. She didn't even need to check the extension. "Executive Assistant's office." "My office." Andrew's voice, flat and final. "Now." The line went dead. Camila stared at the receiver, then let out a quiet groan. "Incredible." Three weeks. Only three weeks, and she already hated him. She straightened her blouse, tucked back a loose strand of her hair and pasted on a polite expression before walking to the CEO's office. A soft knock. "Come in." She pushed the door open. "Good morning, sir." Andrew didn't look up right away. He finished signing the document in front of him, closed the file, and only then lifted his gaze. His sharp blue grey eyes held hers for exactly one second before he slid two thick files across the polished desk. "Review these." The files stopped at the edge. "Summarize the key points and have them back on my desk before five." Camila's eyes swept over the stack, and her heart sank straight to her shoes. Two days' worth of work, minimum, and she hadn't even sat down yet. She swallowed the protest rising in her throat. "You'll have them before end of day." She gathered the files against her chest. "Anything else, sir?" Andrew's eyes had already dropped back to another document. "Not unless you plan on standing there all day." Heat rose up her neck. "Of course not." She turned and walked out, spine straight until the door clicked shut behind her. "Arrogant jerk," she muttered under her breath. The stack of files hit her desk with a dull thud. She pulled the first one toward her and got to work. Emails piled up. Calls came and went. One page became ten. Ten became twenty. Her eyes burned by the time the first file was finally done. A small, tired smile tugged at her mouth. Her desk phone rang again. She picked it up without looking. "Executive Assistant's office." "My office." Andrew's voice. "Now."