The Billionaire's Secretary's Secret

The Ultimatum

(Scott’s POV)

Scott Henderson woke to the sharp ring of his phone. With a groan, he reached across the mahogany nightstand and snatched it up. The moment he saw the name flashing on the screen, he sat bolt upright.

“Hello, Grandfather,” Scott said, forcing his voice steady.

“Did I wake you?”

“Not really,” he lied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good. I want us to talk. Be here by eight.”

Scott glanced at the clock—7:00 a.m. One hour.

“Alright, Grandfather.”

The call ended. He tossed the phone aside, already swinging out of bed. In record time, he showered, shaved, and slipped into a tailored navy-blue suit. The cream shirt beneath it highlighted his dark hair and set off the unusual green of his eyes. At thirty-three, Scott had already built the reputation of a man who could walk into a room and own it—powerful, magnetic, and infuriatingly unattached.

By 7:40, his black Aston Martin purred down the private lane leading to the Henderson estate. The mansion loomed ahead, a sprawling testament to wealth and legacy. Its iron gates—embossed with the family crest—swung open at his approach. The driveway curved around manicured lawns, with a marble fountain at the center where crystalline water danced into the morning light. The house itself was all grandeur: arched windows framed in dark stone, ivy trailing up whitewashed walls, and doors carved from oak so thick they looked like they could withstand a siege.

As Scott stepped out of his car, the doors opened, and his grandmother swept onto the porch.

“My boy!” she cried, arms wide.

Eleanor Henderson was a vision of grace even in her seventies. Her silver hair was swept into a bun, and a string of pearls gleamed at her throat. A lavender-scented shawl was draped across her shoulders, softening the regal lines of her figure. She hugged him fiercely, then kissed his cheek with warmth that never failed to disarm him.

“Good morning, Grandmother,” Scott said with a small smile.

“I thought I’d have to fake my death before you came to visit,” she teased, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Don’t say that. Work’s been chaos lately—the new designs, the board—but you know I love being here.”

She patted his chest fondly. “You work too hard. Come inside.”

The sitting room smelled of vanilla and violets, a fragrance she always favored. Sunlight streamed through tall cream-colored drapes, catching on polished oak floors. Fresh flowers bloomed in every corner—roses, lilies, and orchids arranged with her signature care. Plush leather chairs in deep jewel tones circled a marble fireplace, where family photographs lined the mantel.

“Your grandfather is upstairs in his office,” Eleanor said softly.

Scott nodded and climbed the sweeping staircase, each step heavy with anticipation.

When he reached the second floor, he paused before the double doors of his grandfather’s office. At his knock, a voice rang out.

“Come in.”

The office was as imposing as the man who occupied it. Dark shelves lined the walls, heavy with leather-bound volumes. Portraits of dignitaries and industry leaders hung above them—reminders of old alliances forged in smoke-filled rooms. A wide desk of polished mahogany dominated the space, its surface gleaming beneath the filtered light streaming through the tall windows.

Behind it sat Pius Henderson. His grandfather was in his late seventies but still sharp-eyed, his silver hair neatly combed back. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he folded the newspaper and set it aside. Though age had bowed his shoulders slightly, his presence carried the same gravity that had built the empire Scott now ran.

“Good morning, Grandfather,” Scott greeted. “You wanted to see me.”

“Sit,” Pius said, his voice calm but clipped.

Scott lowered himself into the leather chair opposite the desk, steeling himself.

“I have trusted you with more than most men could bear,” Pius began. “After your parents died, you grew up too fast, but you never faltered. I’ve been proud of what you achieved—truly. But these scandals…” His fist struck the desk, rattling a penholder. “They’re disgraceful. Are you the only bachelor in this city? Do you know the Michaels’ daughters fought in public over you?”

Scott exhaled through his nose, leaning back. “I’m not dating either of them.”

“And this?” Pius jabbed at a tabloid photo on his desk—Scott leaving a bar, another man leaning too close to him. “Now rumors claim you’re gay.”

Scott stiffened. “It was a setup. I don’t even know him—he was drunk. The paparazzi thrive on lies.”

“Enough!” Pius roared, slamming his palm down again. Silence settled thick in the room.

Then, more quietly, he rose and moved to the tall window, hands clasped behind his back.

“The board has lost patience. In four days, they will vote to remove you as president.”

“What?” Scott shot to his feet. “They can’t do that! After everything I’ve done—sales up sixty percent this year alone!”

“You’re brilliant in the boardroom,” Pius admitted, his voice softer now. “But brilliance isn’t enough. You’re thirty-three, and you live like a reckless bachelor. They want proof of stability. Proof of responsibility.”

Scott’s jaw clenched. “And how exactly am I supposed to prove that?”

“By getting married.”

Scott froze, then barked a laugh. “Married? In five days?”

“Yes.” Pius turned to face him, expression unyielding.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I was twenty-six when I married your grandmother. We barely knew each other, but it became the best decision of my life.”

Scott raked a hand through his hair, frustration knotting his chest. “No. This is insane. I’ll work harder, I’ll clean up the scandals, but marriage? Not like this.”

“If you don’t, your cousin Marcus is ready to take your place.”

As if summoned, the door opened. Marcus strolled in, a smug smile on his lips. He was of average height, with reddish-brown hair combed neatly to one side. His charcoal-gray suit was sharp, though he wore it with a casual arrogance that set Scott’s teeth on edge.

“Hello, Grandfather. Hey, cuz,” Marcus drawled. “I just came by to drop something off for Grandmother.” His eyes glinted with mock sympathy. “I heard the board might drop you as president. Tragic, really. But don’t worry—when I’m in charge, I’ll find you a position. Something that lets you enjoy your… scandals.”

Scott surged to his feet, grabbing Marcus by the collar, rage boiling hot. His fist drew back, ready to strike—

“Enough!” Pius thundered. “Are you children? Control yourselves!”

Marcus smirked as Scott shoved him away, chest heaving.

“Sorry, Grandfather,” Scott muttered tightly. “But I need to get to the office.”

“Remember, son,” Pius said, his tone calm again, “time is ticking.”

Scott stalked from the office, fury and despair knotted in his gut. Downstairs, the breakfast table was set, but he kissed his grandmother’s cheek and excused himself.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Eleanor called after him, her eyes worried.

Minutes later, he slid into his car, yanking at his tie as frustration clawed at him. He drove straight to the Henderson headquarters, barely noticing the greetings of staff as he strode through the lobby. Scott never mingled at work; they all knew a curt nod was all they’d get.

The elevator carried him to the top floor, where he dialed his lawyer and best friend, Henry. By the time he entered his office—a vast space of sleek glass walls, black leather, and a view of the city skyline—he was recounting the ordeal.

“What do you mean you need a contract wife?” Henry’s voice was incredulous through the speaker.

“Were you listening? If I don’t marry in five days, they’ll hand my company to Marcus.”

“I’ll arrange introductions.”

“No. No scandals. I can’t have women circling me like vultures.”

Henry sighed. “Fine. I’ll come over now.”

Scott dragged a hand across his face, dropping into his chair. He had fought battles to protect his company, but this? Marriage as the price of survival? It was unthinkable.

A knock pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. Susan, his secretary, slipped inside. She was usually quiet, efficient, almost invisible. She never entered while he was in—unless summoned.

“Do I have a meeting?” Scott asked, frowning.

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you here?”

She took a breath, then blurted, “I think I can help you find a contract wife.”

Scott stared at her, stunned.