Married to my cold hearted 0 boss

Layla Monroe sat in the sterile hospital hallway, her hands clenched tightly around a worn-out medical bill. The beeping of machines, the muffled cries of other patients' families, and the constant reminder of reality pressed in on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. Her little brother needed surgery. Urgently. And she was out of options. She glanced at the clock on the wall, noticing the time. 5:45 p.m. Another day wasted. Her brother, Timmy, had been in the hospital for days, and each day was a reminder of just how far behind she was in paying the mounting bills. She shifted in her seat, her legs aching from hours of waiting. The worn leather of her handbag dug into her shoulder as she hugged it tighter. Timmy had been her whole world for the past five years—since their parents had passed. And now, he might not make it through this illness. Not without the surgery. The nurse walked past, offering her a tight-lipped, sympathetic smile. Layla forced a smile in return, but her insides churned. There was no hope here. Only waiting. Her fingers trembled as she glanced down at the bill again—$48,900. That number had become her new nightmare. How was she supposed to raise that kind of money? How could she even hope to pay it? She was drowning, and no lifeline was in sight. The nurse’s shoes clicked as she walked away, leaving the sound of her heels ringing in Layla’s ears. Desperation clawed at her chest. “I can’t lose him,” she whispered, rubbing her temple. “I won’t.” Layla stared down at the bill one last time, a lump in her throat. Her fingers ached to dial the number of her landlord, but there was no point. She couldn’t ask for more extensions. She had exhausted every possible resource. If Timmy didn’t get this surgery soon, it wouldn’t matter how many extensions she got. An hour later, Layla rushed into the towering glass building of Blackwood Enterprises, nearly tripping over her own heels in her rush. She adjusted the straps of her purse, pushing her hair out of her face. Her blouse was wrinkled, her eyes tired from lack of sleep. But lateness wasn’t tolerated—not by him. She hurried past her colleagues, nodding quickly as they shot her disapproving looks. “Late again, Monroe?” one of them muttered. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her face flushed as she raced to clock in. There was no point in making excuses anymore. She was running on fumes, barely holding it all together. “Third time this month,” her supervisor hissed as she clocked in. “If Mr. Blackwood notices, you’re out. You hear me?” Layla nodded quickly, not daring to look up. She couldn’t afford to lose this job, even if her boss, Damien Blackwood, was a heartless ice king in designer suits. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, and his cold gaze could freeze anyone in their tracks. Damien Blackwood—the man who ran the company with an iron fist and a gaze so cold, it could freeze hell. He didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t feel. And yet, somehow, every woman in the building swooned at the mere sound of his footsteps. His every move calculated, precise, perfect. If anyone had the power to change her life, it was him. Not Layla. She only swooned at the thought of a paycheck, something that could save Timmy. Halfway through sorting some papers, her office phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize. “Miss Monroe, the CEO wants to see you. Now.” Her heart dropped to her stomach. Why would Damien Blackwood want to see her? She wasn’t important. She was barely a speck in his empire. Layla stood frozen for a moment, but before she could rethink it, she was already walking toward his office. Each step felt heavier than the last. She reached the sleek, polished doors of the CEO’s office and knocked twice. Her palms were sweaty, and her pulse raced. “Enter.” His voice was smooth. Controlled. Cold. She opened the door slowly, stepping inside. Damien Blackwood sat behind his massive black desk, his fingers steepled together as he stared at some documents. His icy blue eyes never wavered from the page in front of him. But Layla knew he was fully aware of her presence. "Close the door," he said without looking up. She stepped inside and did as instructed. She could feel the weight of his gaze even before he spoke again. “Miss Monroe,” he began, his voice low but commanding, “you’re behind on rent. Your brother’s in the hospital. And I’ve been informed you’ve been applying for multiple jobs outside this company without authorization.” Her breath caught in her throat. How did he know all of this? She blinked, stunned. “H-how do you know that?” Damien didn’t answer directly. Instead, he looked at her over the rim of his glasses, his gaze piercing. “I make it a point to know everything about the people I invest in.” Layla’s mouth went dry. What was he talking about? She wasn’t even a blip on his radar. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—” He held up a hand, cutting her off. “I’m not here to fire you.” Her eyes widened. “You’re not?” He stood, walking toward her slowly. The air seemed to grow colder with each step he took. “I’m here to offer you a deal,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous whisper. “Marry me. For one year. In return, I’ll pay for your brother’s surgery, his recovery, and every bill you have.” Layla froze, her heart skipping a beat. This had to be some kind of sick joke. “I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, her mind racing. Damien didn’t flinch. “You don’t need to. Just say yes.”