THE BILLIONAIRE FIREFIGHTER

The boardroom smelled like expensive cologne and desperation. Ava Chen sat at the head of the table, her fingers wrapped around her father's fountain pen. She hadn't used it once in two hours. She just needed something to hold. Something to keep her hands from shaking. "—and if we don't secure the Manila port deal, we're looking at a seventeen percent revenue drop. Your father would never have—" "Don't." The word sliced through the room. Quiet. Deadly. Ava met her uncle Richard's eyes. He sat three seats to her left, smug and bloated, waiting for her to fail like he'd been waiting since she was twelve. "My father," she said, voice calm as winter tile, "is dead. If you want to discuss what he would have done, I can have security escort you out and you can ask him yourself in hell." Richard's face went purple. His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out. Ava didn't wait. She stood, walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and stared at the Shanghai skyline. From up here, everything looked small. Controllable. She wished she felt the same about her life. The meeting ended. People filed out. Her assistant, Mei, hovered at the door with a pinched expression. "Ava. Your grandmother's lawyer called. He says you need to come to the house tonight. It's about the will." The will. Ava took the phone. Pressed it to her ear. Said nothing. "Miss Chen." The lawyer's voice was crisp. "Your grandmother added a codicil two weeks before she passed. If you don't meet the condition, you won't receive your inheritance." "I have fifty billion in assets. I don't need her inheritance." "The inheritance isn't money. It's control. Your grandmother owned fifty-one percent of Chen Holdings. She left it to you. But if you are not married within ninety days of her death, that fifty-one percent automatically transfers to your uncle Richard." The room tilted. Ava gripped the windowsill. Her knuckles went white. "Excuse me?" "You have seventy-six days remaining, Miss Chen." Seventy-six days. Her grandmother had trapped her from the grave. "Don't end up like me," the old woman had whispered on her deathbed. "Alone with only money to keep you warm." Ava had promised she'd let someone in. She'd lied. She'd built walls so high no one had even tried to climb them in years. And now her grandmother's final act of love was going to destroy everything. She hung up. Grabbed her bag. Walked out. --- The drive to the old Chen mansion should have taken forty minutes. Ava did it in twenty-five. Too fast. Too reckless. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. She couldn't stop them. The mansion loomed at the end of a private road. Old. Elegant. A sanctuary. Tonight, it felt like a tomb. She parked. Didn't turn off the engine. Just sat there, staring at the front door. Seventy-six days. No boyfriend. No prospects. No one. She pressed her palm flat against her chest, trying to push the ache away. She didn't have time for feelings. She never had. She got out. Started walking toward the house. And then she heard it. Tires squealing. A horn blaring. Metal screeching. She turned. A delivery truck was barreling toward her. Headlights blinding. She'd parked too close to the road. She was never careless. Never. Time slowed. Her mind ran through the options. Dive left. Run right. She could— She froze. The truck was going to hit her. And then it didn't. Something slammed into her from the side. She hit the gravel hard, the breath driven from her lungs. The truck roared past, inches away, and crashed into a fire hydrant. Water geysered into the air. Ava lay there gasping. Her shoulder screamed. Her dress was ruined. Her hair had come loose. And a body was pressed against hers. A man. Warm. Solid. Smelling of smoke and sweat. "Are you okay? Hey. Hey, look at me." She couldn't breathe. Not from the pain. From the voice. Rough. Urgent. Cutting through her shock like a blade. She turned her head. And she saw him. Crouched over her. Face inches from hers. Broad shoulders, strong jaw, eyes the color of winter sky. His face was streaked with soot. His hair was dark and disheveled. He was wearing a firefighter's uniform. "I said," he repeated, quieter now, "are you okay?" She stared. Couldn't form words. Her body was shaking. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it. His hand was on her waist. His arm braced beneath her head. He was close enough that she could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes. She didn't know his name. Didn't know anything about him. But lying there, with his body shielding hers, Ava Chen felt something she hadn't felt in years. Safe. And it terrified her. She pulled away roughly. Scrambled to her feet. Her shoulder screamed. Her dress was torn. "You should be more careful," the firefighter said, standing slowly. Tall. Muscled. Watchful. "I was being careful," she snapped. "That truck had its blinker on. You weren't paying attention." "I was." "Were you?" His eyes met hers. Something shifted in her chest. A crack in her armor. She looked away. "Thank you," she said stiffly. "For the rescue." "You're welcome." He didn't seem intimidated. Most men either cowered or tried to impress her. He just stood there. Waiting. "Ava Chen," she said. "This is my house." "Ethan Cross." He offered a hand. She didn't shake it. She was still shaking. "Shanghai Fire Department. I was passing by." "Convenient." "I try." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. Wry. Unexpectedly warm. "You should get that shoulder looked at." "I'm fine." "You're not." She opened her mouth to argue— Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out. Mei. "Miss Chen, your uncle just emailed the entire board. He says your grandmother's will is invalid. He's already filing for control of her shares." Ava's blood went cold. She looked up at Ethan Cross. At his blue eyes. His soot-streaked face. The way he was standing there, patiently waiting for her to be okay. And suddenly, she had an idea. Insane. Reckless. The kind of idea that would get her laughed out of every boardroom in the city. But she was out of time. And she was out of options. "Ethan Cross," she said slowly. "Do you have a girlfriend?" He blinked. "What?" "A wife? A partner? Anyone who would miss you?" "Miss Chen, I don't—" "Because," she cut him off, her voice steady now, "I have a proposition. And I think you're going to want to hear it." He stared at her. Eyebrows drawn together. Confused. Suspicious. Vaguely amused. "I'm listening," he said. Ava smiled. Sharp. Confident. Unshakeable. "Good. Because—" Boom. The explosion came from the mansion. A deafening roar that shook the ground. Glass shattered. Flames erupted from the second floor, licking into the night sky. Ava spun around. Her grandmother's house. The only home she'd ever known. On fire. "No!" She started running. Hands grabbed her waist. Ethan. Strong arms locking around her, yanking her back. "Let me go!" "Are you insane?" His voice was a growl in her ear. "You'll die!" "That's my house! That's everything I have left of—" She stopped. Because in the orange glow of the flames, she saw something that made her blood run colder than ice. A figure. On the second floor. In the window. A person. Trapped. And as the fire roared higher, Ava realized the truth. This wasn't an accident. Her uncle had just made his first move.