WHISPERS OF BETRAYAL : THE COLD CEO

Not All Offers Are Good

Isabella was stunned by his question.

"How much do they need?"

Why was he asking does he wants to pay? He never did anything for free — she knew that much about him after three months of taking his orders. So she asked him outright, "Why are you here?"

He ignored the question entirely. "Your grandmother needs the surgery." His eyes drifted toward her hospital room, and something cold settled in her stomach.

*Is he here because I resigned?* Of all the people she wanted to see right now, Leonardo Moretti was dead last on the list.

"Did you come here because I resigned?" she asked again. "Why are you *here*, Leonardo?"

"I have my ways of getting information about you," he said, coldly casual, as if they were discussing the weather. "That shouldn't be your focus right now. Your focus should be how to pay for your grandmother's surgery."

She stared at him, unable to find words. There was something about his calm that unsettled her more than if he'd shouted.

"I have an offer for you," he said. "Let's talk in the cafeteria."

She shook her head, stubborn as ever. "No."

"It's serious. And it concerns your grandmother."

That made her hesitate. She turned to Maya, who'd just come back from the house with a bag of Isabella's things. "Stay with Grandma. I'll be back."

Then she followed him.

In the cafeteria, Leonardo took a seat and slid the document across the table. She looked at it like it might bite her, hesitating before she finally picked it up. He watched the emotions cross her face as she read — shock, then anger, then something closer to disbelief — until she slammed it back down onto the table.

"No." Her voice didn't waver. "I will never be your wife."

He leaned back in his chair. She really believed she could just walk away from this.

He laughed, quiet and humorless. "You won't marry me?"

"Never." She lifted her chin, defiant. "I'll find the money for my grandmother's surgery myself."

"How, exactly?"

She said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

"Your father's company is already bankrupt," he reminded her. "Are you going to beg my sister for it? Or use your friendship with Fiamma to cover your own desperation?"

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you dare bring Fiamma into this."

He held her gaze. "This is a three-year contract. In exchange, I pay for your grandmother's surgery and her ongoing care. I also step in financially so the bank doesn't seize your father's company." He let that settle before continuing. "In return, you become my wife. Publicly."

Her eyes widened, just slightly.

"You'll live with me. You'll make the world believe we're in love. You'll attend business functions at my side and carry out every responsibility expected of my wife." He paused deliberately. "And you'll give birth to a child during the marriage."

Her face went rigid.

"I'll compensate you generously once the three years are over." He pushed the document another inch toward her. "Take your time. I don't need an answer today."

He stood and walked out, leaving her alone with it.

Isabella stared down at the document long after he'd gone, still not quite believing what she was reading. How dare he. He was using her desperation — her grandmother's *life* — to draft her into a marriage contract. He wanted her to live with him, perform love for the cameras, and hand him an heir like it was a line item.

It was humiliating.

She found him again before she left the cafeteria, and told him exactly what she thought. "I will never, ever marry you."

His expression didn't so much as flicker. "Oh, poor Isabella." The arrogance in his voice made her blood boil. "After working under me for months, you really learned nothing?" He leaned in. "I always get what I want."

"You can't get this."

She clenched her fists at her sides. "This time, CEO, you've failed. Because I will never be your wife." She turned and walked away before he could see how frightened she actually was underneath it.

Back in Grandma's room, she went straight to the doctor, her composure cracking at the edges. "Please — can I pay part of it now? A quarter, even. Just start the surgery. I'll find the rest, I swear."

He sighed, and it was the kind of sigh that already told her the answer. "I wish I could help you, Ms. Vance. My hands are tied. You need to find the money. Without the surgery, your grandmother may not survive."

She walked back toward her room on legs that didn't feel like hers. Nonna Sophia was the only person who had ever loved her without conditions attached — the woman who took her in when her own father wouldn't look at her twice. She couldn't lose her. Not her too.

Her phone rang. Fiamma.

She wiped her face before she answered. "Hello?"

"Isa! How's your grandmother?"

She made herself sound steady. "She's fine."

"Don't lie to me."

"She's sleeping. Doctors say it's nothing serious — she should be discharged tomorrow."

Silence. Then, quieter: "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Isabella, I know you. Something's wrong."

"Everything's fine, Fiamma." She closed her eyes and pushed the words out evenly. "I promise."

It took a few more rounds of gentle interrogation before Fiamma finally let it go. The second the call ended, the tears came back, and Isabella looked through the glass at her grandmother's still body in that bed and hated herself for the lie.

She had refused him. She'd told herself she'd find another way.

But she had no job. Her father's company was collapsing. Her grandmother needed a surgery she couldn't afford, and she had absolutely no idea where the money was supposed to come from.

She sank into the chair outside the room and put her face in her hands.

Her phone buzzed again. Not Fiamma this time.

An email. Her stomach dropped when she saw the sender.

*Leonardo Moretti.*

She hesitated before opening it. One sentence.

*Your grandmother's surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow morning.*

Her blood went cold. She glanced toward the nurses' station, as if they'd have an explanation for how this had happened without her signing anything.

Another notification followed — a payment confirmation. €50,000, paid in full.

She stared at the screen. He'd done it anyway. Paid for the surgery after she'd told him, to his face, exactly where he could put his contract.

Beneath that, a second message.

*You have twenty-four hours to reconsider my offer.*

She stopped breathing.

Because underneath the message was a photograph — one she'd never seen before. Isabella and Leonardo. Taken years ago.

Her fingers started to shake.

How did he have that picture?