The Billionaire’s One-Year Bride

Chapter 2

"Give me your terms," Elena whispered, her fingers curling into tight fists at her sides until her short nails bit into her palms.

Julian pulled back slowly, a dark glint of triumph flashing in his obsidian eyes. He didn't look surprised that she had surrendered. Men like Julian Thorne always assumed every person had a price, or a weakness heavy enough to break them.

He walked back to his massive mahogany desk, picked up a heavy, gold-plated fountain pen, and slid a single sheet of crisp, cream-colored paper across the glass surface.

"Twelve months," Julian stated, his tone businesslike and devoid of any warmth. "We live together in my penthouse. You attend public functions, charity galas, and corporate dinners by my side as my devoted, flawless wife. In exchange, Vance Architectural’s debt is completely wiped clean, and your sister’s medical trust is funded for the next three years."

Elena’s breath hitched. Chloe’s medical trust.

That was the cruelest hook he could have possibly cast. Julian didn't just target her father's company; he had clearly done his homework on her vulnerabilities. Chloe’s chronic treatments cost a fortune—money Elena had been killing herself working three different accounting jobs to scrape together.

"And behind closed doors?" Elena asked, her voice dropping an octave as she forced herself to look straight into his cold eyes. "What happens when the cameras aren't rolling?"

Julian leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. The expensive fabric of his suit strained slightly against his broad shoulders. "Behind closed doors, we remain strangers living under the same roof. You keep out of my personal business, I keep out of yours, and we play our parts to perfection. At the end of the year, we file for a quiet, amicable divorce."

It sounded simple. Clinical, even. But looking at the dangerous, predatory intelligence flashing in Julian’s gaze, Elena knew nothing about living with this man would ever be simple. He was a storm disguised as a statue, waiting for an excuse to tear everything down.

"And if I refuse to sign right now?" Elena tested, her chin lifting defiantly.

Julian’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then security escorts you out, and by 9:00 AM tomorrow, bailiffs will padlock your father’s office doors. Choose wisely, Miss Vance. The clock is ticking."

He pushed the gold pen closer to her hand.

Elena stared at the sleek instrument. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, echoing the terrifying reality of her choice. She was walking directly into the lion's den, tying herself to a man who had every reason in the world to hate her family—or worse, a man who might eventually uncover the secret she had guarded with her life for five long years.

I don't have a choice, she reminded herself bitterly.

Steading her breathing, Elena reached out, her fingers closing tightly around the heavy pen. The metal was ice-cold. Without another word of hesitation, she pulled the document toward her, bent over the desk, and scrawled her signature across the dotted line: Elena Vance.

The scratch of the nib against paper sounded deafeningly loud in the silent office.

When she straightened up, Julian was already standing right beside her. He reached out, his long fingers sliding over the paper to retrieve it. As he brushed against her hand, a jolt of static electricity—or something far more dangerous—seared through her skin.

Julian looked down at the signature, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips.

"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Thorne," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly caress that sent a shiver racing down her spine. "Pack your bags. My driver picks you up at eight tomorrow morning."