The billionaire’s secret heir

48 hours

I didn’t sleep.

The contract sat on my kitchen table all night. 12 pages. Black ink.

At the bottom, my signature. _Lila Thompson ._

$5,000 a week.

Cross Bank would "consider the debt satisfied".

In exchange, I belonged to Damian cross for 1 year.

My phone buzzed at 7:43AM.

Unknown number.

_"Driver is downstairs. 17 minutes, Lila."_

No "good morning". No "please". Just orders.

I looked at Leo one last time. He was asleep on the couch, clutching his blue dinosaur.

"Maya, can you watch him today?" I texted.

_"Of course. Is everything okay?"_

I didn’t answer.

CROSS TOWER - 58TH FLOOR - 8:02AM

I was 2 minutes early. He hated late.

His office door was already open.

Damian was standing with his back to me, looking at the city. Sleeves rolled up. No jacket.

Like that made him less dangerous.

"You signed," he said. Not a question.

I held out the copy. My hands were shaking.

He took it without looking at me.

"Good. Coffee. Black."

"Yes, Mr. Cross ."

"Damian."

I went to the private kitchenette in his office. $10,000 espresso machine. I’d never touched one.

When I came back, he was sitting at his desk, scrolling through emails.

He took the coffee, sipped once.

"Acceptable."

Then he looked up. Really looked at me.

"You look tired."

"I’m fine."

"Liar."

The word hit me.

He leaned back in his chair. "Your first task. The St. Mary’s donation. We sign at 2PM."

My stomach dropped. The hospital again.

"And after that," he continued, "dinner with investors. 8PM. You’ll be there."

"I don’t do dinners."

"Now you do."

His phone rang. He answered without breaking eye contact with me.

"Steele."

Pause.

"Pay it."

Another pause.

"The James & Co. debt. Pay it in full. Today."

He hung up.

"Your shop is safe," he said casually. Like he’d just ordered lunch.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Don’t thank me. You’re working for it."

He stood and walked around the desk. Stopped in front of me.

48 hours ago he was a stranger in my coffee shop.

Now he owned my time, my debt, and maybe my secret.

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I flinched.

"Don’t do that," I said before I could stop myself.

His hand froze mid-air. His gray eyes darkened.

"Don’t tell me what not to do, Harper."

"Yes, Mr. Cross ."

"Damian."

The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Cross , your 9AM is here."

He didn’t move. He was still staring at me.

"One more thing," he said quietly.

"What?"

"About the boy at the hospital."

My blood turned to ice.

"What boy?"

Damian smiled. It wasn’t nice.

"We’ll talk about it at dinner."

He walked past me to the door.

"Be ready at 6:30. And Lila?"

"Yes?"

"Wear something nice."

The door closed behind him.

I exhaled and realized I’d been holding my breath.

48 hours.

That’s how long I had before dinner.

Before he started asking questions I couldn’t answer.