Bought by the billionaire boss

I didn’t go to the interview expecting to sell my soul. I went because my rent was two months late, my bank account had three digits to its name, and the cheap coffee I spilled on my only clean blouse made it clear—rock bottom wasn’t just near, it had *arrived.* The elevator that carried me up to the 41st floor of *Thorne International* was glass-paneled and so silent I could hear my heartbeat thudding against my ribs. The kind of building where people wore suits tailored to perfection and had lives stitched in gold. I had no business being here. But desperation had a way of pushing people through doors that weren’t meant for them. The receptionist barely glanced at me. “You’re here for the admin role?” I nodded. “Yes. Aria Lane.” She tapped a few keys. “Mr. Thorne will see you now.” Wait—*what*? I blinked. “You mean... Mr. Elias Thorne?” “The CEO. Yes.” “Don’t most people… go through HR?” She gave me a look. “He makes exceptions.” I barely had time to process that before the double glass doors slid open with a whisper, and I was being ushered into an office that looked more like a private suite at the top of the world. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the entire New York skyline. A glass desk. A man behind it. *Elias Thorne.* The name that ruled half of Wall Street. The face that graced Forbes covers. The man whose net worth had a comma too many. He didn’t look up when I entered. Didn’t even motion for me to sit. “I’m not hiring a secretary,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, and cold enough to freeze over Hell. I stood frozen. “…Excuse me?” He lifted his eyes then. I swear, the air changed. Piercing gray eyes. Dark hair slicked back. Tailored black suit. He was the kind of man who didn’t have to raise his voice to command a room. Power radiated off him in waves. “I need a wife.” I blinked. “I… think there’s been a mistake.” “There hasn’t.” He stood and walked toward me, every step controlled. Calculated. “My company is finalizing a merger with a European family-owned firm. Old money. Traditional. They want clean-cut image. Family values.” He stopped in front of me, far too close. “I’m thirty-one, single, and not exactly a poster boy for ‘wholesome.’” I was still trying to keep up. “So you want to… pretend to be married?” He nodded once. “Twelve months. You’ll attend events with me, smile for photos, wear the ring. In return, you’ll live comfortably, follow the terms of the contract—” “Wait, there’s a contract?” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick folder. “It’s all legal. Reviewed by my team. You’ll have no financial responsibility. You’ll receive two million dollars at the end. Half up front, half upon completion.” My head was spinning. “You want a fake wife. For a year. For two million dollars.” “Yes.” “Why me?” He didn’t flinch. “You’re not from this world. No ties. No press scandals. No greed in your eyes.” He stepped closer. “You need money. I need convenience. It’s a business transaction.” I opened the folder with shaky hands. The contract spelled everything out: NDA, terms of the relationship, behavior clauses, a no-touch rule unless in public… I flipped to the back. A check was already written out. One million dollars. Payable to *Aria Lane.* “You’ll need to move in,” he said. “Tomorrow.” I looked up at him. “And if I say no?” He smiled. A slow, dangerous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then I find someone else.” --- I don’t remember leaving the building. I don’t remember walking home, changing out of my heels, or standing in front of my bathroom mirror with the contract in one hand and the check in the other. I just remember the voice in my head. *This isn’t you.* And then another one. *But what if it has to be?* Two million dollars could fix everything. My rent. My debt. My mom’s medical bills. And all I had to do… was play pretend. Wear the ring. Play the part. Survive a year with a man who didn’t believe in love. The next morning, I showed up at the building at 8:00 AM sharp. Same heels. Fresh blouse. Hair pulled back. Heart pounding. The receptionist didn’t blink when she saw me. “Mr. Thorne is expecting you.” The elevator ride felt longer this time. At the top, the glass doors opened again. And he was standing there. Waiting. “You’re sure?” he asked, eyes searching my face. “I sign, you wire the money?” He nodded once. “Within the hour.” I walked to his desk, picked up the pen, and signed my name. *Aria Lane Thorne.* Just like that… I stopped being nobody. And became the billionaire’s bride