CONTRACTED TO THE RUTHLESS CEO; Reclaiming My Stolen Life

Brittany’s POV The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fading hope. I sat by my mother’s bedside, my hands clasped tightly with hers as tears tracked through the dust on my face. I had worn a ridiculous disguise, a trench coat that could fit two people, oversized sunglasses, and a heavy scarf, just to evade the reporters waiting outside. “I’m sorry, Mother,” I sobbed. “I couldn’t keep the promise I made.” The door flung open, cutting off my whisper. A doctor in a white coat waltzed in, two nurses trailing him like vultures. He didn’t look at me; he looked at the charts. “You’re behind on payment, Miss Hart,” he stated, his voice devoid of empathy. “I know. I’ll pay. Just… please, give me a little more time.” “Not after what you did. It’s all over the news. We can’t harbor a disgraced fraud in our hospital without payment.” He gestured to the nurses, who immediately began disconnecting the monitors near my mother’s bed. “No, please!” I scrambled off my chair, falling to my knees to grab his coat. “I’ll get a loan! Please, don’t do this to her!” “How?” he sneered, pulling away. “Your face is everywhere. No one wants anything to do with you or your mother.” “But I do.” The voice was a low baritone that vibrated through the floorboards. I turned. A man in a razor-sharp suit stood in the doorway, radiating a cold, untouchable power. He moved with a grace that felt lethal. I recognized him immediately, he was the stranger from the conference, the one who had watched my world collapse with chilling indifference. “Mr. Crosswell,” the doctor stuttered, his demeanor shifting from cruel to sycophantic the moment he saw the man’s suit. “What can we help you with?” Crosswell didn't even acknowledge the doctor. His eyes were fixed on me. “Miss Nicole, I need to speak with you. Alone.” He turned his gaze to the doctor, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Your hospital could get flagged for such behavior. Leave us.” The doctor scurried out. I stood, my legs shaking. “I know you,” I whispered. “You were at the conference.” He stepped into my space, his presence suffocating. He didn't look at the room; he looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my dishevelled appearance. “You look even worse than then.” “I’m not having a good day, Mr. Crosswell. What do you want?” “I can be of great help to you. If you let me.” “I don’t have time for games. I need money for my mother’s treatment.” “And that is exactly what I am offering. For a price.” I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. “What do you want? That I slave for you? Wash your floors?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper. “Marry me.” I stared at him, sure I had finally snapped. “Are you insane?” “We both know she doesn’t have much time left,” he said, his expression as cold as marble. “And we both know you’re blacklisted. You can’t save her, Brittany. But I can.” I stepped toward him, fists clenched. “I may be broke, but I won’t let you dictate my life.” He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and lifting my gaze to meet his. His eyes weren't warm; they were calculated, dark, and full of a strange, terrifying intent. “You have twenty-four hours,” he stated, his lip curling into a ghost of a smile. “Marry me, and I’ll ensure your mother never suffers again. Take my offer, or don’t. But the moment the clock strikes twenty-four hours, the hospital kicks you out, and you lose everything.” He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the silent, suffocating room.