The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

CHAPTER 2

“A representative from Vale Holdings?”

The nurse checked the message again.

“Yes. He is waiting at reception.”

My father’s fingers tightened around my wrist.

“No.”

The monitor beside him began to beep faster.

I turned back to him. “Do you know why they’re here?”

“Tell him to leave.”

“Dad, calm down.”

“Promise me.”

His voice broke beneath the oxygen mask.

“Daniel, you need to rest,” the nurse said, stepping toward the bed.

My father ignored her. His frightened eyes remained on mine.

“Do not sign anything.”

“I haven’t even met him.”

“Don’t.”

The beeping grew louder.

The nurse reached for the call button. “Miss Cross, you need to step outside.”

“I’m not leaving him like this.”

“His heart rate is rising.”

She pressed the button, and another nurse entered almost at once.

My father tried to sit up.

“Dad, please lie down.”

“Elena, listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Vales never come unless they want something.”

The nurses moved between us.

“You must leave now,” one of them said.

My father reached for me, but his hand fell against the bed.

I was pushed into the hallway before I could ask another question.

The door closed.

Through the glass, I watched the nurses adjust his oxygen and check the wires on his chest. One of them spoke to him, but I could not hear the words.

My father’s warning echoed in my head.

The Vales never come unless they want something.

I looked toward the lift.

The representative was waiting downstairs.

Part of me wanted to obey my father and tell the man to leave. Another part needed to know why Vale Holdings had sent someone to the hospital only minutes after Daniel Cross arrived.

I entered the lift.

At reception, a man in a dark-blue suit stood beside the main desk. He held a slim leather folder under one arm and checked his watch every few seconds.

He looked about forty. His hair was cut short, and a pair of thin glasses rested on his nose.

When he saw me, he walked forward.

“Miss Elena Cross?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Thomas Bell. I represent Vale Holdings’ employee benefits department.”

“My father stopped working for your company years ago.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why are you here?”

He adjusted the folder beneath his arm.

“The hospital contacted us after finding your father’s former employment details in its system.”

“That happened quickly.”

“Vale Holdings maintains a direct line with Hartwell Medical Centre.”

“Why?”

“For senior employees and approved former staff.”

I folded my arms.

“Is my father an approved former employee?”

Mr Bell hesitated.

“That is what I came to confirm.”

“Confirm with who?”

“With you, if possible.”

“I was a child when my father left the company.”

“I understand.”

He opened the leather folder and removed a printed form.

“We need some information about his employment history.”

“My father is lying upstairs with a failing heart. This is not the time for questions about an old job.”

“I’m sorry about his condition.”

“Can Vale Holdings pay for his operation?”

The direct question seemed to surprise him.

He looked down at the document.

“There may be a support programme available.”

Hope rose in me so suddenly that it hurt.

“What programme?”

“The company sometimes provides medical assistance to former senior staff members.”

“Was my father senior staff?”

“I cannot confirm that yet.”

“Then what can you confirm?”

Mr Bell’s eyes moved toward the reception workers.

“Perhaps we should speak somewhere private.”

“No. We can speak here.”

“Miss Cross—”

“Did you come to help my father or not?”

He closed the folder.

“I came because your father’s name triggered a restricted notice in our records.”

The hope inside me weakened.

“What kind of notice?”

“I do not have access to the full details.”

“Everyone keeps telling me what they cannot tell me.”

“The file is controlled by Vale Legal Affairs.”

The same fear I had seen in my father’s eyes returned to me.

“Why would a legal department control his medical support?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did my father commit a crime?”

“Not according to anything I’ve seen.”

“Does he owe the company money?”

Mr Bell’s silence lasted too long.

“Does he?” I repeated.

“There is a financial claim attached to his employee record.”

“What kind of claim?”

“It is listed as an unresolved company debt.”

My mouth went dry.

“How much?”

“I don’t have the final figure.”

“Is it large?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him.

My father had never spoken about owing Vale Holdings. He worried over the price of food and counted every coin before paying the electricity bill. If he carried a large company debt, he had hidden it for years.

“What does this have to do with his operation?”

“The debt may prevent him from receiving former employee support.”

“You said he might qualify.”

“He might, if the restriction is removed.”

“How do I remove it?”

“You would have to make a formal request to Vale Legal Affairs.”

“How long will that take?”

“Normally, five to ten working days.”

“My father has three days.”

Mr Bell looked uncomfortable.

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

A woman behind the reception desk glanced toward us.

I lowered my voice.

“The doctor said his heart may fail completely. I cannot wait ten working days for a lawyer to open an old file.”

“I can mark the request as urgent.”

“Will that make them answer today?”

“I cannot promise.”

“Who can?”

Mr Bell placed the form back in his folder.

“A senior legal officer.”

“Call one.”

“I’m not authorised to contact them directly.”

“Then why did they send you?”

“They didn’t send me. The hospital contacted the benefits department.”

My anger drained away, leaving me tired.

The man was not here with answers.

He was another locked door.

“Give me the form.”

He handed it to me.

At the top was the Vale Holdings symbol. Beneath it were spaces for my father’s employment number, department, last position, and reason for leaving.

Most of the page was empty because I knew almost nothing about that part of his life.

“I can’t complete this.”

“Fill in what you know.”

“That will not be enough.”

“It will begin the review.”

“Five to ten days.”

“I’ll mark it urgent.”

I took the pen he offered.

My hand stopped above the signature line.

Do not sign anything.

My father’s warning returned with sudden force.

“What exactly am I agreeing to?”

“You are only giving permission for the company to review his former employment and financial records.”

“Financial records?”

“Yes.”

“Will this allow you to take our house if he owes money?”

Mr Bell blinked.

“No. This form does not authorise any collection action.”

“But there could be collection action later.”

“I can’t comment on that.”

I placed the pen on the desk.

“Then I’m not signing until my father can explain the debt.”

“He may lose the chance to receive medical support.”

“That sounds like pressure.”

“It is not meant to be.”

“But it is.”

I folded the form and slipped it into my bag.

Mr Bell looked as though he wanted to object, but he stopped himself.

“Please submit it soon,” he said. “The restriction on your father’s file is unusual.”

“What makes it unusual?”

“The date.”

“What date?”

“The debt was added after your father had already left Vale Holdings.”

I frowned.

“How long after?”

“Almost one year.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I agree.”

“Who added it?”

His gaze dropped to the folder.

“The instruction came from the office of the former chairman.”

My heartbeat slowed.

“Who was that?”

“Victor Vale.”

The name meant nothing to me, but the way Mr Bell said it made it sound important.

“Is he still alive?”

“No. He died four years ago.”

“Then who controls the file now?”

Mr Bell closed the folder.

“Vale Legal Affairs, under the authority of the current board.”

“Who leads the board?”

He hesitated again.

“Celeste Vale.”

Before I could ask more, a hospital worker approached us.

“Miss Cross?”

“Yes?”

“The accounts department is ready to see you.”

I looked at Mr Bell.

“Are you staying?”

“No. I have completed what I was asked to do.”

“You came here to give me a form I cannot safely sign.”

“I came to inform you that support may exist.”

“Behind a legal restriction.”

His expression softened.

“For what it is worth, Miss Cross, I think you should ask your father why his employment file was sealed.”

“I tried.”

“What did he say?”

“That the Vale family never gives anything for free.”

Something flickered behind Mr Bell’s glasses.

He glanced around before lowering his voice.

“Then take his warning seriously.”

He walked away before I could stop him.

I watched him leave through the hospital doors.

The accounts officer was waiting beside the lift. She introduced herself as Mrs Palmer and led me into a small office on the ground floor.

A thick file rested on her desk.

“Please sit.”

I sat opposite her.

She opened the file and turned a printed document toward me.

“This is the estimated cost of your father’s treatment.”

My eyes moved down the page.

Consultation fees.

Emergency care.

Cardiac tests.

Specialist charges.

Surgical theatre.

Imported valve.

Anaesthesia.

Intensive care.

Medication.

Blood products.

Each line ended with a number that seemed too large to be real.

I reached the total.

My eyes returned to the top of the page.

Then I read the figures again.

“There is a mistake.”

Mrs Palmer folded her hands. “The estimate was prepared by the surgical and accounts teams.”

“This is almost twice what the doctor mentioned.”

“The doctor likely gave you the cost of the main procedure. This estimate includes preparation and aftercare.”

I pointed at one line.

“What is advanced cardiac monitoring?”

“Your father will require constant monitoring after surgery.”

“And this?”

“Specialist nursing care.”

“What about the private room?”

“It is not a private room. That is the intensive care charge.”

I looked at the final figure again.

It was more money than my father had earned in years.

“We have a house,” I said. “A small one.”

Mrs Palmer waited.

“If we sold it, it would not cover this.”

“I understand the amount is significant.”

“My father does not have insurance.”

“We confirmed that.”

“He used to work for Vale Holdings.”

“We contacted them.”

“I spoke to their representative.”

“Did they approve support?”

“No.”

Her expression remained professional, but I saw the answer in her eyes.

Without payment, the hospital would not operate.

“How much do you need before the surgery?”

She turned to the second page and pointed to a figure.

My chest tightened.

“That is the deposit?”

“Yes.”

It was less than the total, but still impossible.

“When must it be paid?”

“By noon tomorrow.”

I looked up sharply.

“The doctor said three days.”

“The operation must take place within three days. We need time to secure the valve, arrange blood, and confirm the surgical team.”

“No one told me I had to pay tomorrow.”

“I’m informing you now.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“We will continue emergency treatment.”

“And the operation?”

“It cannot be scheduled.”

I pushed the paper away.

“My father may die.”

Mrs Palmer removed her glasses.

“I know.”

“Then schedule it.”

“I cannot approve surgery without the deposit.”

“You work in a hospital.”

“Yes.”

“This is where people come so they don’t die.”

Her face tightened.

“We also need equipment, specialists, medication and supplies. Those things have costs.”

“So his life has a price.”

“No.”

I tapped the bill.

“Then what is this?”

She did not answer.

The room became painfully quiet.

I looked at the numbers again.

Everything my father owned could disappear, and it would still not be enough.

Our house.

His old car that had not moved in two years.

My small savings.

My next ten years of wages.

All of it was less than the figure printed at the bottom of one page.

“Are there payment plans?”

“Not for the initial deposit.”

“Loans?”

“You may apply through one of our partner banks.”

“I work at a hotel. They won’t give me this amount.”

“Do you have a guarantor?”

“No.”

“Property with a clear title?”

“The house belongs to my father.”

“If he is conscious, he may be able to authorise its use.”

My stomach turned.

Even if I placed our home against a loan, it would not raise enough.

Mrs Palmer slid a form toward me.

“This confirms that you have received the estimate and understand the deadline.”

My father’s warning stopped my hand.

Do not sign anything.

“What happens if I sign?”

“It only confirms receipt.”

“It does not make me responsible for the debt?”

“No.”

I read every line before taking the pen.

My signature looked uneven.

Mrs Palmer handed me a copy of the bill.

“Please speak to us as soon as you have payment.”

I folded the document and placed it in my bag beside the Vale Holdings form.

At the door, I stopped.

“Has anyone else asked about my father’s bill?”

She looked at her computer.

“The hospital contacted his former employer.”

“Anyone else?”

Her fingers moved across the keyboard.

A small line appeared between her eyebrows.

“What is it?”

“There is a note here.”

“What note?”

She read silently.

Then she looked at me.

“Someone called before your father arrived.”

My skin went cold.

“That is impossible.”

“The call was received twenty-three minutes before the ambulance brought him in.”

“Who called?”

“The person did not leave a name.”

“What did they say?”

Mrs Palmer turned the screen slightly away.

“They asked the hospital to notify Vale Holdings if Daniel Cross was admitted with a heart condition.”

I stared at her.

My father had collapsed without warning.

Even I had not known he would be brought to Hartwell.

“How could anyone know?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Was there anything else?”

Mrs Palmer read the final line.

Her face changed.

“What?”

“The caller left a message for his next of kin.”

My mouth became dry.

“What message?”

She looked directly at me.

“They said, ‘When Elena sees the cost of his life, she will finally come to us.’”