A Choice of Our Own

The Real Reason

"You finally asked the right question."

I immediately disliked that answer. People who said things like that were usually about to ruin your day.

I folded my arms. "Then answer it."

Damiano studied me for a moment, like he was deciding how much truth I could handle. Then he walked back to his desk.

"Three months ago, someone attempted to remove me as CEO."

I blinked. That wasn't what I expected. "What?"

"The board voted." His voice stayed calm. Too calm. "As they often do."

"And?"

"I won." The answer sounded simple. But the look on Marco's face suggested it hadn't been simple at all. Something ugly lurked beneath those words. Something dangerous.

Damiano opened a folder and slid it across the desk. I hesitated before taking it. Inside were photographs, newspaper clippings, financial reports. Corporate records. Names I didn't recognize.

"The De Luca empire controls shipping, real estate, banking, and energy." He paused. "Which means a lot of people become very wealthy if I fail."

That made more sense. Money. The answer was always money.

"So someone wants your position."

"Several people."

I frowned. Then, another thought occurred to me. "What does any of this have to do with a wife?"

Damiano leaned back in his chair. "A married CEO appears stable." Pause. "A family man inspires confidence." Pause. "A billionaire bachelor creates rumours."

I stared at him. That was it? That was the reason? This entire absurd situation existed because old rich men cared about appearances?

Rich people were exhausting.

"That's ridiculous."

"I agree."

"Then why do it?"

For the first time, Marco spoke. "Because perception matters." His voice was deep, serious. "The market doesn't react to reality."

I sighed. "Of course it doesn't."

Damiano's gaze settled on me. "My opponents are waiting for a mistake."

"And a wife prevents that?"

"A wife eliminates several vulnerabilities."

The way he said it made me uneasy. Not because of the words but because of the emotion behind them. There wasn't any. To Damiano, marriage wasn't personal. It was a strategy. A business decision. A move on a chessboard.

And somehow, that annoyed me. A lot.

"Do you even know how awful that sounds?"

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Yes."

"Good."

The corner of his mouth twitched. I hated how attractive that was. Life was unfair ,very unfair.

I looked back at the contract. Half a million euros. Luca's surgery. My debts. A chance to finally breathe.

Then I looked at Damiano cold,calculating,dangerous, and probably impossible to live with.

"No."

The word escaped before I could stop it.

Silence. Marco blinked. Damiano's expression didn't change.

"No?"

"No." I pushed the contract away. "I can't do it."

A strange feeling settled in my chest. Disappointment. Not because of the money. But because for a brief moment, I had actually considered it. Actually, I imagined saying yes. That scared me more than anything.

So I stood. "I'm sorry."

Damiano remained seated. Calm. Unmoving. Like he'd expected this. "Very well."

I blinked. That was it? No argument? No negotiation? No pressure?

"We're done?"

"Yes."

Suspicion immediately flooded me. Nobody that rich gave up that easily. Nobody.

I turned toward the door. Marco opened it for me. I stepped into the hallway.

One step. Two. Three.

Then my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen. Hospital.

My stomach dropped. Immediately. Instinctively. I answered.

"Hello?"

The doctor's voice came through the speaker. Urgent. Serious. "Miss Russo."

I stopped walking. Fear surged through my chest like ice water. "What happened?"

There was a pause. The kind of pause that changes lives.

"Your brother collapsed."

Everything inside me froze. The hallway blurred. The floor disappeared beneath my feet. And suddenly the contract wasn't the most important thing anymore.

Not even close.