A Deal With The Billionaire

Chapter one

Chapter One – The Proposal

The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, battering against the cracked windshield of the old Corolla as if the sky itself were mocking her misery. Amelia Dawson tightened her grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, eyes blurry from the sting of tears she refused to let fall. She had cried enough in the past twenty-four hours.

Her father’s hospital bills had doubled overnight. The bank had sent another foreclosure notice. And the family’s bakery, the only legacy her late mother had left behind, was drowning under debt it could no longer escape. She had always thought she was strong, resilient even. But as she pulled up in front of the towering glass-and-steel headquarters of Weston Enterprises, her courage trembled like a leaf in the wind.

This was her last shot.

The lobby was marble and glass, sleek and cold. Every step of her scuffed heels echoed in the cavernous space, drawing the curious stares of polished secretaries and suited businessmen who clearly didn’t think she belonged. Amelia tugged on her worn cardigan, as though it could shield her from the weight of their judgment.

“Miss Dawson?” A voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

A tall man in an immaculate gray suit stood at the reception desk, holding a sleek tablet. His gaze was impassive and professional, but his eyes flicked briefly to her frayed skirt hem before snapping back to her face. “Mr. Weston will see you now.”

Amelia’s throat went dry. She followed him through polished corridors until they stopped at a pair of heavy oak doors. The assistant pushed them open, gesturing for her to enter.

The office was another world entirely; floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering city skyline, while rich mahogany bookshelves lined the walls. A grand desk sat at the center, sleek and intimidating, but it wasn’t the furniture that stole her breath.

It was him.

Damian Weston.

He didn’t look up immediately. His focus remained on the document in front of him, pen gliding effortlessly across paper. Even seated, he exuded authority, the kind that pressed against your chest and demanded attention. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, Damian Weston was every bit the ruthless billionaire the newspapers painted him to be.

And yet, there was something about him in person, an energy that was even more dangerous than his reputation.

“Miss Dawson,” he said finally, without looking up. His voice was smooth, deep, and controlled, carrying the weight of a man who was always obeyed. “Sit.”

Amelia obeyed, perching on the edge of the leather chair across from him. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.

“You’ve been persistent,” Damian continued, eyes still on the papers. “Three calls. Two letters. And now, here you are, uninvited to my office.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I had no choice. You wouldn’t respond.”

Now, his eyes lifted.

The impact was immediate. Dark, piercing, and almost predatory, his gaze stripped her bare in an instant. Amelia’s heart hammered as she forced herself not to look away.

“You need money,” Damian said flatly. Not a question, but a statement of fact.

Amelia swallowed hard. “Yes. My father’s medical bills, the bakery… we can’t.”

He raised a hand, silencing her. “You want me to invest. To swoop in and save your failing business. But tell me, Miss Dawson…” His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Why should I?”

Her pride prickled. “Because it’s a good business. Because people love it. Because my mother built it with her own hands, and I won’t let it die.”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Not softness Damian Weston didn’t look like a man capable of softness but interest.

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Passion is admirable. But passion doesn’t pay debts. Investors require returns.”

Amelia’s chest tightened. She knew this was a mistake. She knew coming here, begging a man like Damian Weston for help, was like offering her soul to the devil himself. And yet, she couldn’t walk out. Not when everything she loved was crumbling.

“I’ll do anything,” she whispered.

The air shifted. The words hung heavy between them, echoing louder than the rain on the glass.

Damian’s gaze sharpened. He studied her for a long moment, then stood. Slowly, he walked around the desk until he was standing just inches from her. The sheer force of his presence made her pulse race.

“Anything,” he repeated, voice low. “Do you know what you’re offering, Miss Dawson?”

Her breath caught. “I”

“I don’t invest in failing bakeries. But I do have a… problem of my own.”

She looked up at him, uncertain. “What kind of problem?”

His smile was razor-sharp. “My board of directors doesn’t believe I’m stable enough to inherit full control of Weston Enterprises. They want proof that I’m capable of commitment. They want… a wife.”

Amelia blinked. Surely, she had misheard. “A… a wife?”

“An engagement, to be precise. Temporary. Six months. Long enough to appease the board, secure my position, and silence the vultures waiting to tear me apart.”

She stared at him, stunned. “And you want me to… pretend?”

“I want you to play the role.” He stepped closer, his voice a dark velvet. “The devoted fiancée. You’ll attend events, smile for the cameras, and and and live in my world. In return, I’ll settle your debts. All of them.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. This couldn’t be real. Was he insane? Or was she even considering it?

“That’s… that’s blackmail,” she whispered.

“No,” Damian corrected smoothly. “That’s business. I offer you a solution. You offer me your cooperation. We both win.”

Amelia’s mind spun. She should walk away. She should tell him to go to hell. But the image of her father, pale and weak in his hospital bed, clawed at her. The memory of her mother kneading dough in the bakery’s warm kitchen filled her eyes with tears.

She had no other options.

“Why me?” she asked hoarsely.

Damian’s eyes glinted with something she couldn’t name. “Because you’re desperate. And desperation makes people… obedient.”

Her stomach twisted. She hated him. She hated his arrogance, his smug certainty. And yet, she also hated how right he was.

“You’ll have a contract,” he continued. “Legal. Clear terms. When it’s over, you walk away with your freedom and enough money to rebuild your little bakery twice over. Until then, you belong to me.”

The last words sent a shiver down her spine.

Amelia closed her eyes, every fiber of her being screaming at her to say no. But when she opened them again, she saw only her father’s smile, her mother’s legacy, and the home she couldn’t bear to lose.

She lifted her chin, forcing strength into her voice. “Six months. That’s all.”

Damian’s lips curved. Not kindly. Not warmly. But triumphantly.

“Six months,” he agreed. He extended his hand. “Do we have a deal, Miss Dawson?”

Her hand trembled as she reached out, placing her palm against his. The touch was electric, hot, dangerous, and final.

And in that moment, Amelia knew she had just made a deal with the devil.