Bound to the billionaire

Fragile line

Damien pov

The rhythmic hum of the city spilled faintly through the tinted windows of my office, but inside, silence reigned. I liked it that way controlled, steady, predictable. Numbers and contracts never lied. People, however, always did.

I leaned back in my chair, skimming through a quarterly report when a soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I said, setting the folder down.

The door opened, and John, my assistant, stepped in with his usual composed look. “Sir, I thought I should inform you before you hear it directly. Your grandmother called again this morning.”

My brows lifted. “And?”

John cleared his throat, shifting the iPad he always carried. “She wishes to arrange another date for you. This time… with Nina Harper. The daughter of the CEO of VanCrest Group.”

I let out a sharp breath through my nose. “Another one,” I muttered, half to myself. “When will she stop?”

“She’s quite insistent,” John replied carefully. “And… she mentioned she won’t be attending her medical checkup this week unless you agree to go.”

That made me sit forward. “She what?”

John nodded. “She told me directly. Said she’s ‘too tired of doctors unless Damien gives her something worth smiling about.’ Sir… she’s serious this time.”

I ran a hand across my jaw, frustration gnawing at me. My grandmother was the only person who had enough power to corner me like this. She had raised me when my parents couldn’t be bothered, and though she could be manipulative, she was also the only family member whose disappointment stung.

“Fine,” I said after a pause, my voice clipped. “If it gets her to that damn checkup, I’ll go.”

John gave a small nod, relieved. “I’ll inform her. The meeting is set for Bloom Café. Today 1 p.m.”

Bloom Café. A quaint little place, too humble for the Harpers, but perhaps grandmother thought Nina would appear more human there. Still, I already knew how it would go another spoiled heiress flaunting her wealth like a trophy. A waste of my time.

Later that day , I arrived ten minutes before one. Bloom Café was warm, filled with the aroma of roasted beans and faint jazz humming from the speakers. I chose a corner table near the window, where the afternoon sun spilled across the polished wood.

I didn’t have to check my watch to know Nina was late. By the time she swept in thirty minutes later in an oversized designer coat and heels too tall for midday my patience had worn thin.

“Ugh, traffic was horrendous,” she said, rolling her eyes as she slid into the seat across from me. “And my driver is so incompetent. Honestly, I should fire him.”

I said nothing, just gestured to the menu.

She barely glanced at it before tossing her hair back. “So, Damien Cole,” she purred, leaning on her hand. “The man every woman in the city dreams of marrying. I suppose I should feel lucky.”

My lips twitched, not in amusement. “I doubt luck had much to do with it.”

She laughed, high-pitched and rehearsed, before launching into a monologue. “Did you see the latest collection at Paris Fashion Week? I had front-row seats, naturally. Daddy insisted. And we just got back from Mykonos private yacht, of course. Oh, the sunsets there make the Maldives look cheap.”

The words poured out, heavy with brand names and vacations, like she was reciting a résumé of luxury. I barely heard her, my gaze drifting instead to the waitress who approached our table.

Amira pov

Work. That’s all I needed to focus on. Keep moving, keep smiling, don’t let the storm in my head spill over.

“Table seven,” my manager had said, handing me a tray.

I walked briskly toward the corner table, balancing the tray with practiced ease. But when I reached it, my breath caught.

Him.

The man from the hospital the one who had scolded me so harshly when I bumped into his grandmother. His presence was like a sudden shadow across my chest. He looked different here, though less harsh, more polished in his tailored suit, but still carrying that same air of untouchable authority.

I forced my expression into neutrality. Professional. Calm. “Good afternoon,” I said smoothly, setting their drinks down. “Here’s your coffee, and your order will be ready shortly.”

The woman with him who him who barely acknowledged me, too busy with her dramatic storytelling. “I could never, ever live such a poor, terrible life as some people,” she said with a laugh, loud enough for half the café to hear. “Can you imagine not having at least three cars by the time you’re twenty?”

My fingers tightened around the tray. The words pierced sharper than they should have. She didn’t know me, didn’t know my life, but still it felt like a blade aimed straight at my chest.

I turned quickly and walked back to the counter. Breathe, Amira. Just breathe.

That’s when my phone buzzed. Dr. Miller’s name lit the screen. My stomach dropped.

I answered in a rush. “Hello? Dr. Miller?”

His voice was steady but urgent. “Amira, you need to come to the hospital immediately. Your mother’s condition has worsened.”

The world tilted. My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear him. “I…I’ll be there right away.”

I yanked off my apron, muttering something to my manager about an emergency, and bolted out the door.

The hospital smelled the same antiseptic and despair. I hurried to Dr. Miller’s office, my chest heaving.

He met me with a grave expression. “Your mother’s state has deteriorated since yesterday. We need to adjust her treatment immediately. But…” He hesitated.

My throat was already closing. “But what?”

“The cost of the next phase of her treatment is $10,000i think informed you about that . We can start if you deposit at least $1,500 today, then bring the balance by the end of the week.”

I swallowed hard, pulling out the envelope I had scraped together. “I have $1,500 now.” My voice cracked. “That’s all I could manage.”

He accepted it with a nod, sliding a paper across his desk. “Then sign here an agreement that you’ll bring the remainder by Friday. Otherwise, Amira… we can’t continue.”

My hand shook as I signed. The pen felt heavier than a mountain.

After that, I went straight to her room.

Mom lay motionless, tubes trailing from her fragile body. Her face looked pale, almost translucent, and for a terrifying second I wondered if she could even hear me.

I sat beside her, clutching her hand. “Mom, it’s me. I’m here. Please… please hold on.”

Tears burned hot against my cheeks. How could life be so cruel? How was I supposed to find that much money in a week?

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed quietly, the weight of the world pressing down on me. Somewhere deep inside, a desperate thought formed—the kind of thought that scared me.

I’ll do anything. Anything, if it means saving her.