Bound By The Billonaire Alliance

My hands shake and I hate that he sees it. I curl my fingers into my palms and try to breathe, but the air in this office feels too thin. Too heavy. Too full of him. He stands across from me like he owns the room. Like he owns me. "I asked you a question, Miss Morris." His voice is calm. Smooth. Cold. I swallow hard. "I heard you," I say, keeping my tone flat. "I just don't like your question." His piercing blue eyes don't blink. He studies me like a problem he's trying to solve. Or break. "That's unfortunate," he replies. "Because whether you like it or not, you still need to answer." My heart thudding so loud I'm sure the entire boardroom hears it. The long table between us suddenly feels useless. Nothing feels like protection right now. I lift my chin. "This is my company." A small pause. Then he smiles. Not a kind smile. "Not for long." Silence falls. And just like that, my world tilts. I refuse to look away first. I've learned that lesson the hard way. When you look away, you lose. When you show weakness, men like Maximus Reddington II smell it. And Max smells blood. I should've known he'd be here today. I should've expected it. But some part of me was still hoping this meeting would be simple. Just numbers. Just documents. Just another desperate attempt to keep my father's empire alive. I was wrong. Very wrong. I turn away from him and walk to the large glass window behind my father's desk. My father's desk. The words still feel heavy in my head. Dad should be here. Not me. He should be the one arguing with billionaires. He should be the one protecting this company. He built this place from nothing. I still remember coming here as a kid, sitting in that big leather chair, pretending to sign fake papers while he laughed. Now the chair feels too big. Too cold. "You're stalling," Max says behind me. I close my eyes for a second. I refuse to let him see what this place means to me. I won't let him see how close I am to falling apart. I turn back slowly. "I'm thinking." He walks around the table now. Slow, controlled steps, like he has all the time in the world. Of course he does. When you own the Reddington empire, time bends for you. He stops a few feet away. "I've already seen your numbers," he says quietly. "Your debt is piling up. Your investors are sweating. Your competitors are circling like sharks. Within six months, your family's company goes under." Every word hits like a physical blow. "You don't know that," I snap. He tilts his head. "I do." I hate him. I hate how sure he sounds. I hate that he might actually be right. I walk back to the desk and grab the financial file before he can touch it. "We're restructuring," I say fast. "We're negotiating new partnerships. We'll bounce back." "Will you?" His voice drops lower. "Or are you just trying to protect your pride?" My breath catches. "This isn't about pride." "Then what is it about?" "It's about my father," I whisper before I can stop myself. The words hang in the air. For a split second, something shifts in his eyes. Just for a heartbeat. Then it's gone. "You can't save a company with feelings," he says. "Business doesn't care about your grief." His words are brutal. But they're true. And that makes it hurt worse. I pull my shoulders back. "Why are you really here, Mr. Reddington?" He studies me for a long moment, his gaze tracing my face like he's memorizing lines. "Call me Max." "I'd rather not." A flicker of amusement crosses his face. "I'm here because your board requested my presence." My stomach drops. "What?" "They approached me about a potential acquisition." No. No. "That's impossible," I breathe. "They wouldn't do that without telling me." "They did." The room starts spinning. "They can't sell this company. It belongs to my family." He looks almost bored. "It belongs to the shareholders. And they're losing patience." I grip the edge of the desk to keep from swaying. "They promised to give me time." "They gave you time. The numbers didn't budge." Anger flares in my chest. "You're enjoying this." He doesn't even deny it. "I enjoy efficiency." "You enjoy power." He steps closer. "And you don't?" The question throws me. "Of course I do. But not like this." "Like what?" "Like kicking someone when they're down. Pouncing on a family that's struggling." His jaw tightens. "You assume this is personal." "It feels pretty personal." "Everything feels personal when you're losing." His words cut deep. I refuse to cry. Not in front of him. Never in front of him. "What do you want?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. His expression shifts, turning sharper. More focused. "I want control." "Of my company?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because your family's assets align with what we need." I blink. "Assets?" "A specific piece of land in Manhattan." My mind races. That land has been in our family for decades. My dad turned down millions for it over the years. "You can't have it," I say instantly. He smiles faintly. "I already do." "No, you don't." "I will." I step back. "You're not buying out this company." He watches me carefully, reading every micro-expression. "There's another option." The way he says it makes my stomach twist into knots. "What option?" He signals to his associate standing near the door. The man hands him a thick manila folder. Max tosses it onto the desk in front of me. "Read." My fingers feel numb as I flip open the cover. I scan the first page. Then the second. Then I freeze. "No." My voice comes out as a thin squeak. "That's the condition," Max says quietly. "This is insane." "It's strategic." I look up, my eyes wide. "You want me to marry you?" The words sound fake, like dialogue from a trashy soap opera. "Yes." Silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating. "This is a joke." "It's not." I let out a harsh, dry laugh. "You hate me." "I don't hate you." "You look at me like I'm a bug on your shoe." "That doesn't equal hate." I shake my head, backing away. "This is nuts. Marriage isn't a business merger." "It always has been." I stare at him, half-convinced he's lost his mind. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." I flip through the papers again. A legally binding marriage agreement. Two years minimum. Shared public appearances. Combined financial assets for the duration. In exchange, the Reddingtons absorb our massive debt and stabilize the firm. My head spins. "You want my company so bad you're willing to tie yourself to me?" "It guarantees loyalty." "You could just buy the shares." "I could." "Then why this?" His dark eyes flash. "Because some things require deeper ties." Something in his voice makes my pulse jump. "This is blackmail." "No. It's an opportunity." "An opportunity to trap me." "To save your company." I feel trapped already. "This is my life." "And this is your legacy," he fires back. The words land like a punch to the gut. He knows exactly which buttons to push. "You're asking me to give up my freedom." "I'm offering you security." "With you?" "Yes." I let out a shaky breath. "Why me?" The question slips out before I can bite my tongue. He pauses, his gaze locking onto mine. "Because you're tough. And because you won't break easily." I hate that those words do something weird to my chest. "You barely know me." "I know enough." A long stretch of silence follows. "And if I refuse?" I ask. "Then I acquire the company through other means." "And I lose everything." "Yes." He doesn't sugarcoat it. I'll give him that. I close the folder slowly. "You planned this." "Yes." "For how long?" "Long enough." My throat feels like sandpaper. "You're ruthless." "I'm practical." I look at him really look at him. The expensive suit, the stiff posture, the cold blue eyes. But beneath that icy exterior, there's a wild, burning intensity. "You'd tie yourself to someone who can't stand you?" I ask. He steps closer, invading my space. "You can't stand me?" "I should." "But do you?" My heart stutters. "I don't trust you." "That's not the same thing." "Trust is kind of required for marriage." "This isn't that kind of marriage." His voice drops an octave. "Then what kind is it?" "One built on mutual benefit." "And zero feelings?" He doesn't answer right away. "That would be ideal." Ideal. Not guaranteed. I take another step back. "You expect me to say yes right now?" "No." "How long do I have?" "Forty-eight hours." "Forty-eight hours to decide the rest of my life?" "Yes." I let out a bitter laugh. "You're unbelievable." "I get that a lot." I turn and pace toward the window, needing distance. My brain is screaming. If I say yes, I save the company. If I say no, I watch everything my dad built burn to the ground. If I say yes, I marry a man who views me as a hostile takeover target. If I say no, I'm the failure who let the family legacy die. I press my palm against the cool glass. Dad, what would you do? "Miss Morris." His voice pulls me back. "Elena," he corrects softly. I spin around. "Yes, Max?" For a second, a strange spark passes between us. "You don't have many cards left to play," he says quietly. "But this one keeps you in the game." "I don't want to play your game." "You're already sitting at the table." The brutal truth of it makes my chest ache. He turns toward the door. "Forty-eight hours," he repeats, pausing with his hand on the knob. "And Elena?" I look up. "If you accept, you won't regret it." I glare at him. "That sounds like a threat." "It's a promise." Then he's gone, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. And I'm left alone. Alone with a contract that could save me, or ruin me completely. I sink into my father's leather chair, staring down at the papers. Marry Maximus Reddington II. The billionaire who wants my blood. The man who looks at me like a challenge to be conquered. I whisper into the empty office, "What am I going to do?" And for the first time since the empire started crumbling, I feel genuinely terrified.