VENUS

“Marry me.”

My brain short-circuited.

“W-what?” I blinked, pushing up my oversized glasses—scratched, crooked, and clinging to life like my sanity. His eyes tracked the motion, brimming with disdain. Typical.

“You heard me,” he replied coolly, like he’d just asked for a meeting reschedule, not proposed marriage to the woman he’s treated like corporate lint for two months straight.

God, I loathe this man.

“What, is this some new psychological warfare tactic?” I folded my arms. “Because the emotional labor you’ve inflicted isn’t quite enough?”

“Marry me and I—”

“No.” My voice cut through the tension like a blade. Sharp. Final.

He blinked. Just once. But I saw it—surprise. As if the idea of being turned down had never occurred to him.

“No?” he echoed, mildly offended.

Didn't think I'd ever speak back, did you?

“Want it in Spanish? French? Morse code?”

“You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“I don’t want your offer.” My voice rose. “I’m not interested in whatever twisted bargain you’ve cooked up in that emotionally unavailable brain of yours.”

He leaned back in his chair, lips twitching. Not quite a smirk, something colder.

“One million dollars.”

Silence.

My heart stuttered. He's crazy. I was genuinely concerned now, Did he hit his head or something?

“A million?” I asked, incredulous. “You think throwing money at me will fix the months you’ve spent micromanaging me into oblivion? You’ve treated me like disposable help, now suddenly I’m bride material?”

“You’ll have time to consider,” he said evenly. Calm. Measured. Calculating. Like he hadn’t just upended my world.

I scoffed and slammed a folder on his desk. “Here’s the report you asked for. And no, I’m not for sale. You’re not the devil in disguise, Sinclair. You are the disguise.”

Then I walked out.

And for the first time since I started working for him… there was no retaliation. No snide remarks. No passive-aggressive memos.

Just silence.

It should’ve felt like peace.

It didn’t.

By the time I left work, the weight of it all was pressing on my chest—like the moment before a storm. I ran into Jude at the elevator.

“You’re heading out early,” he noted.

“Yeah,” I said with a tired smile. “Gotta check on Mom.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

I nodded, waved, and headed home hoping for quiet.

I got it.

But not the kind I wanted.

The apartment was still. Too still.

I opened my bedroom door and my stomach sank.

Drawers overturned. Sheets yanked off. My closet wide open like a wound.

“No,” I whispered, lunging for the box under my bed.

Empty.

All of it gone. Every dollar I’d scraped and saved for Mom’s chemo. Months of tips, late nights, skipped meals vanished.

There was no sign of forced entry. No broken windows. No lock tampering.

Just one conclusion.

Only one person had a key.

Only one person had ever taken more from me than he gave.

Dain.

VENUS

I wiped my eyes before stepping into Mom’s ward. They must’ve been swollen. I hadn't stopped crying since dawn, and Dain? Still not picking up.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, faking a smile so fragile it could crack if she blinked too hard.

Her expression shifted instantly. “Venus, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

Of course she saw through it. She always does.

“Yeah… my boss is being an ass again,” I lied. The truth would break her. And I couldn’t add one more crack to her already-fractured world.

“Venus—” she started softly.

“It was my fault. I don’t wanna talk about it,” I muttered, brushing it off like it didn’t weigh a ton.

She didn’t push. Just reached for my hand. “Okay, darling. You don’t have to.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Did Dain come by?”

“No... is he back home?” Her voice lifted, blooming with a hope that made me sick.

That man didn’t deserve her hope.

“No. He hasn’t.” My voice turned cold, sharp and bitter. She noticed.

“Venus—”

“I should go. You need rest. Chemo starts next week.”

Another lie. It scorched my throat. God, I needed to make it true before it killed her.

We hugged. She smelled like antiseptic and lavender. I held on too long. Then I left.

The hospital was close, but each step felt like dragging a dead body—mine. The weight of hopelessness pressed on my shoulders, heavy and relentless. I kept hearing it—his voice.

Marry me.

Was he serious? Was it a game? A trap he’d enjoy watching me writhe in?

The thought sickened me. The fact I was considering it? Worse.

When I reached home, the front door was cracked open.

No.

I knew I locked it.

I stepped in and there he was. Dain. Sprawled on the couch, reeking of sweat and stale alcohol. Passed out, useless.

Disgust burned up my throat.

I grabbed a cup, filled it with water, and dumped it on his face.

“Get up, you asshole.”

He bolted upright, sputtering. “What the fuck?! You little—”

“You stole my money, Dain! Where is it?!”

His bloodshot eyes lit up with smugness. “You had that much stashed and let Billy rough me up for peanuts? Selfish little bitch.”

“You were never supposed to touch it. It was for Mom’s chemo.”

He scoffed. “Why bother? She’s dying anyway.”

That was it.

“Shut up,” I snarled. “Shut your fucking mouth!”

And then he slapped me.

Hard.

“That’s no way to talk to your father,” he slurred. “Didn’t your mother teach you—”

I snapped.

My eyes locked on a broken shard of glass near the table. I grabbed it, hand trembling but firm.

“Get out. Now. Or I swear to God, I’ll gut you.”

He paused. Blinked.

The threat landed.

He raised his hands, backing away. “Let’s not be hasty—”

“I said get out!” I screamed, lunging a step forward.

He stumbled. Then bolted.

As the door slammed shut, I collapsed. Sinking to my knees, hands shaking, chest heaving. Then the tears came—violent, uncontrollable. Not soft sobs. This was grief, rage, helplessness all tangled in one.

I sat in that storm for a long time.

When the shaking slowed, I cleaned the house like it could scrub my shame. But I couldn’t outrun one thought:

Mr. Sinclair.

Maybe I should’ve listened. Maybe I should’ve asked more questions. Maybe—just maybe—he was serious.

I hated him. Hated how cold he was. How powerful. How he always seemed ten steps ahead. But I had nothing left.

Desperate people make stupid choices.

I picked up my phone.

He answered on the fourth ring.

“About your offer…” My voice was hollow. “Were you serious?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No emotion. Just cold certainty.

“Then I’ll take it,” I whispered. My pride shattered like glass on tile.

“Good,” he said. Like he knew I’d fold. “We’ll discuss the terms tomorrow. At the office.”

Click.

Just like that, I traded my freedom for hope.

If it saves her... maybe it’s worth it.

AARON

“She told me I’d fucking lost my mind and walked out,” I ranted, gripping the glass in my hand like it might keep me from exploding. Connor, the bastard, just laughed like I’d said the funniest joke of the year.

“It isn’t funny,” I growled, though part of me knew it kind of was.

“With that kind of approach, what did you expect, asshole?” he asked, finally sobering a little as he took a swig from his beer. “You’ve made her life a living hell for the past few months then out of nowhere, you waltz in and tell her to marry you? And you think she’d just... what? Say yes? Like you’re her Prince Charming or something? You’re fucking delusional.”

I clenched my jaw, but I didn’t argue. Connor’s my best friend for a reason—he doesn’t sugarcoat shit. He never has. Doesn’t mean it’s easy to swallow when he spits the truth straight down your throat.

“You came up with the idea,” I muttered bitterly, “Now I have to come up with Plan B. If I don’t get married within a month, all my hard work, my sacrifices, everything I’ve built, it’ll all go to waste.”

Leave it to my grandfather to still have his claws in my life from beyond the grave. I hope you’re enjoying the show, old man. You always did love theatrics.

The Will was read yesterday—my grandfather’s final punch from the beyond. According to it, I inherit 65% of the business empire, including the company we built together, only if I get married a month after his death. If I don’t, it all goes to my sorry excuse of a father.

That will never happen. Over my dead fucking body.

My grandfather practically raised me. He was the only real father figure I had growing up. I owe him everything. My drive, my grit, my ambition. But the man had a flair for drama, and apparently, he couldn’t rest in peace without one final power move. He knew how I felt about marriage. He knew the trauma my parents’ disaster of a union left behind. And yet, he still went ahead with this absurd condition.

The worst part? It wasn’t just about getting married. No, that would’ve been too easy. It had to be for love. No business deal, no marriage of convenience. And the kicker? No divorce for at least three years. Classic him. Always pushing limits.

So, Connor—brilliant, ruthless Connor—pitched a plan. “Marry your PA,” he said. “Fabricate a love story. You’ve known her long enough to sell it. Tell them you’ve been secretly seeing each other. No one will suspect it, and since you two clearly hate each other’s guts, there's no risk of catching feelings and complicating shit.”

It was a sound plan. Elegant in its simplicity.

Except... she said no.

Of course, she said no.

I downed the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp. “I know what you’re about to ask. If I hate her so much, why the hell did I hire her?”

Connor raised a brow but didn’t ask. He already knew.

“She wasn’t my choice,” I continued bitterly. “My father hired her. Said I needed someone ‘competent’ watching over me.” That was his way of saying he didn’t trust me. I tried firing her the first week, but the contract was ironclad. The only way she could leave was if she quit. And believe me, I’ve tried to break her spirit. Overloaded her with work, gave her impossible deadlines, made her life absolute hell.”

“She never cracked,” Connor said with a shrug. “She delivers. Every damn time. I’d keep her too.”

“She’s obedient to a fault,” I muttered. “Quiet. Disciplined. Annoyingly professional. She never talks back—until today. Today she grew a spine. The one day I needed her to say yes, she decides she has standards.”

“I was wondering when she would.” Connor smirked. “She picked the wrong fucking time, though.”

“Damn right,” I grumbled.

Before he could say more, his phone buzzed, and he slid off his barstool. “I gotta take this. Be back in a bit.”

I nodded, swirling the remaining ice in my glass, lost in thought.

That’s when I felt it—a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, handsome,” came a sultry voice, sugary sweet and painfully fake. I looked up to see a woman with barely enough fabric on her chest to qualify as a top. Her cleavage was practically in my face. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Normally, I’d say yes. I’d take the distraction, the escape, the body and the night. But tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight, everything felt... wrong.

“Not interested,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay calm.

But she didn’t budge.

“Just one drink, and then maybe—”

My phone rang, cutting her off. I’ve never been more grateful for an interruption.

I excused myself without looking back, stepping out into the cool night air as I answered.

My eyebrows raised at the caller ID. My PA. Interesting.

I picked up.

“About your offer this morning…” Her voice was shaky, hesitant. “Were you... were you serious?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No need for it.

“I... I’ll take it then.”

I could hear the effort behind her words. The quiet surrender. Something must’ve broken her between this morning and now. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t curiosity holding me back—it was restraint. If she was desperate enough to agree, she’d reached her breaking point.

And I wasn’t cruel enough to dig into that pain.

“Good,” I said, my tone cool and measured. “We’ll discuss the terms and details tomorrow. At the office.”

Then I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket.

She said yes.

This might actually work.

Or... it might ruin everything.

But for now, I’ve got a fiancée to make.