Natalie's POV
I shouldn't go.
That's what the rational part of my brain keeps screaming as I sit in my Honda outside the Langham Hotel at 7:45 PM. The building towers above me, all golden light and expensive glass, the kind of place I used to walk into without thinking twice.
Now I feel like a fraud just parking in their garage.
The Langham. Suite 4000. 8 PM. Your father's life depends on what you decide.
The text message glows on my phone screen. I've read it twenty times in the past hour, looking for some clue about who sent it. Some hint about what they want.
Nothing. Just those words and a countdown to a meeting that could be my salvation or my destruction.
"This is insane," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel. "Meeting a complete stranger based on a mysterious phone call. People get murdered this way."
But people also get saved this way. Sometimes.
Maybe.
My phone buzzes. A new message from the hospital billing department: Final notice. Payment required within 48 hours or services will be discontinued.
Services. They mean the machines keeping my father alive.
I have seventeen dollars in my checking account.
My hands are shaking as I get out of the car.
The lobby is exactly as I remember from the charity events I used to attend with my parents—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, staff who are paid to pretend they don't judge you. Except now they probably do judge me. The Hartley name isn't what it used to be.
"Can I help you, miss?" The concierge looks at me like he's trying to decide if I belong here.
"I'm meeting someone. Suite 4000."
His eyebrows rise slightly. The penthouse level. "Name?"
"Natalie Hartley."
He checks his computer, and I see the exact moment my name registers. The scandal. The fraud charges. His expression shifts from polite to pitying.
"Of course, Miss Hartley. The elevator to the penthouse level is on your right."
I want to tell him my father is innocent. That we were set up. That the Hartley name used to mean something good.
Instead, I just say, "Thank you."
The elevator ride to the fortieth floor feels like ascending to my own execution. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls—I look exactly like what I am. Desperate. Exhausted. Wearing a three-year-old blouse I've worn to all three of my jobs because it's the only thing I own that still looks professional.
This is a mistake. I should go home. Find another way.
Except there is no other way. I've tried everything. Every bank said no. Every investor disappeared. Every friend stopped returning my calls.
This mysterious offer is all I have left.
Ding.
The elevator opens onto a private hallway. Plush carpet. Artwork that probably costs more than my father's medical bills. And at the end of the hall, a single door marked 4000.
I check my phone. 7:58 PM.
Two minutes.
My heart is trying to break through my ribs as I walk down the hallway. Each step feels heavier than the last.
What if this is a trap? What if it's Gregory, luring me here to finish destroying my family? What if it's one of my father's enemies, planning to use me as leverage?
What if it's my only chance to save him?
I reach the door.
Raise my hand to knock.
The door opens before I can touch it.
A woman stands there—mid-forties, severe beauty, designer suit that probably costs more than my rent. Her eyes assess me like I'm a product she's considering purchasing.
"Miss Hartley. Right on time." She steps aside. "Please, come in."
I step into the suite and my breath catches.
It's massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Chicago's skyline. Furniture that looks like it belongs in a museum. And in the center of the room, a table with a single chair facing me.
And a stack of papers that looks suspiciously like a contract.
"Please, sit." The woman gestures to the chair.
"I'd rather stand. Who are you? Who sent you?"
"My name is Victoria Chen. I'm an attorney representing my employer."
Chen. The same last name as Gregory, the man who destroyed my father.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" I back toward the door. "Did Gregory send you?"
"Gregory Chen is a criminal who will face justice soon enough." Victoria's voice is ice. "I am not related to him, and my employer despises him as much as you do."
"Then who is your employer?"
"Someone who has a proposition that will solve both of your problems." She sits at the table, perfectly composed. "Please, Miss Hartley. Sit. Hear the offer. If you don't like it, you're free to leave."
Free to leave and go back to watching my father die.
I sit.
Victoria opens a leather folder. "My employer needs a wife. You need significant financial resources and legal assistance. We're proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"A wife?" The word doesn't make sense. "What kind of arrangement?"
"A marriage. Legal and binding. For one year."
I almost laugh. It's so absurd. "You're asking me to marry a stranger?"
"I'm asking you to consider a business transaction that happens to involve marriage." Victoria slides a document across the table. "One year. At the end, you divorce quietly. In exchange, you receive ten million dollars, your father's company is saved, all legal charges are dropped, and his medical care is covered for life."
Ten million dollars.
My father's company saved.
The charges dropped.
I stare at the paper, but the words blur together. This can't be real.
"Who would offer this?" My voice sounds far away. "Who needs a wife badly enough to pay ten million dollars?"
"Someone who has his own reasons. Someone who values discretion and control."
"This is insane."
"This is business, Miss Hartley." Victoria's expression doesn't change. "And you're a woman who understands business. Your family built a pharmaceutical empire from nothing. You graduated top of your class. You're working three jobs to keep your father alive." She leans forward. "You're a survivor. And survivors make practical choices."
"Practical?" I shake my head. "You're asking me to marry someone I've never met!"
"You'll meet him tonight. Before you sign anything." Victoria checks her watch. "In fact, he should be arriving any moment."
My stomach drops. "He's coming here? Now?"
"You didn't think we'd ask you to sign a contract without meeting your future husband, did you?"
"I don't—this is too fast—"
The suite's main door opens.
Footsteps. Expensive shoes on marble.
A man's voice, cold and commanding: "Is she here?"
"Yes, sir. We were just discussing the terms."
My entire body goes rigid. That voice. I know that voice.
From news interviews. From business conferences my father forced me to attend. From the man who's spent eight years systematically destroying everything my family built.
No.
Please, no.
He walks around the corner into view.
And my heart stops.
Dominic Ashford.
Tall. Dark hair. Eyes like a winter storm. A face that would be handsome if it wasn't twisted with cold contempt. He's wearing a suit that probably costs more than my car, and he moves like a predator who knows he owns the room.
He looks at me.
And I see eight years of hatred in those eyes.
"You." The word barely makes it past my lips.
His expression doesn't change. "Miss Hartley."
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
The man who destroyed my family—who blamed my father for his sister's death, who crushed every business venture we attempted, who made "Hartley" a curse word in Chicago—wants to marry me?
"No." I stand up so fast my chair falls over. "Absolutely not. This is—you're insane if you think I would ever—"
"Sit down." Dominic's voice is quiet. Deadly. "We're not finished."
"Yes, we are!" I head for the door. "I don't know what sick game this is, but I'm not playing."
"Your father has three weeks before his company is auctioned."
I freeze.
"Two weeks before the FBI files formal charges." Dominic moves closer. I can feel him behind me, a wall of ice and barely controlled fury. "The stress will kill him before the trial even begins. You know this, Miss Hartley. The doctors have told you."
"How do you—"
"I know everything about your situation. Your three jobs. Your mounting debt. The seventeen dollars in your checking account. The final notice from the hospital." His voice drops lower. "I know you're drowning. And I'm offering you a lifeline."
I turn to face him, and immediately regret it. He's too close. Too tall. Too overwhelming.
"Why?" I demand. "Why would you help me? You've spent eight years destroying us."
"I'm not helping you." His smile is sharp and cruel. "I'm using you."
The honesty is like a slap.
"I need a wife for business reasons," he continues. "You need money and legal assistance. We make a deal. Simple. Clean. Profitable for both of us."
"There's nothing simple about marrying my enemy!"
"Enemy?" He studies me like I'm an insect. "You flatter yourself, Miss Hartley. You're not important enough to be my enemy. You're just... convenient."
The words cut deeper than they should.
"Then find someone else," I say. "There are thousands of women in Chicago who would marry you."
"But none of them owe me what you do."
My blood runs cold. "What does that mean?"
Dominic's eyes are arctic. "Your father's company killed my sister. Emily died because of Hartley Pharmaceuticals' negligence. For eight years, I've made your family pay for that." He leans closer. "And now I'm going to make you pay by giving me exactly what I need."
"You're a monster."
"Yes." He doesn't even blink. "But I'm a monster who can save your father. And that's more than anyone else is offering you."
I want to hit him. Want to scream. Want to tell him exactly what I think of his sick proposal.
But Dad's face flashes in my mind. The machines. The beeping. The doctor saying weeks, maybe less.
"I need to think about this," I say.
"No." Dominic steps back, straightening his cuffs. "You don't get time to think. The offer expires when you walk out that door. Accept now, or accept that your father dies penniless and disgraced."
"That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair, Miss Hartley. Your father taught me that when his company poisoned my sister." His voice is brutal. "Now. Sit down. Listen to the terms. Make your choice."
Every instinct screams at me to run.
But my feet carry me back to the chair.
I sit.
And Dominic Ashford smiles like he just won a war.
"Smart girl," he says. "Now. Let's discuss the terms of your surrender."
Victoria slides the contract toward me.
And I realize with horrible clarity that I'm about to make a deal with the devil himself.
Because what other choice do I have?