One Million Reason
“Marry me.”
The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Elara stared at Marcus, waiting for the punchline, the smirk, anything that would indicate this was some elaborate joke at her expense.
Nothing came.
Is this man insane?
“You heard me.” His tone was flat, like he’d just asked her to schedule a meeting, not commit to a lifetime legal bond.
God, she despised this man.
“What is this?” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Some kind of mental breakdown? A psychological experiment? The physical workload wasn’t torture enough, so now we’re moving into emotional manipulation?”
“Marry me, and I will…..”
“No.”
The word came out loud. Too loud. Sharp enough to cut through the thick glass walls of his office and reach the assistants stationed outside. She saw heads turn, eyes widening before quickly looking away.
Marcus blinked.
It was the first genuine reaction she’d seen from him in three years. Actual surprise flickering across his face before the mask slammed back down.
“No?”
“Should I say it in French? Morse code? Sign language?” Elara’s hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was rage. Pure, undiluted rage at this man who thought he could control everything, including her. “Which translation works best for you, Mr. Thorne?”
“You haven’t even heard my offer.”
“I’m not interested in whatever twisted game you’ve cooked up in that calculating brain of yours.” She stood, chair scraping against the floor. “Find another assistant to play with.”
Marcus watched her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The look on his face was almost comical. Almost. She’d just become the first person in Thorne Dynamics history to tell Marcus Thorne no, and he genuinely didn’t know how to process it.
Elara turned to leave.
“One million.”
She stopped. Her hand was on the door handle, fingers frozen mid-grip.
“One million what?”
“Dollars.”
Slowly, she turned back around. Marcus hadn’t moved. He stood behind his desk, hands still in his pockets, expression carefully neutral except for that slight tightness around his eyes that suggested he was recalculating every assumption he’d made about this conversation.
“One million dollars,” she repeated. The number felt absurd in her mouth. Fake. Like Monopoly money. “For what? A year? Six months? How long does this arrangement last?”
“Two years. A marriage contract. You play the role of my wife. After twenty four months, we divorce. You walk away with the money.”
Elara laughed. It came out bitter and sharp. “You think you can just throw money at me? After three years of treating me like I’m nothing? Like I’m some object you keep in that office to make your life easier?” She took a step closer to his desk. “All the impossible deadlines. The emails at 3 AM. The constant criticism. The way you look through me like I’m invisible. And now you want me to marry you?”
“It’s a business transaction.”
“It’s insane.”
“It’s practical.” Marcus pulled his hands from his pockets, placing them flat on the desk. “I need a wife. You need money. This solves both problems.”
“You don’t know anything about my problems.”
“I know you’re drowning in debt. I know your family is one payment away from losing everything. I know you spent Christmas in a hospital instead of enjoying your holiday.” His eyes locked onto hers. “I know Victor called you six times last week.”
Ice flooded her veins. “How do you….”
“I pay attention, Miss Vance.”
The use of her last name felt like a slap. They’d had sex a week ago. His marks had barely faded from her neck. And now they were back to Miss Vance, like nothing had happened. Like she was still just the assistant. The employee. The thing he kept around for convenience.
“Take your time,” Marcus said, settling into his chair with infuriating calm. “Think it over. Run the numbers. You’ll come around.”
The certainty in his voice made her want to scream.
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
Elara turned and walked out.
She didn’t storm. Didn’t slam the door. Just walked out with her head high and her hands steady, even though everything inside her was screaming. The assistants at their desks kept their eyes down, suddenly fascinated by their computer screens.
It was the first time in three years she’d walked out of Marcus Thorne’s office without being dismissed. And surprisingly, he didn’t call her back. No sharp command. No snide comment about professionalism. Nothing.
Her own office was smaller. Cramped. A desk shoved against a window that overlooked the building next door instead of the city skyline. But it was hers, and right now she needed the space to breathe.
Elara dropped into her chair and pressed her palms against her eyes. One million dollars. The number kept circling her brain like a vulture. That kind of money would pay off Victor. Cover her mother’s treatment. Give Leo a real shot at a future instead of community college classes he could barely afford.
That kind of money would save them.
But marriage? To Marcus Thorne? The man who’d made her life miserable for three years? The man who’d fucked her in a stairwell and then act like she was nothing?
Her phone buzzed. She ignored it.
The office phone rang.
“Miss Vance speaking.”
“Hi, um, there’s someone here to see you?” The receptionist’s voice was hesitant. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says it’s urgent. His name is Victor.”
Elara’s blood turned to ice.
Victor. The debt collector. Here. At her office.
“Tell him….” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
She hung up before the receptionist could respond. Her hands were shaking again, but this time there was no rage to hide behind. Just pure, animal fear.
Victor had found her office. He’d tracked her down to the one place she thought was safe. And if he was here, it meant the forty-eight hours were up.
It meant she was out of time. And he’s here to collect the money she had no hand in spending, her father, her father the drunk gambler had been borrowing money from Victor.
