Natasha's POV
Natasha's hand froze on the doorknob.
One million dollars. Six months.
This was insane. This was dangerous. This was exactly the kind of thing that got people kidnapped or worse.
But her fingers were already turning the lock.
She opened the door just wide enough to see into the hallway, keeping the chain latch secured. A man stood outside, and he looked nothing like she'd expected.
He was young, maybe early thirties, wearing a suit that probably cost more than her entire year's rent. His posture was perfectly straight, his expression professional and calm. He held a slim leather briefcase and looked about as threatening as a bank manager.
Ms. Quinn, he said with a slight bow. My name is James Park. I apologize for the unusual hour, but this matter is time-sensitive.
Who are you? Natasha's voice came out sharper than intended, adrenaline still pumping through her veins.
I'm the executive assistant to Elias Chen, CEO of Chen Ventures. My employer has a business proposition for you.
Elias Chen. Natasha knew that name. Everyone in the city knew that name. He was the venture capitalist who'd built an empire from nothing, the ruthless CEO who made billion-dollar deals look easy. He was also notoriously private—no scandals, no public relationships, just cold business success.
What could a billionaire CEO possibly want from me? Natasha asked, suspicion sharp in her chest. I'm a disgraced journalist living in a studio apartment. We don't exactly run in the same circles.
James's expression didn't change. That's precisely why you're perfect for this position. May I come in? This conversation would be better conducted privately.
Every instinct screamed at Natasha to slam the door. But the mention of one million dollars echoed in her mind. That money could change everything. She could pay off her debts, fund a real investigation into who'd framed her, maybe even clear her name.
She closed the door, unhooked the chain, and opened it fully.
James stepped inside and his eyes swept across her apartment in one quick glance. Natasha saw it through his perspective: the broken laptop pieces still scattered on the floor, the mattress without a bed frame, the sink full of dishes she couldn't afford to wash because the hot water had been shut off.
Shame burned in her throat, but she lifted her chin. So what's this business proposition?
James set his briefcase on her small table and opened it with a quiet click. He pulled out a folder and handed it to her.
Natasha opened it carefully. Inside was a single sheet of paper with bullet points:
Position: Contracted Romantic PartnerDuration: Six monthsCompensation: $1,000,000 USD (paid monthly)Requirements: Public appearances, family events, maintain believable romantic relationshipConfidentiality: Absolute
Her heart hammered against her ribs. You want me to pretend to be someone's girlfriend?
Correct. My employer needs a romantic partner for public appearances and family obligations. The arrangement would be purely professional despite its romantic appearance.
Why me? The question burst out before Natasha could stop it. There are thousands of women in this city who'd jump at this chance. Why track down a disgraced journalist at three in the morning?
James's expression shifted slightly, something almost like respect crossing his features. You ask good questions. That's one reason. You're intelligent, articulate, and can handle yourself in high-pressure social situations—your journalism career proved that. You're also publicly disgraced, which means you have strong motivation to keep this arrangement confidential. And frankly, you need the money badly enough that you won't walk away.
The blunt assessment stung because it was completely true.
Plus, James continued, you're unavailable emotionally. Your recent experiences have made you... resistant to genuine romantic attachment. That makes you perfect for this role.
Natasha's hands clenched around the folder. You researched me.
Thoroughly. We know about the plagiarism accusations, your former relationship with Marcus Webb, your friendship with Simone Park, and your current financial situation. We know you've been investigating who really framed you, tracking financial records late at night, following leads that go nowhere.
Ice flooded Natasha's veins. How do you know that?
My employer is very thorough when making business decisions.
This was wrong. This whole situation felt like a trap, like another manipulation waiting to destroy her. She'd trusted people before—Marcus, Simone—and they'd used that trust to ruin her life.
I'm not interested, Natasha said, shoving the folder back at James. Tell your employer to find someone else to play his games.
James didn't take the folder. You didn't let me finish explaining the benefits.
I don't care about the benefits. I've learned my lesson about deals that sound too good to be true.
The money would allow you to hire a real investigator. Someone with resources to uncover who actually fabricated those plagiarism charges against you. Someone who could find the evidence to clear your name.
Natasha's breath caught. That was her deepest wish, the thing she wanted more than anything—proof of her innocence, a way to expose the truth.
How do I know this isn't another setup? she whispered. How do I know your employer won't use this against me somehow?
You don't, James admitted. You'll have to make a choice based on incomplete information, just like any important decision in life. But consider this: you're already at rock bottom. You've lost your career, your reputation, your family's support. What exactly do you have left to lose?
The question hit like a physical blow because he was right. She had nothing. She was nothing. One million dollars wouldn't make her situation worse—it could only make it better.
I want to meet him, Natasha said suddenly. Your employer. Before I agree to anything, I want to look him in the eye and hear this offer directly from him.
James nodded as if he'd expected this. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black card with silver lettering.
Mr. Chen will see you tomorrow at 10 AM. Come to this address. Don't be late—he values punctuality.
Natasha took the card. The address was in the financial district, the gleaming towers where the city's most powerful people made decisions that affected thousands of lives.
James closed his briefcase with a quiet snap. One more thing, Ms. Quinn. This offer expires in forty-eight hours. If you don't show up tomorrow, or if you discuss this with anyone, the opportunity disappears permanently. Mr. Chen doesn't give second chances.
He walked to the door, then paused and looked back at her.
I've worked for Elias Chen for eight years. He's ruthless, demanding, and completely focused on winning. But he's also fair. If you agree to this arrangement and fulfill your obligations, he'll fulfill his. The question is whether you're brave enough to take the risk.
James left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Natasha stood alone in her apartment, holding the black card, her mind spinning. This was crazy. Absolutely insane. She should tear up the card and forget this ever happened.
Instead, she looked at the shattered laptop on her floor. At the mattress without sheets because she'd sold them. At the pile of unpaid bills on her counter.
Then she looked at the card again.
Tomorrow at 10 AM, she'd meet Elias Chen.
Natasha pulled out her phone to research him, to learn everything she could before walking into his office.
But when she opened her browser, a new notification popped up. Another Instagram post from Marcus, this time with Simone at what looked like a jewelry store, captioned: Shopping for the perfect rings with my perfect girl.
The rage returned, hot and sharp.
She'd meet Elias Chen. She'd hear his offer. And if it meant getting the resources to destroy Marcus and Simone the way they'd destroyed her?
She'd sell her soul if necessary.
Natasha set an alarm for 8 AM and tried to sleep, the black card clutched in her hand.
But sleep wouldn't come. Because somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning whispered: You're about to make a deal with someone just as dangerous as the people who betrayed you.
She ignored the warning.
What choice did she have?