45days With Mr Cold Billionaire

Ari's POV:

"Yes." My voice broke on the word. "I'll be your wife whether you like it or not."

Silence stretched between us. He looked at me for a long moment, his face giving nothing away. Then he stood up slowly, walked around the desk, and stopped right in front of me. I could see the polish on his shoes, so shiny I could almost see my own reflection in them.

He crouched down until we were eye level. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet, meant only for me.

"No," he said. "You'll be my wife because I allow it. Never confuse the two."

That's all he said as he stood up and walked back to his chair, the leather creaking softly as he sat down.

"Martin will draw up the papers."

And that was it. Martin came toward me and I knew this was my cue to stand up and leave, but my body wouldn't move. I stayed there on my knees.

"Miss Johnson, please can you get up?" Martin said. His hand was stretched out like he wanted to help me, but he didn't actually touch me.

I looked up at him, then past him at the man behind the desk. "I need money for my mother's treatment. You promised that."

Martin glanced back at Elias, who gave a small nod.

"You'll need to sign the documents first," Martin said gently. "Then the payments will be processed."

I shook my head. "No. I sign after I see the payment go through. Not before."

The room went quiet. I could feel Elias's eyes on me, heavy and sharp.

"You're negotiating with me?" His voice had changed, rougher around the edges now.

I met his gaze even though every part of me wanted to look away. "You said I was desperate. So here it is. Me being desperate. Because if I don't see that payment today, they're taking my mother off the machines. So yes, I'm negotiating."

Another stretch of silence. He stared at me for what felt like a full minute, his fingers drumming once against his desk. Then he gave Martin another small nod.

Martin walked out of the room without a word.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. My hands were curled in the fabric of my dress, gripping it so tight my knuckles ached. I stared down at the floor beneath me, polished dark wood, smooth as glass, probably cost more than everything I owned put together.

I felt that sting of the eyes so I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. This wasn't me. I wasn't the kind of person who begged on her knees in a stranger's office. I worked for what I had. I showed up early, stayed late, and took the shifts no one else wanted. And now here I was, a beggar on expensive flooring, waiting for a rich man to decide if my mother got to live.

"Don't cry on my floor."

His voice cut through my thoughts, cold and flat. I looked up through my lashes to find him flipping through folders like I was nothing more than a piece of furniture taking up space. Like he hadn't just watched me fall apart at his feet.

"I'd prefer not to have to replace the wood because of your tears."

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He let out a slow breath, set the folder down, and finally looked at me. Then he motioned toward the chair across from his desk.

I forced myself to stand. Every joint in my body protested, cracking like I'd aged twenty years in the past hour. My bones felt tired. My whole body felt tired. I walked over to the chair and lowered myself into it.

The chair was deep charcoal gray, soft leather that hugged my back like it was made for someone important. I sank into it and felt even smaller than before.

I couldn't look at him, at the eye that was too beautiful to belong to a man who showed no emotion. So I looked around instead.

His office was huge. Floor to ceiling windows covered one whole wall, showing off the city spread out beneath us like a toy town. The glass was spotless, not a single smudge. The walls were a soft cream color with dark wood trim, and there were a few pieces of art hung abstract stuff I didn't understand but could tell cost a fortune. A long shelf against one wall held books that probably weren't just for show. Everything was neat, precise, controlled. Just like him.

"I would love to go over the rules with you."

His voice pulled me back. His tone didn't match his words. He didn't care whether I wanted the rules or not. He was telling me, not asking.

"You will still see the rules in the contract. But I feel like I should go over them with you because you seem like the type who will find trouble without meaning to. I don't want that." He paused and looked at me. "Are you listening?"

I nodded.

His eyes narrowed. "Use your voice."

I swallowed. "Yes. I'm listening."

He leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way that was practiced. "You'll live in my penthouse starting in two days. That gives you enough time to tie up whatever loose ends you have. And once you move in, you'll make less contact with the people close to you."

I sat up straighter. "I don't have anyone close to me except my mother and my sister."

He didn't blink. "Then you'll make less contact with them."

"No." The word came out before I could stop it.

His jaw tightened. "Do you want to sign this contract or not?"

I looked down at my hands. "Yes, sir." My voice was quieter now. "But my mother is dying. I need to be by her side. She doesn't have much time left and I can't just..."

"We'll move her."

I looked up at him.

He held my gaze, steady and calm. "I own a hospital across town. Better doctors, better equipment, better everything. She'll be transferred there by the end of the week. And I'll schedule a meeting for you to see her and your sister before you move in. Once. To explain things."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My mother is in a better hospital.

I closed my mouth and nodded slowly. There was nothing left to argue. My mother would get what she needed. All I had to do was keep my head down, follow his rules, and wait out forty-five days. Forty-five days and then I could go back to my life.

He must have seen the acceptance on my face because he continued.

"One more thing. Important." He leaned forward slightly. "While we're in the penthouse, we live as strangers. Separate rooms, separate lives. You don't knock on my door, you don't wait up for me, you don't ask questions. The only time we exist as a couple is outside those walls. In public." He paused. "And you do not fall in love with me."

I met his eyes and let my voice come out clear. "I never planned on it. We'll play our parts and I'll be out of your hair. That's all this is."

Something flickered across his face too fast to name, Then it was gone but the air between us felt heavier suddenly.

Luckily the door opened and Martin walked in holding a tablet. He crossed the room and held it out to me. On the screen was a receipt. My mother's name and the full amount for her treatment, all paid in full.

I stared at the numbers. All that weight, all those months of working myself to bone, skipping meals, praying for a miracle, and here it was. Just like that. A few taps on a screen and my mother got to live.

I wanted to grab that tablet and hug it to my chest. I wanted to cry, and laugh but I did none of those things.

I looked up at Martin. "Can I see the contract please?"

He nodded and handed me a thick stack of papers. I read through every page. Every line. It was exactly what Mr. Thorne had said. There was no hidden trap, just forty-five days of my life in exchange for everything my family needed.

I signed at the bottom. My hand shook but my signature came out clear.

Martin took the papers and gave me a small bow, a slight dip of his head.

"Good day, Mrs. ARI THORNE'S."