Bound By The Cruel Billionaire's Deal

Aida woke up to the sharp, chemical sting of bleach and rubbing alcohol burning her nostrils. She opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, and realized she was lying on a stiff mattress in a sterile, white hospital room.

Emmet was sitting in a plastic chair next to her bed. When he saw her eyes open, his shoulders dropped, and he let out a long, ragged exhale of relief.

Aida reached up. Her fingers brushed against a thick, tight square of gauze taped over her forehead. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind her eyes. "What happened?" she rasped, her throat dry.

Before Emmet could answer, the heavy wooden door of the private suite swung open. Brendan Walls walked in. He was wearing a fresh, perfectly tailored navy suit, looking as though he hadn't spent the night standing in the freezing rain.

Brendan's cold eyes swept over Emmet. The sheer, oppressive weight of his presence instantly sucked the oxygen out of the room.

Emmet stood up, his jaw tight with resentment. He looked at Aida. She gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Emmet swallowed his anger and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

Brendan walked over to the side of the bed. He didn't ask how she was feeling. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a black leather folder, and tossed it onto the white blanket covering Aida's legs.

Aida frowned. She picked up the folder and opened it. Inside was the five-million-dollar investment contract. On the last page, Brendan's bold, aggressive signature was already scrawled in black ink.

Brendan reached into his pocket again. He pulled out a heavy key fob with a silver Porsche crest and dropped it directly onto the open contract. The metal hit the paper with a sharp smack.

"Compensation," Brendan said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "For the fright you experienced last night."

Aida stared at the keys and the signature. A cold, cynical realization settled in her stomach. This wasn't an apology. This was hush money. A classic capitalist transaction to buy her silence regarding the violent car crash.

She didn't hesitate. She reached over to the bedside table, grabbed a plastic pen, and signed her name next to his with quick, sharp strokes.

Brendan watched her hand move. A dark, complicated flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes as she accepted the blood money so easily.

Aida threw the covers off her legs and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. "I need to get back. The company needs this money wired today."

Brendan reached out. His large hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, pinning her to the mattress. "You are staying here for another two days for observation. The doctors confirmed a mild concussion. You are a liability to yourself right now."

Aida reached up and shoved his hand off her shoulder. Her eyes were ice cold. "The transaction is complete, Mr. Walls. NovaTech can't wait forty-eight hours. If I drop dead from a brain bleed, use the five million to pay for my funeral. I don't need your fake concern."

Brendan's jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck tightened, but he didn't reach for her again. He turned around and walked out of the room without another word.

An hour later, after aggressively signing a stack of Against Medical Advice discharge waivers and ignoring the furious protests of the nursing staff, Aida walked out of the hospital, and took a cab straight back to the NovaTech building.

She pushed open the glass door of her office, dropped her bag on the floor, and immediately sat down at her desk. She began typing furiously, processing the incoming funds and clearing the backlog of panicked emails from her vendors.

Hours passed. The sun set, plunging the city into darkness. Outside her glass walls, the open-plan office was completely empty. The silence in the building was absolute.

Aida rubbed the back of her stiff neck. Her head throbbed. She pushed her chair back and stood up, intending to walk down the hall to the breakroom for a cup of coffee.

She stepped out of her office. Suddenly, the heavy, echoing thud of a man's footsteps sounded from the dark end of the hallway.

Aida froze. Her heart skipped a beat. She turned her head, peering into the shadows.

A tall, broad figure stepped out of the gloom. It was Grayson Lott. His face was covered in dark purple bruises, and his bottom lip was split, but his eyes were wide and manic.

Aida's stomach plummeted. A cold sweat broke out across her back. She instinctively took a step backward.

"Your billionaire bodyguard isn't here tonight, Aida," Grayson sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "Did you really think Walls could just lock me away? My father's legal team had the precinct commander personally sign my bail papers three hours ago. And now, we are going to settle our accounts."

He walked forward, his steps slow and deliberate. He forced Aida to back up until the back of her thighs hit the edge of her wooden desk. She was trapped.

Aida slid her right hand behind her back. Her fingers frantically felt across the smooth surface of the desk until they brushed against the cold metal handle of a heavy steel paper knife. She gripped it tight.

Grayson placed both his hands flat on the desk, caging her in. He leaned in close, burying his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

"You are going to come have a drink with me right now," Grayson whispered, his breath hot and sour against her skin. "Or I make one phone call, and my venture capital network-which just so happens to own the majority debt of your largest creditor-calls in your loans by tomorrow morning. Your servers get seized before lunch. Your choice."