Sold To The Ruthless Wall Street Tycoon

Carolina stumbled a step backward. Her heel caught on the edge of the carpet, but she caught her balance against the window. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as she forced herself to swallow down the suffocating panic that clawed at her throat. She dug her fingernails so deeply into her palms that the sharp pain grounded her, dragging her mind back from that dark, terrifying room of her memories. The sheer humiliation of what had just happened began to burn away the edges of her fear, replacing it with a hot, desperate anger.

She raised the back of her trembling hand and wiped it hard across her mouth. Her skin burned where his lips had been.

Gerard watched her reaction. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the obvious, visceral distress radiating from her small frame.

He stepped away, putting three feet of space between them. He raised his hands and calmly adjusted his suit cuffs, shooting them past his jacket sleeves to restore a wall of professional distance.

"Are you satisfied?" Carolina demanded. Her voice shook, but anger was beginning to burn through her panic. "Will you fund the Gonzalez Group now?"

Gerard didn't answer immediately. He walked back to his massive mahogany desk, the leather of his shoes silent against the floor. He sat down in his high-backed leather chair and steepled his long fingers beneath his chin.

"A single kiss does not buy a billion-dollar corporate rescue, Miss Gonzalez," he stated bluntly.

Carolina felt a hot surge of humiliated anger flush her cheeks. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot.

"You're playing sick games," she accused, her voice rising. "You knew I was desperate!"

Gerard ignored her outburst. He reached out and opened a sleek, black leather folder sitting perfectly centered on his desk. Inside was a thick stack of crisp, white legal paper.

He placed his hand flat on the document and slid it across the polished wood. It stopped exactly on her side of the desk.

Carolina approached cautiously. Her legs felt like lead. Her eyes darted frantically between the intimidating stack of paper and his calm, unreadable face.

She looked down. The bold, black ink at the top of the first page seemed to scream at her.

Premarital Agreement and Contract of Marriage.

Carolina gasped. The sound was sharp and loud in the quiet room. She looked up at him in absolute disbelief, her mind struggling to process the words.

"I will assume all Gonzalez debt," Gerard said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I will clear your father's medical bills. In exchange, you will become my legal wife."

Carolina shook her head violently. Her damp hair whipped against her cheeks.

"This is insane," she argued, her voice breathless. "Why? Why would you possibly want me?"

Gerard leaned back in his chair. He lied with the smooth, practiced ease of a Wall Street shark.

"My board members are traditional," he said. "They want to see stability. A respectable society wife provides that illusion."

He paused, letting his dark eyes drag over her soaked, pathetic state.

"Besides," he added, a cruel jab lacing his tone, "given your current bankruptcy, you are extremely cheap to acquire."

Carolina's face turned completely pale. All the blood drained from her head. The harsh, clinical business valuation of her life felt like a physical slap to the face.

"I am still technically engaged to Jerrad Hutchinson," she argued desperately, grasping at straws.

Gerard scoffed. The sound was harsh and mocking.

"Jerrad Hutchinson's loyalty is as worthless as your company's stock," Gerard reminded her. "He abandoned you the second the SEC raided your father's office."

Carolina clenched her fists at her sides. Her fingernails bit into her palms. She hated it, but she knew Gerard was absolutely right. Jerrad hadn't answered her calls in a week.

Before she could formulate a rejection, a violent buzzing sound shattered the tension.

Her cell phone vibrated aggressively in her trench coat pocket.

She pulled it out with a shaking hand. The bright screen illuminated the dim room. The caller ID flashed: Mr. Peterson, Chase Bank.

Carolina answered the call, her throat tight. She turned slightly away from Gerard, trying to hide her desperation.

"Hello?" she said, her voice shaking.

"Miss Gonzalez," Peterson's nasal voice echoed through the receiver, loud enough in the quiet room. "This is a courtesy call. The foreclosure on the Gonzalez estate begins tomorrow morning at eight a. m. The property will be seized."

"Please," Carolina begged, gripping the phone tight. "Just give me a forty-eight-hour extension. I'm securing funding right now."

"Denied," Peterson said coldly. "Have your belongings out by morning."

The line went dead.

Carolina dropped the phone to her side. Her arm felt numb. The crushing reality of her total destitution crashed down on her shoulders, heavy enough to break her spine.

Gerard observed her crumbling posture. He picked up his expensive silver pen and tapped it rhythmically against the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He checked the heavy Rolex on his left wrist.

"This marriage offer expires in exactly twelve hours," Gerard told her.

Carolina grabbed the edges of her damp trench coat, wrapping it tightly around herself like a fragile suit of armor. She couldn't breathe. The walls of the office were closing in.

"I need time to think," she choked out.

She didn't wait for his answer. She turned and practically ran out of the office, her heels clicking frantically against the floor as she fled toward the elevator.