The Billionaire's Price For My Baby

Adrian dragged Elaina into his private office and slammed the door. The sound echoed like a gunshot. He turned the lock with a sharp click.

He advanced on her, backing her up until her shoulders hit the wall. He was close, too close. She could smell the coffee on his breath, mixed with the mint he used to mask it.

"Did you plan this?" he demanded, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "The champagne? The hotel? Was it all a long con to get a piece of the trust fund?"

Elaina pressed her hands against the wall behind her, trying to put distance between them. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn't tell him about her mother. If he knew she was desperate, he would use it against her. He would think she was even more pathetic.

"I need the money," she said, her voice hollow. "And you need an heir. That's what your mother said."

Adrian flinched as if she had slapped him. He stepped back, looking at her with pure disgust. "So it is a transaction. Fine. I prefer it that way. Don't expect me to play the loving husband, Elaina. You are an employee who got a promotion. Nothing more."

"I understand," she whispered.

Monday morning was gray and drizzling. Elaina stood outside City Hall in a beige suit she had bought on sale at Macy's. It was ill-fitting and wrinkled. She held a small bouquet of white carnations she had picked up at a bodega on the way.

A black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Adrian stepped out. He was wearing a black suit, sharp and immaculate. He looked like he was attending a funeral.

He didn't say hello. He didn't look at her. He just gestured for her to walk.

They entered the building, maintaining a distinct gap between them. In the waiting line, couples were holding hands, giggling, kissing. Adrian stood with his hands in his pockets, checking emails on his phone. Elaina stared at her shoes, feeling the weight of the absurdity crushing her.

"Next," the clerk called out.

They stood before the judge. The ceremony was short, stripped of all poetry.

"Do you, Adrian Conway, take this woman..."

"I do," Adrian said. He sounded bored.

"Do you, Elaina Carroll..."

"I do," she said. Her voice cracked.

"Rings?" the judge asked.

Adrian reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He opened it to reveal a diamond the size of a quail's egg. It was ostentatious, heavy, and cold.

He took her left hand. His fingers were dry and warm. For a second, just a second, she felt a spark of electricity. Then he shoved the ring onto her finger.

It was too big. It slid loosely, spinning around her knuckle.

"It doesn't fit," she murmured.

"It's a Conway ring," he said, not looking at her. "You'll grow into it."

Constance stepped out from behind a pillar, a photographer in tow. "Smile," she commanded.

Adrian leaned in. He didn't kiss her lips. He brushed his cheek against hers, a stiff, awkward contact. The camera flashed, blinding them.

"Done," Adrian said, pulling away instantly. He didn't make eye contact. He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets, as if the brief physical contact had burned him.

Elaina watched him, a lump forming in her throat. He felt dirty touching her.

They walked out into the drizzle. Constance handed Elaina a set of keys. "Your lease in Queens has been terminated. Your things are being moved to the penthouse as we speak."

"What?" Elaina gasped. "But I haven't packed-"

"Stevens will handle it," Adrian cut in, nodding at his driver. "I have a board meeting. I can't be late."

He got into the Maybach and slammed the door. The car sped off, leaving his new bride standing on the wet pavement.

Stevens, a giant of a man with a shaved head and a gentle face, opened the door of a second town car. "Mrs. Conway. Please."

Elaina climbed in. The title sounded like a joke. She looked down at the ring, the diamond catching the gloomy light. It felt like a shackle.

Her phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. Funds received. Treatment initiated. Your mother is stable.

Elaina let out a long, shaky breath. It was worth it. The humiliation, the coldness, the trap. It was all worth it.

The car pulled up to her old apartment building in Queens. "I'll just grab a few personal things," she told Stevens.

She walked up the three flights of stairs, the familiar smell of stale curry and dust greeting her. The door to her apartment was ajar.

Her heart skipped a beat. She pushed it open.

The living room was a disaster. Drawers were pulled out, clothes scattered. Sitting on her worn-out beige sofa, smoking a cigarette, was Mitch.

He looked up as she entered, his eyes bloodshot and predatory. He saw the ring immediately.

"Well, well," Mitch grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "My little girl hit the jackpot."