THE STERLING INHERITANCE

**POV: Dominic**

The city sprawled beneath me like a glittering circuit board, twenty stories of glass and steel between me and the rest of Seattle. My penthouse had been featured in Architectural Digest twice-all clean lines, minimalist furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that made visitors gasp.

I'd stopped noticing the view years ago.

I stood in my home office, scotch in hand, staring at my laptop screen. E.A.'s latest email glowed against the darkness, her words cutting straight through the numbness I'd worn like armor for the past decade.

*Sometimes I wonder if I'm just meant to be background noise in everyone else's story. The supporting character. The one people forget was even in the room.*

I read it again. Then again.

She got it. This stranger whose name I didn't know, whose face I'd never seen-she understood the particular hell of being surrounded by people and feeling completely alone.

I'd hosted a charity gala last night. Two hundred guests, fifty thousand dollars raised for Seattle Children's Hospital. Everyone had called it a success. My publicist was already pitching it for the society pages. And the entire time, I'd felt like I was watching myself from outside my body, performing the role of Dominic Cross, billionaire philanthropist.

Not a single person had asked how I was doing. Not really.

Except E.A.

I scrolled up through our correspondence, rereading her response to my question about loneliness.

*You're not crazy. What you described-drowning in a room full of people-that's my every family dinner.*

Two years of letters. Two years of finding connection in the one place I'd never expected it-a hospital charity pen-pal program I'd agreed to as a PR move. My assistant had set it up, encouraged me to write a few generic letters to make the foundation look good.

I'd planned to write once and forget about it.

Then E.A. had written back-something honest and searching and real-and I couldn't stop.

"Mr. Cross?"

I turned. James Cooper, my COO and the closest thing I had to a friend, stood in the doorway of my office. I hadn't heard him come in.

"I used the elevator code you gave me," he said, holding up his phone. "Hope that's okay. We need to talk."

The knot that had loosened while reading E.A.'s letter tightened again. James only showed up at my apartment when there was a problem.

"What is it?"

He crossed to my desk, setting down a leather portfolio. "The lawyers called. About Harrison's will."

Harrison Sterling. My mentor, my surrogate father, the man who'd pulled me from nothing and taught me how to build an empire. Dead six months now, and his final joke was still making my life hell.

"What about it?" I took a drink, letting the scotch burn.

"They want to remind you that you have exactly six months left to fulfill the terms. As of today."

Six months.

Six months to get married or lose everything Harrison had left me. Three billion dollars, controlling shares in Cross Industries, properties across three continents-all of it contingent on me finding a wife.

"A man with everything and no one to share it with has nothing," James quoted from the will. "Harrison really believed that, didn't he?"

"Harrison died alone in a house with twelve bedrooms." I set down my glass harder than necessary. "Maybe he had a point."

"So what's the plan? You can't actually be considering letting it all go."

I looked back at my laptop, at E.A.'s words still glowing on the screen. *Is it pathetic that my most meaningful relationship is with someone I've never met?*

"The plan," I said slowly, "is that I have six months to figure out if I'm willing to marry for money or if I'd rather start over."

James stared at me. "You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Dom, this isn't just money. This is your life's work. Everything you and Harrison built together. The foundation, the company, the legacy-"

"I know what it is."

"Then you know you can't just walk away. Find someone. There are plenty of women who'd marry you."

I laughed, the sound bitter. "Yeah. Plenty who'd marry Dominic Cross, billionaire. Not one who'd marry Dominic Santos, the immigrant kid who started with nothing."

James fell silent. He knew that story-knew that I'd changed my name when I entered Harrison's world, trying to shed the kid whose parents had died broke, leaving him with nothing but debt and grief.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked finally.

I closed my laptop, E.A.'s letter disappearing from view. "I'm going to try to find something real. If that's even possible in the next six months."

"And if you don't?"

"Then I guess I'll find out what it's like to be Dominic Santos again."

James shook his head. "You've changed. Two years ago, you would've picked the most suitable socialite and gotten it over with."

He wasn't wrong. Two years ago, before E.A.'s letters, I would have approached marriage like any other business transaction. Find someone appropriate, negotiate terms, sign the contract.

But now I knew what real connection felt like, even if it was only through words on a screen. I knew what it was like to be truly seen by someone. And the thought of marrying someone I could never be honest with, never be real with-it made me feel like I was suffocating.

"The lawyers are arranging meetings with potential candidates," James continued. "Society women, businesswomen, a few actresses. All perfectly suitable."

"How romantic."

"It's practical. Which is what you need right now."

After James left, I returned to my laptop. E.A. had written again while we'd been talking-a short follow-up to her earlier letter.

*P.S. - I hope you don't think I'm always this melancholy. I had a good day at work today. There's a little girl in room 342 who calls me her "favorite nurse" even though I'm probably terrible at this job. She made me a bracelet out of surgical tubing and said it was magic. Kids have a way of making everything feel less heavy, don't they?*

I smiled despite myself. She worked with children. That was new information. In two years, we'd shared so much emotionally but kept concrete details vague-part of the safety of our arrangement. She knew I was wealthy and in business. I knew she worked in healthcare. Beyond that, we'd never asked.

Maybe that was why it worked. We couldn't perform for each other because we didn't know what roles we were supposed to play.

I typed a response.

*Dear E.A.,*

*Kids do make things less heavy. I fund a children's hospital here in Seattle-it's one of the few things I do that feels meaningful. Maybe because kids don't care about my net worth or my connections. They just want someone to talk to them like they matter.*

*Your family doesn't deserve you, by the way. I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating.*

I paused, fingers hovering over the keys. There was so much I wanted to tell her. About Harrison's will, about the impossible choice ahead of me, about how her letters were the only thing that felt real anymore.

But I couldn't. Because then I'd have to explain who I was, and she might look me up, and suddenly she'd become like everyone else-seeing Dominic Cross instead of just... me.

*I have something complicated coming up. A choice to make. I'll probably need your wisdom before it's over.*

*Sleep well.*

*- D.C.*

I hit send and sat back, looking out at the city lights.

Six months to find a wife. Six months to secure everything I'd built.

And somewhere in this city-or maybe across the country, I had no idea-was a woman who saw me clearer than anyone ever had. A woman whose name I didn't know, whose face I'd never seen.

I looked back at E.A.'s letter one more time, at her question: *Is it pathetic that my most meaningful relationship is with someone I've never met?*

"Who are you?" I whispered gently to the screen.