I look up at the building...I was finally at the Cross company. Cross Holdings tower over me like a judgement. Glass and steel scrape the sky, cold and untouchable. I pause at the foot of the steps , tightening my grip on my bag. This place doesn't belong to people like me. People like me don't walk into buildings like this and walk out unchanged.
The security barely glances at me.
"Name."
"Alondra Hale," I say. My voice sounds smaller than I feel. "I have an appointment,"
He scans a list on his tablet, his brow creasing. The silence stretched. My pulse drums in my ears. Finally, he steps aside. "Fifteenth floor. The receptionist will handle you."
The lobby swallows me whole. Marble floors, quiet footsteps, men in tailored suits, and women who look like they were born with confidence. I keep my eyes down, afraid someone would see through me and tell me that I don't belong here.
The receptionist doesn't even look up when I approach. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Cross?"
"Yes," I say quickly. "The lawyer, he arranged it."
She clicks at her computer, lips pursed. "Sit. He's busy. "
Busy. Of course he is. I take the seat furthest from the glass walls, my knees bouncing as minutes stretch into an hour. Every time the elevator door opens, my heart leaps, only to crash again when strangers step out.
Then the air changes.
People straighten. Voices drop. The receptionist finally lifts her head.
He finally walks through the doors like the building belongs to him - and maybe it did. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black like the colour was part of his skin. His presence presses into the room, heavy and undeniable. I don't need to be told his name to know who he his.
Dante Cross.
He doesn't look at me. Not once. He passes, speaking quietly to the man beside him, his voice low and controlled. Still, my chest tightened, like he'd reached in and closed his fists around my lungs.
"Mr. Cross" The receptionist calls softly. He pauses, eyes flicking in my direction at last. Dark. Cold. Assessing. The kind of gaze that strips you down to your worst fears. I swallow hard.
"So," he says, his voice smooth and indifferent, "you're the girl who thinks I can save her brother."
My throat becomes dry. I stand on shaky legs. "I-"
He cuts me off with a faint, cruel smile. "Come to my office. Let's discuss your price. "
I nod and glance briefly at the receptionist briefly. She gives me a look of pure disgust. I lift my chin and follow him into the elevator anyway.
Dante Cross's office steals the air from my lungs. The space is at least twenty times larger than my rom, all glass walls, and dark wood, cold and intimidating. There's a woman seated inside, dressed in a silk red suit. Red lipstick. Piercing blue eyes. Her legs were crossed, and she studies me from head to toe like I'm something unpleasant she's been forced to acknowledge.
"Sit," He says, his voice laced with faint mockery.
I lower myself into the chair opposite him. He motions to the man who walked in with us, and they murmur quietly to each other. I look around the office again, my chest tight. He is filthy rich. The kind of rich that doesn't blink at fifty million.
The man walks over to the woman and whispers something in her ear. Her frown deepens, and she opens her mouth to protest but thinks better of it and rises, walking out of the office.
The door clicks shut.
I swallow, realizing I was alone with him now. My pulse quickens. I sat up straight and intertwined my fingers over my bag. He says nothing, the silence pressing into my skin. I slowly look at him.
"How can I help you, Miss Hale?" He says.
"I-" My voice comes out hoarse. Embarrassment burns my cheeks. "I need your help,"
"Of course you do." He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why else would you be here?"
I resist the urge to glare at him. Micah is still in custody. I can't afford pride.
"How much do you need?"
The number feels too heavy to say out loud. "F-fifty million dollars." I look away from his eyes. Those cold, condescending eyes.
"Hm." He hums softly, like I've asked for pocket change. Then, almost to himself, "And at what cost?"
I lift my gaze.
"Here's the deal." He continues calmly. "You will marry me for one year. In exchange, your brother walks free."
My heart slams against my ribs. "Excuse me?"
"A contract marriage," He says, tilting his head. 'Don't pretend you don't understand what that means'
"I-I don't agree to that," my voice shakes despite myself.
He lifts a brow, opening his arms in a mock display of innocence. "Then your brother stays in prison,"
"This must be a joke, that's absurd!"
"I have nothing else to say to you, Miss Hale." He slides a thin folder towards me. "Sign the papers or feel free to walk out,"
I stare at the contract, my fingers trembling above it. The words blur, swimming on the page. It feels like the paper itself is breathing, waiting to swallow me whole. I was torn between signing myself of to this man or my brother rotting in jail for a crime he didn't commit.
I run my tongue over my dry lips, heart thundering in my ears. Slowly, I push the folder back to him.
"I can't sign this."
He exhales slowly, eyes never leaving my face.
"Is this how you help people?" My voice shakes with fury. "By forcing them into something they can't afford to do? By giving them no choice?"
He says nothing. A faint smile curves his lips. The kind that says he finds this amusing.
Something inside me snaps. I slam my hands on the table and stand. His eyes widen just slightly.
"You're a selfish, stuck-up, sick freak," I spit, turning to the door.
The handle doesn't move.
I hear his footsteps behind me. He presses a card to the lock. It clicks. I reach for the handle, but he beats me to it, gripping it first.
"You have two days to rethink your decision." He says quietly. "I don't give second chances."
He opens the door.
A chill skates down my spine. I brush past him, clutching my bag like armour. The receptionist doesn't look up as I pass. The elevator doors slide open- and I nearly collide with the woman from Dante Cross's office. Her blue eyes rake over me slowly. Deliberately. Then she bumps her shoulders into mine as she walks past.
The message is clear.
I step into the elevator, my chest tight, my head spinning. I don't belong in this world. Everything about that place feels poisonous.
I won't come back here.
I can't marry into this nightmare.
I will find another way.
I hail a taxi, desperate to get away from this hostile environment. My legs feel weak. The city feels too loud, too normal, or what just happened. I check my phone. Missed calls from Bella, the station, an unknown number. I turn the phone off and stare out the window, pressing my hand over my mouth as the tears burn their way up to my throat. I bend forward and weep quietly, clutching my bag to my chest.
Marriage for money? This man must be insane. But Micah will rot in jail if I don't find another way.
*******************************
"No shit? Is he psycho? Marriage? For bail? That's not normal, that's a trap"
"Right? I told him off, there's no way I'm getting married to him for bail. Not to talk of dealing with his evil sister" Bella lets out a dry laugh and shakes her head.
"We can try crowdfunding. Or I can call my parents, maybe even some old school friends"
"Bella.." My voice drops. "Fifty million dollars"
She goes quiet.
That silence hits harder than words. This makes the money feel truly impossible, and just like that, every solution we had vanished.