Bound By Revenge: His Unwilling Wife

The air in the corner office on the forty-fifth floor was thin, recycled, and freezing. Cassidy sat in a chair that cost more than her father's bail, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to stop them from trembling.

Kingsley hadn't looked at her for two hours.

He sat behind a desk made of black ebony, a fortress of silence. He signed documents, typed on his laptop, and took a call in fluent Mandarin, acting as if the woman he had kissed last night-the woman he hated-wasn't sitting ten feet away.

Cassidy's phone buzzed against her thigh. Another text from her father's lawyer. Payment due by 5 PM. Or they revoke the plea deal.

She felt nausea rise in her throat. She was out of time. Vargo was still hunting her, and her father was about to be fed to the wolves.

Kingsley closed a folder. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.

He picked up a thick stack of papers and slid them across the polished surface. They stopped exactly at the edge, right in front of her.

"Open it," he commanded, not looking up.

Cassidy reached out, her fingers numb. She flipped the cover.

It wasn't a company file. It was her life.

Bank statements. Her father's indictment. The text messages from Vargo. The outstanding balance on her credit cards. He had dissected her existence and laid it out on bond paper.

"You're drowning," Kingsley said. His voice was flat, clinical. "Your father is going to prison for twenty years for a Ponzi scheme he was too stupid to orchestrate properly, and you owe a loan shark a quarter of a million dollars."

Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm handling it."

"You're handling nothing," Kingsley stood up. He walked around the desk, leaning against the edge, towering over her. "You are a fixer who can't fix her own mess. It's pathetic."

"Did you bring me here to gloat?" Cassidy stood up, her pride the only thing keeping her upright. "Because if you want payment for the kiss, I don't have it."

"I don't want your money, Cassidy. I want your life."

The door opened. A man in a grey suit walked in-Mercer, the Osborn family lawyer. He placed a document on the desk next to the dossier.

Marriage Service Agreement.

Cassidy stared at the bold letters. "What is this?"

"An acquisition," Kingsley said. He moved closer, invading her personal space until she could smell that same cedar and whiskey scent. "I need a wife to stabilize the board before the shareholder meeting. My brother, Elmore, is trying to prove I'm unstable. A wife-a wife with a respectable, middle-class background. Your professional life is a disaster, but your roots are clean. That plays well with the demographics I need to court."

"You want me to marry you?" Cassidy laughed, a hysterical, jagged sound. "You hate me."

"Which makes it perfect," Kingsley said coldly. "No emotions. No expectations. Just business."

He tapped the document. "I pay off Vargo. I cover your father's legal fees. I ensure he gets a minimum security facility. In exchange, you belong to me for two years. You play the role. You smile for the cameras. You live in my house."

"And if I say no?"

Kingsley walked to the window and twisted the blinds open. Down below, news vans were already circling the building.

"Then I release the information I have about your father's offshore accounts. The ones the Feds missed. He won't just go to prison, Cassidy. He'll die there."

The cruelty of it took her breath away. He wasn't asking. He was cornering her.

Cassidy looked at the contract. Then she looked at the news vans. She thought of her father, old and terrified.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, her voice hollow.

"One condition," Kingsley said, his eyes darkening. "Absolute loyalty. If you betray me again... if you leak one word to my competitors... I will destroy you. Thoroughly."

"I didn't betray you six years ago," she whispered.

"Sign the paper."

Cassidy picked up the pen. The weight of it felt like lead. She signed her name, scratching the nib against the paper. With that ink, she sold her freedom.

Kingsley snatched the paper away before the ink was dry. He handed it to Mercer.

"File it. Get the car. We're going to City Hall."

"City Hall?" Cassidy blinked. "Today?"

"No wedding. Just a transaction." He pulled a black Amex card from his pocket and flicked it at her. It hit her chest and fell to the floor. "Pick it up. Buy some clothes. Mrs. Osborn doesn't dress like a corporate foot soldier trying to make rent. Lose the practical blazer."

Cassidy stared at the card on the carpet. The humiliation burned her cheeks. Slowly, she bent down and picked it up.

"Be at my apartment by seven," Kingsley said, turning his back to her to look at his emails. "Don't be late."