Bound To The Ruthless Billionaire Proxy

Elsie stood silently in the pouring rain.

Cold raindrops hit her black umbrella with a relentless, drumming rhythm. The chill seeped through the thin fabric of her dark dress, biting into her skin.

She stared straight ahead at the freshly dug grave of her father, Dave. The wet earth smelled like copper and decay. The cemetery workers had already retreated to the shelter of the trees, leaving her completely alone with the rectangular hole in the ground.

Her chest felt tight. A dull, familiar ache throbbed behind her ribs, but she ignored it. She just watched the mud slide down the sides of the grave.

The heavy crunch of tires on wet gravel broke the silence.

A black luxury SUV pulled up to the curb directly behind her. The engine idled with a low, predatory growl.

The heavy car door swung open.

Roland Cantu stepped out into the rain. He didn't carry an umbrella. He didn't need to.

Two large bodyguards flanked Roland immediately, their broad shoulders blocking the wind. They moved in perfect synchronization, their faces completely devoid of expression.

Roland walked up to Elsie. His expensive leather shoes splashed carelessly in the mud, ruining the pristine shine.

He stopped beside her and let out a loud, theatrical sigh of sympathy.

"Tragic, really," Roland said, his voice slick with false pity.

Elsie tightened her grip on the umbrella handle. Her knuckles turned white. She refused to look at him. She kept her eyes locked on the wooden casket at the bottom of the pit.

Roland reached into the inner pocket of his tailored coat. He pulled out a thick, folded legal document.

He shoved the document directly into Elsie's free hand.

Elsie glanced down. The heavy parchment was already getting wet. At the top of the page, stamped in dark ink, was the intricate crest of the Carlisle estate.

"Your father left a mess, Elsie," Roland stated coldly, dropping the fake sympathy. "A massive, devastating debt. Embezzled directly from the Carlisle group."

Elsie's breath caught in her throat. The cold air suddenly felt like glass in her lungs.

"That's a lie," she shook her head, her voice trembling but fierce. "He wouldn't do that. He was framed."

Roland smirked. The expression twisted his face into something ugly.

"Tell that to the frozen bank accounts," he pointed a thick finger at her. "Tell that to the SEC. You have nothing left. No house. No money. Nothing."

He stepped closer, invading her personal space.

"But the Carlisles are generous," Roland continued. "They need a wife for Sterling. Sign the marriage contract, and the debt is forgiven."

Elsie threw the contract onto the wet grass in sheer defiance. The paper landed in a muddy puddle, the ink immediately starting to bleed.

"I'm not marrying a dying man to pay off a fake debt," she spat.

Roland's eyes narrowed. He signaled one of the bodyguards with a flick of his chin.

The bodyguard stepped forward instantly. He grabbed the handle of Elsie's umbrella and ripped it out of her hands, tossing it aside like a piece of trash. Simultaneously, the second bodyguard opened a massive, sprawling black golf umbrella over Roland. The wide canopy shielded Roland completely, trapping Elsie just outside its edge. The cold rain instantly soaked her black dress. The icy water plastered her hair to her cheeks and ran down her spine. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering.

Roland leaned in, his face inches from hers. She could smell the expensive cologne and stale coffee on his breath.

"If you don't sign," Roland whispered, "I make one phone call. Your mother's medical care at the facility is cut off today. And those expensive heart medications you need to stay alive? Gone."

Elsie's hand instinctively went to her chest. The dull ache behind her ribs suddenly sharpened into a stabbing pain.

Her breath hitched. She realized with absolute, terrifying clarity that without the funds, her own heart condition was a death sentence. She wouldn't survive a month without the pills. Her mother wouldn't survive a week.

Roland bent down. He picked up the wet, muddy contract from the grass. He handed it back to her, along with a sleek, heavy metal pen.

Elsie stared at the pen. Her hand was trembling so violently she could barely lift her arm. The rain washed the tears off her face before they could even form.

Then, through the cold and the grief, a new thought cut through the fog—sharp, clear, and dangerous. They want me to vanish into this marriage. To be silent. Broken. But if I’m inside the Carlisle estate, I’ll be closer to the truth. Her father had been framed. Every instinct she had screamed it. And signing this contract wasn’t surrender—it was the only door left to the evidence they had tried so hard to bury.

Her trembling stopped.

The ache behind her ribs was still there, a ticking clock, but Elsie let it sharpen her focus instead of paralyzing her. She lifted her eyes briefly toward the rectangle of wet earth that held her father, and in that glance she made him a silent vow: They won’t get away with this.

With a deliberate, icy calm she didn’t know she possessed, she took the pen from Roland’s hand rather than waiting for him to hand it over. Her fingers closed around the cold metal, steady now. She pressed the tip to the soggy paper. The ink smeared, but she signed her name in bold, defiant strokes—no longer forced, but choosing.

Roland snatched the paper back with a victorious, ugly grin. He tucked it safely into his dry coat pocket. “Good girl,” he sneered.

Elsie raised her head. Rain streamed down her face, her dark hair plastered to her skin, but her eyes were no longer those of a cornered victim. They were sharp, unblinking, lit with a quiet fury that made Roland’s smirk flicker for half a breath.

“You’re very pleased with yourself,” she said, her voice low but clear over the drumming rain. “Enjoy it while you can. You just handed me a key to your world, Roland. I intend to use it.”

He let out a short, scornful laugh, though a trace of unease skated behind his eyes. “Big words for a girl with no money, no name, and a failing heart.”

“But I have something you don’t,” Elsie replied, stepping closer of her own accord, forcing him to look down at her. “I have nothing left to lose—and a very good reason to find out exactly what you and the Carlisles are hiding.”

Before he could answer, she turned away from him, toward the waiting SUV. The bodyguards lunged to grab her arms, but she wrenched free with a swift, sharp movement that made the wet fabric of her dress strain against her shoulders.

“Touch me again,” she said coldly, not even looking at them, “and I’ll make sure my first act as Sterling Carlisle’s wife is to have you both dismissed. Now open the door.”

They hesitated. Roland gave a tight, furious nod. One of the guards moved to open the car door, and Elsie climbed in without assistance, gathering her soaked dress with the composure of a woman who had just sealed her own fate—on her own terms.

Through the rain-streaked window, she looked back one last time toward the grave. Her eyes burned, but no more tears fell. I’ll find the truth, Dad. And then I’ll bring them down from the inside.