The Billionaire's Secret Midnight Obsession

The violent pounding on her apartment door ripped Faith from a nightmare.

She groaned, her head throbbing with a vicious migraine. She dragged herself out of bed and opened the door.

A delivery man shoved a thick FedEx envelope into her hands.

Faith looked down. The red, embossed seal of AURA Automotive's Legal Department glared back at her.

Her hands shook so badly she tore the paper trying to open it. She pulled out the formal letter. Her eyes jumped straight to the bolded numbers.

It was a massive five-figure penalty fee. Tens of thousands of dollars she absolutely did not have.

The room spun. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision. She dropped the letter, grabbed her phone, and dialed Marion's number.

"Ms. Cole," Marion answered, her voice devoid of any human warmth.

"Marion, please, I just need a little more time—"

"Ms. B is furious," Marion cut her off. "You either deliver a flawless final draft by tonight, or we see you in court."

The line went dead.

Faith slid down the wall until she hit the floor. The cold, hard reality shattered her fragile pride into dust.

She had to write it. But her brain was empty. The fear had paralyzed her completely.

With trembling fingers, she opened her phone's settings and removed his number from the blocked list.

Her phone immediately vibrated with dozens of missed call alerts from Marion. She desperately checked her filtered messages inbox.

A new text notification from Emerson appeared at the top of the screen, having just been delivered the moment the block was lifted. She opened it. A second message followed immediately after. The second one read:

Running away is far more disappointing than not having a degree.

The words stung like a needle piercing her skin. But beneath the pain, it sparked a tiny, stubborn ember of defiance in her gut.

She forced herself to stand up. She walked to the desk and opened the half-finished draft.

To survive, she had to swallow every ounce of her pride. She opened the text thread with Emerson.

She typed, deleted, and typed again.

I'm sorry. I still need your help. If you can, please name your price.

She hit send. She buried her face in her hands. The humiliation burned her skin.

In a glass-walled office in Manhattan, Emerson sat at the head of a conference table. His phone lit up.

He glanced at the screen. He raised his hand, silencing the executive currently giving a presentation.

He stared at the words name your price. A flash of irrational anger flared in his chest. This woman had an incredible talent for pissing him off.

My consulting services are billed by the minute at a premium rate, he typed, his jaw tight. The time it takes to fix this will cost more than your penalty fee. You can't afford me.

Faith read the reply. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. Fresh tears pricked her eyes.

Before she could put the phone down, another message arrived.

Bring your laptop. Download this encrypted calling app. I'll call you in five minutes.

Faith froze. A massive wave of relief crashed over her. She wiped her eyes aggressively and downloaded the app with shaking hands.

Exactly five minutes later, the app emitted a sharp, jarring ringtone. An unknown encrypted ID flashed on the screen.

She took a deep breath, shoved her earbuds in, and pressed accept.

A faint crackle of static filled her ears. Then, a voice.

"Can you hear me?"

It was a man's voice. Low, resonant, and laced with a trace of irritation. It sounded like aged cello strings vibrating in a quiet room.

A violent shiver erupted across Faith's skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

She cleared her throat. "I... I can hear you," she said, her voice trembling.

Emerson paused on the other end of the line. The sound of her voice caught him completely off guard. It was soft, slightly nasal from crying, and incredibly tight with anxiety.

His irritation vanished. He lowered his voice, adopting a tone that left absolutely no room for argument.

"Now, dry your tears, and open page three of the document."

Faith obeyed instantly. The late-night, cross-class audio session began.