The Billionaire's Reluctant Bride

Lena stared at the eviction notice in her hands like it was a death sentence delivered like a sick joke. It came on a cheap looking piece of paper and didn't even have the decency to be heavy or important-looking... the kind of document that would at least respect the gravity of the damage it was doing to her life. It fluttered in Lena's trembling hand like a joke.

FINAL NOTICE, it read. VACATE IN SEVEN DAYS.

She sank down on the dusty wooden floor of the gallery with her back pressed against the wall that her father had once painted himself. That was all that remained of her father's legacy... the gallery he'd built with nothing but stubborn hands and impossible dreams. The same gallery where she had spent endless summers curled up with paints staining her fingers, dreaming of making him proud. Now? Now it was all about to be taken away from her, all about to be destroyed by that worthless piece of paper she held... the one with one brutal line and a seven-day deadline, unless she found a miracle.

Her throat burned but she didn't cry, she had told herself long ago that crying never solved anything, it only made the pain worse. Instead, Lena forced herself to breathe through the suffocating and chalky taste of failure coating her mouth as she grabbed her cracked phone from her pocket to check the time... the alarm she'd set for today buzzed insistently: "Exhibition - 6PM. LAST CHANCE."

She still had one painting left, one last desperate attempt to claw her way out of this looming disaster. If she could just sell it... just one piece, she could pay the bastard landlord off for another month, or at the very least buy more time to figure something else out.

Tonight was her Hail Mary: the Winterbourne Gala, the largest and most prestigious art event of the year with the high and mighty of society in attendance. She wasn't even supposed to be there, only a shaky favor from a former professor had scraped her onto the guest list, buried among the nobodies.

Lena stared at herself in the cracked mirror, she could barely recognize the girl staring back at her with wide haunted eyes and bruised lips pressed tight with resolve. Her cheap black dress clung to her beautiful shape, hinting at the beautiful and curvy young woman hidden beneath. Her battered heels pinched her feet cruelly, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand tall.

You only need one yes.

She grabbed her painting... her last masterpiece and bolted.

The gala did not fail to live up to the hype that surrounded it, it was filled with all the royalties of Melbourne and those from all over the country. Laughter rang out as champagne flowed freely and guests danced to classical music in a carefree manner, like they had no worries or care in the world. Everywhere she turned, Lena saw gowns stitched with diamonds, perfectly tailored suits and eyes that glanced over her and instantly dismissed her.

She didn't belong here, she could feel it... like a brand burning between her shoulder blades. But still she shoved through the crowds, clutching her painting to herself like a shield and ignoring the aching of her fingers from gripping the canvas too tightly.

She was threading her way past the auction tables when it happened, The strange and shocking collision... One second she was dodging a waiter, and then the next she was slamming into something... someone, so solid she bounced backward, nearly losing her grip on the painting. A hand had shot out so fast it seemed impossible, but fingers had closed around her wrist and steadied her. Static snapped where the hand had touched her skin, a violent electric jolt that made her heart skip.

She gasped, looking up to see who she had bumped into and the world stuttered. The man was tall and devastatingly handsome in a way that seemed designed to destroy. Midnight hair, eyes so dark they swallowed light and a mouth set in a cruel unreadable line. His suit was black as sin and tailored like an armor, but despite it all, power radiated from him in invisible waves.

He didn't apologize and neither did he let go of her hand. Instead he ran his eyes over her slowly and deliberately, from her messy hairdo to the worn heels she was trying desperately to hide... but his eyes were not judgemental.

"You're bleeding little mouse," he murmured in a low voice that sounded dangerous.

Lena blinked and looked down slowly, sure enough a thin cut marred her palm where the canvas edge had bit in. Before she could react, his thumb brushed across her skin... a shockingly intimate gesture, a contact that sizzled and short-circuited her brain.

"Careful," he whispered, in a voice that sounded like that of a charming but brutal demigod. "Wolves can smell blood."

And then with an almost lazy movement, he released her and turned away... melting back into the loud and glittering crowd.

Lena stood there with her heart pounding so violently that it hurt, her painting still clutched against her chest like a lifeline.

What the hell was that? She thought to herself.

She finally managed to adjust her dress and make her way forward, to the small corner space assigned to her. Barely even in the main room ... more like a side alcove hidden between two pillars, but it didn't matter, One painting, one buyer, that was all she needed.

She set up quickly, arranging her piece with trembling fingers and pretending not to notice how the larger and more extravagant displays around her glittered with polished frames and commissioned spotlights. Minutes turned into an hour as people wandered by... Some spared a glance, most didn't. A wealthy woman in diamonds sneered at her price., while a pair of young businessmen laughed and whispered behind their hands. Lena gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Just one lucky buyer. One break.

But hope was a fragile thing, and hers was bleeding out with every second.