THE BILLIONAIRE'S BARGAIN

Lena attacked the stain on Tiffany’s way-too-expensive dress like it owed her money. Organic applesauce everywhere, smelled nice enough, but honestly, her nerves were shot. That scholarship meeting? An actual dumpster fire. And then—Damien freaking Locke, of all people, popping up and eyeing her son like he was the golden ticket. Ice down her spine, never mind the sudsy water.

She checked the clock. Crap. Almost time to grab Noah. Just a few more minutes of this fake-smiling at Tiffany while mopping up rogue peach goo. She pasted on a grin so hard it hurt when Mrs. Abernathy breezed in, all pearls and Pilates sweat.

“Lena, darling, could you stay an hour later tonight? My Pilates class ran long.”

Well, perfect. Lena’s heart just about sank into her shoes. “I… I’m not sure, Mrs. Abernathy. I usually have to pick up Noah by five.”

Mrs. Abernathy flicked her wrist, diamonds everywhere. “Oh, just a little later. I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

Yeah, right. “Extra” probably wouldn’t even pay the late fees at Noah’s daycare. But what was she gonna do, quit? She needed this job like oxygen. “Okay, Mrs. Abernathy. Just let me know when you’re back.”

Doorbell. Of course.

Mrs. Abernathy was already halfway out, yelling, “That must be the gardener. Let him in, would you, dear?”

Lena rolled her eyes, drying her hands on the world’s saddest dishtowel. Since when did gardeners wear thousand-dollar suits?

She cracked open the door, and—bam. Damien Locke. As if he’d stepped out of a cologne ad and onto the Abernathys’ doorstep. Those eyes? Ridiculous. And she had no clue what that look was about—maybe he’d just smelled the applesauce.

“Ms. Cruz,” he said, all smooth and mysterious. “I need to speak with you.”

Her brain short-circuited. Why was he here? How did he even find her? Fear, nerves, and something else—annoyingly fluttery—all tangled up inside her.

“I… I’m working, Mr. Locke. This isn’t a good time.”

He raised an eyebrow. Of course he did. “I think you’ll find this is precisely the right time.” And then he just stepped right in, like he owned the place, filling the foyer with his expensive aftershave and rich-person confidence. “Perhaps we could discuss Noah’s… exceptional academic potential.”

She clenched her fists. He knew. Oh god, he knew about Noah.

“Uhm, sir,” her voice wobbled, “I don’t think you have the right to be here. This is someone’s private property.”

He got that look—hard, cold. “On the contrary, Ms. Cruz, I believe I have every right. I’m offering your son an opportunity most kids only dream of. Full tuition at Argento Academy. A trust fund for his future.”

She just stared. Was he serious? “What… what’s the catch?”

He smiled—barely, just enough to make her suspicious. “The catch is, you pretend to be my fiancée for three months.”

Lena’s jaw pretty much hit the floor. “Are you insane? How does that have anything to do with my son? I barely even know you.”

“Exactly. That’s the point. No messy emotions, no expectations. Just business. I need to look like a family man for a sticky investor situation. You get security for Noah. I get my reputation buffed up. Win-win.”

“And Noah?” She could barely get the words out.

“Noah gets everything I promised. Plus,” he paused, holding her gaze, “access to resources he deserves.”

Her head spun. The whole thing was nuts. But Noah—he’d have everything he needed…

“No,” she snapped. “I can’t. I won’t. You want a trophy wife, go buy one. Leave us alone.”

Damien didn’t argue. Just handed her a card, cool as ever. “Think about it, Ms. Cruz. The offer stands.” Then he left, leaving the air ten degrees colder.

The next few days? Absolute chaos. Her landlord, Mr. Garcia—usually all jokes and neighborly charm—suddenly showed up all business: “Rent’s going up, Lena. Market rates.” Wouldn’t even look her in the eye.

Mrs. Abernathy must’ve sniffed out her desperation, because she started piling on chores and dropping hints about “more reliable” nannies.

Then—because of course—Noah spiked a fever and started coughing like an old car engine. Free clinic said bronchitis, handed her a prescription she could barely afford. And time off? Not happening, unless she wanted to risk everything.

That night, sitting by Noah’s bed, listening to every rough breath, Lena just felt… defeated. Like she was sinking and the water was already over her head. And the only hand reaching out was that stone-hearted billionaire’s.

So, morning came and there she was, standing in the blindingly shiny lobby of Locke Technologies, feeling like a thrift store reject in her only blazer. The receptionist looked like she was carved from marble, barely glanced up before pointing her to the executive assistant’s office. This was it. No turning back.

Seriously, it felt like she’d been waiting outside forever. Her nerves were shot by the time someone finally waved her in. Damien’s office? Yeah, it looked like the kind of place you’d see in a magazine—walls of glass, barely any furniture, the city sprawled out below like it was his personal kingdom or something. And, naturally, there he was, back turned, acting like he owned the air itself. The vibe? Straight-up power trip.

He spun around when she stepped in, those icy blue eyes of his practically x-raying her soul. Creepy, honestly.

“Ms. Cruz,” he said, cool as ever. “Figured you’d come to your senses.”

Lena tried to play it chill, even though her heart was thumping loud enough to wake the dead. “Fine. I’ll do it,” she managed, voice just a little shaky. “I’ll be your fake fiancée.”

For half a second, he almost looked pleased. Hard to tell, dude’s poker face was elite. “Excellent,” he said.

She wasn’t done, though. “But,” she shot back, steadier now, “this stays one hundred percent professional. No funny business, no digging into my life, no touching—just the act. And Noah? He can’t ever find out.”

Damien stepped in closer, totally invading her space. The kind of cologne that probably cost more than her rent, plus… something else, like raw confidence wrapped in danger. She almost forgot to breathe.

He dropped his voice, all smooth menace. “Naturally. Strictly business… for now.”

And just lik

e that, he snapped back to CEO mode. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”