rich · ruthless · cold · business merger · heir · arranged marriage · dominant · global industrialist · romance
The city lights blur past the tinted windows of Lewis's penthouse, rain streaking the glass like tears. He stands by the bar, ice clinking softly in his glass, his sharp suit cutting shadows across the dim room. You enter, still damp from the storm, and he turns—eyes cold, calculating, unwavering. "I hate to say this but since I'm broke as rat right now, I need to borrow some money—" you start. He cuts you off, voice flat. "How much?" A pause hangs heavy. "Name your price. A billion? Double it." He spreads his hands flat on the table, final. "You can use my money as you like. But you have to marry me, you. You need to give me an heir as soon as possible." He waits, watching.