Chapter 3 Trade-offs and Bargaining

At ten o'clock the next morning, Christi walked into a private, high-end cafe in Midtown Manhattan. The two Blackwater guards flanked her, stopping at the entrance to secure the perimeter. The entire cafe had been cleared out.

Silas Croft sat in a leather booth in the far corner. A silver, blast-proof briefcase rested on the table in front of him.

Christi slid into the booth opposite him. She didn't bother with pleasantries. "Show me the file on Cornelius Gregory."

Silas opened his leather satchel and handed her a thick dossier. The Apex Group logo was stamped in gold on the cover. The very first page was a grainy, long-distance paparazzi photo of Cornelius sitting in a high-tech wheelchair.

Christi flipped through the pages quickly. The reports detailed his reclusive lifestyle. The crash had allegedly destroyed his legs, left him with severe psychological trauma, and rendered him sterile.

She dropped the file on the table and let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "So the David family wants to use fifty billion dollars to buy me as a glorified, lifelong nurse for a cripple?"

"Legally, it is termed a 'care-oriented companionship agreement'," Silas corrected her smoothly. "The Gregory family needs a woman with a clean background and zero ambition to pacify their board of directors."

Christi narrowed her eyes. She traced the edge of the file with her index finger. "If I'm a fifty-billion-dollar heiress, how do I qualify as having 'zero ambition'?"

"The David family's identity remains highly classified," Silas explained. "To the outside world, and to the Gregory family, you are still the penniless, discarded partner of Jensen Rivera."

Christi's mind raced. She had to wear two masks. To Cornelius, she would be the desperate, poor girl. To Jensen, she would pretend she didn't know about the cheating or the fake marriage. It was a high-stakes game. Refuse, and she'd be left with a few photos to fight a losing legal battle. Accept, and she'd gain the power to crush the Riveras, at the cost of being tied to a disabled man with no sexual function.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A text from Jensen.

*Make sure you go to the private clinic at 2 PM for your routine checkup. We need to start prepping for the baby.*

The text was the final straw. The audacity. He was kissing Fallon in a wrecked car last night, and today he wanted her to prep for a baby to secure his trust fund.

A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her Montblanc pen. She didn't hesitate for a single second. She flipped to the last page of the contract and signed her name in bold, sharp strokes.

Silas's eyes gleamed with approval. He pulled the silver briefcase closer and punched in a code. It clicked open.

Inside lay a solid black Centurion card and a heavy set of keys to a Fifth Avenue penthouse.

Silas stood up and bowed deeply. "Miss David. You now have emergency authorization."

Christi picked up the heavy metal card. The cold weight of it sent a thrill of raw power straight into her veins.

"Freeze every joint account I have with the Rivera family," Christi ordered, her voice completely steady. "Cut all financial ties."

She stood up. "Tell the guards to fall back. I'm going to meet Jensen alone. The show starts now."

At that exact moment, in the penthouse office of the Apex Group building.

Leo Vance, the Chief of Staff, placed a signed copy of the marriage agreement on the massive mahogany desk.

Behind the desk, a tall, broad-shouldered man stood facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the Manhattan skyline.

He turned around. His strides were long, powerful, and perfectly steady. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his legs.

Cornelius Gregory picked up the contract. His dark eyes locked onto Christi's elegant signature. His thumb rubbed slowly over the ink. A dark, possessive smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Do we need the medical team to continue the paralysis protocol, sir?" Leo asked respectfully.

"Of course," Cornelius murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He walked over to the custom-built wheelchair sitting in the corner of the office. He sat down and expertly adjusted the metal braces around his muscular thighs. His eyes darkened, turning dangerous.

"Monitor her trip to the clinic this afternoon," Cornelius ordered, his fingers gripping the armrests of the wheelchair tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "Do not let anyone touch my prey before I close the net."