Bound By The CEO's Deal

New York City in October always wears an air of haughtiness, with cold winds whistling through the gaps between skyscrapers like the shrieks of lost souls. On the 88th floor-the highest level of the Power Group Tower-the lights from massive tempered glass panels cast a cold, blue glow, reflecting the face of the man who stood at the helm of one of the most powerful financial empires: Aiden Power.

Aiden stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, separated from the New York skyline by only a thin layer of frigid glass. He held a glass of red wine but did not drink. At thirty-two, he possessed a look that would make supermodels envious: a straight, chiseled nose, a sharp jawline, and deep eyes that held the cold, calculating gaze of a seasoned market veteran. To the world, Aiden was the embodiment of perfection-a flawless god among men.

But no one knew that to achieve this majestic aura, he had endured fifteen years of brutal effort to completely shed the ghosts of his past. Immediately after high school, he chose to vanish from his hometown, personally severing all ties to the years of being suppressed and despised. He had spent his entire youth "restructuring" himself, from his soul to his physical form. Now, standing at the pinnacle of glory, he thought he had triumphed over destiny. But life is an ironic play.

Knock, knock.

The sound of the knocking was dry and abrupt. His secretary entered, her breath somewhat labored, holding a red-labeled envelope: "URGENT - FROM ST. JUDE HOSPITAL."

"Mr. Aiden, the package from London has arrived. I think you should see it immediately."

Aiden didn't turn around; his voice was low and muffled: "Leave it there. You may go."

The door closed, returning the room to a haunting silence. Aiden set down his wine glass, his long, slender fingers lightly brushing the edge of the envelope. He had been waiting for this for two weeks, ever since the first headache caused him to collapse in the middle of a contract signing. At the time, he reassured himself it was merely overwork. But the instinct of an alpha wolf told him otherwise: there was a monster silently gnawing away inside his skull.

He tore open the envelope. The thin piece of paper fell out, carrying the scent of antiseptic and a cruel fate. Aiden scanned the complex medical terms in English until his eyes stopped at a line printed in bold, blood-red ink: "Glioblastoma Multiforme – Stage IV."

The world around Aiden suddenly spun. The skyscrapers outside seemed to collapse. The steady legs that had once navigated the fiercest business arenas now trembled, forcing him to grip the edge of the desk to keep from falling.

Six months.

That was the number the doctor had noted after a brief confirmation call. Six months for a brilliant life that had only truly just begun. Six months to end an empire he had traded blood and tears to build.

"How ridiculous..." Aiden uttered a self-deprecating laugh, so bitter his throat ached.

He thought of his parents-people who were yearning for their only son to carry on the family lineage after his older brother's death years ago. If he fell now, the Power Group would fall into the hands of greedy relatives, and his parents would grow old in solitude. The pride of a successful man would not allow him to depart like a defeated loser. He needed an heir. Immediately.

The headache struck again, as intense as a thousand needles piercing through his brain. Aiden let out a low roar, his arm swinging violently, sweeping everything off his desk. The computer, documents, and wine glass shattered across the floor; the red liquid stained the white carpet like a bloody crime scene. He slumped down, clutching his head, his breath ragged in the darkness of despair.

In that suspended moment between life and death, a mad, ruthless, yet rational thought emerged. He had no time for romance, no time for the tedious rituals of courtship. He needed a contract. The coldest, most straightforward transaction.

Aiden staggered to his feet and dialed a familiar number.

"Nolan, come to my office immediately."

Ten minutes later, Nolan Alice-Aiden's special assistant and right-hand man-rushed in. Witnessing the chaos and Aiden's pale face, Nolan was horrified: "Aiden! What happened? Were you attacked?"

Aiden didn't answer; he pushed the test results toward his friend. The room fell into a deathly silence. Nolan's eyes reddened: "We will find the best doctors in the world. Don't give up!"

"It's useless, Nolan. I know my body," Aiden interrupted, his voice regaining a terrifying decisiveness. "I didn't call you here for comfort. I need you to carry out a top-secret mission. My parents must not know, and the board of directors must not scent a thing."

"What do you want me to do?" Nolan asked, trembling.

Aiden turned his back, staring into the deep New York night, where the lights still flickered like the fleeting dreams he was about to leave behind.

"Find me a woman. Someone with a clean background, perfect intelligence, and health. I will draw up a surrogacy agreement with the strictest terms. A fair trade: she will receive enough money to change her life, and I... I need a legal successor for this empire."

Nolan was stunned: "You're insane! This... even as a contract, it's too cold. What about love? What about a real marriage?"

"I don't have time to love, Nolan!" Aiden suddenly turned, his bloodshot eyes staring directly at his friend. "I only have six months! I cannot let a woman enter my life only to force her into immediate mourning. I need a commitment on paper-someone willing to bear my child without emotional attachment. Starting tonight. Recruit the most promising candidates; I will interview them personally."

Nolan looked at his friend, painfully realizing that Aiden's pride was being driven into a corner by death. He understood that for Aiden, leaving an heir was not just a family responsibility-it was his way of taking revenge on fate.

"I understand. I will get on it immediately. Actually, within our executive databases and the charitable foundations we sponsor, I have always maintained records of individuals with exceptional IQs and backgrounds who are currently facing financial crises. I will begin the screening process tonight."

When Nolan departed, the room succumbed once again to a terrifying silence. Aiden clenched his fists, feeling physical agony intertwine with the profound loneliness of his soul. He stood up, walked slowly to the glass cabinet, and poured another glass of strong liquor, draining it in one gulp. The burning liquid seared his throat, yet it failed to thaw the icy chill deep within his chest.

He did not know who would walk through those doors to sign this devil's contract. Nor did he care who she was, where she came from, or what desperation drove her to sell her freedom. To Aiden, at this moment, everything in the world had been reduced to a cold, calculated transaction.

That night, the King of New York did not sleep. He sat in the darkness, his tall silhouette stretching across the cold marble floor. Beyond the transparent glass walls, the city remained ablaze with lights-a glittering mirage that never faded. Millions were still living, loving, and dreaming of eternity.

Aiden's lips curled into a self-deprecating smile. To him, love and loyalty both carried a price tag, and he had just spent a fortune to buy out the dignity of a stranger. He didn't need a partner; he needed a sacrificial lamb to fill the final days of the Power empire.

He thought to himself: "The moment she signs, she ceases to be a person. She becomes an asset, a plaything, a legal slave under the shadow of Aiden Power."

The wheels of fate had begun to turn. Tomorrow morning, here on the 88th floor, two extremes of despair would collide: one who had nothing left to lose, and one who used gold to buy everything. Aiden Power's world would never be the same again.

For the past week, New York had felt to Aiden like a chessboard where he was slowly losing his final pawns. He had been working relentlessly-not to close a trillion-dollar merger, but to hunt for a "worthy" woman. Someone to shoulder the heavy burden of bearing an heir to the Power Group empire before he closed his eyes for the last time.

Whenever he closed his eyes, a ruthless question pierced his mind: What would the child inherit from its mother? The intellect of a genius or the greed of a gold-digger? The resilience of a warrior or the cowardice of a pragmatist? To Aiden, the child was not just a son or daughter; it was the continuation of his soul, the living proof that he had once existed brilliantly in this world.

But reality dealt a stinging blow to his expectations.

Nolan had sifted through hundreds of files, assembling a list of the most "elite" candidates. Yet, as predicted, the result was a resounding zero. Of the ten women who had entered his office since morning, nine had turned a serious interview into a cheap farce. They employed every trick in the book: from "accidentally" exposing a shoulder beneath silk layers to casting sultry glances and offering sweet promises of being a "steadfast support."

In Aiden's eyes, they were not potential mothers. They were vultures, catching the scent of money and the faint stench of mortality already radiating from him. He had dismissed them all bluntly, leaving them to depart with curses about the "heartless king's" cold cruelty.

Aiden sighed, leaning back into his high-end leather chair, struggling to find a trace of oxygen in a space still cloyed with the scent of cheap perfume. His life, ironically, revolved around a paradox: the higher he stood, the more he felt like a man with nothing. Time waited for no one. Every tick of the Patek Philippe on his wrist felt like a hammer striking his own coffin.

Ring... ring...

The trill of a cell phone on the coffee table broke his dark train of thought. Aiden stood up, taking a deep breath to suppress a looming headache. He grabbed the phone, staring at the caller ID: Nolan Alice.

Aiden let it ring three more times before answering, his voice regaining its authority yet unable to mask his irritation:

"Speak. I don't have time for nonsense."

"Hello, Boss," Nolan said crisply, his tone noticeably excited.

"Are you looking to meet in person just to receive your termination notice?" Aiden snapped. "Your performance is abysmal. Every candidate this morning failed. What did you send me? A vanity fair?"

"You're hard to please, Aiden," Nolan ignored the grumbling, his voice nonchalant. "They were all carefully selected based on IQ and aesthetics."

"I shouldn't have expected much from you," Aiden said sharply, his fingers tightening around the device. "Look at the results. Are you slacking off, or do you think I'm joking about my own demise?"

"Come on, Boss. Even the strongest winds have to calm down eventually. Think positive-was there really no one who caught your eye?"

"Not a single one. They are nothing but flawed copies of greed," Aiden replied bitterly.

"Then that's a matter of your standards, not their lack of talent," Nolan analyzed with the ease of a close friend. "If you've already decided to be displeased, then whether they are beauty queens or professors, they'll be nothing but trash to you. Conversely, once you've 'chosen' someone, whether she's a Cinderella or plain-looking, you'll see her as a treasure. Are you looking for a mother for your child, or a kindred soul?"

"Stop beating around the bush. Just tell me why you called," Aiden cut him off curtly. He hated how Nolan always managed to read him.

"Calm down."

Aiden remained silent, his heavy breathing over the line signaling his lack of patience for useless moralizing.

"I'll get straight to the point," Nolan hurried to shift his tone. "You're still looking for the right woman, aren't you?"

"Obviously. I made that clear from the start. Did you call just to confirm the obvious?" Aiden felt as though every wasted second was a crime.

"In that case, I think I've found the perfect match for you."

Aiden arched an eyebrow. A spark of hope ignited, only to be instantly snuffed out by skepticism. "Another 'goddess' from your collection?"

It was a jab at Nolan, who was notoriously devoted to his own girlfriend.

"Hmph. My Anna is one of a kind," Nolan replied, annoyed, but quickly regained his confidence. "This girl is unlike anyone before. She has a certain... quality that perhaps only you can appreciate. She meets 99.9% of your requirements regarding appearance, background, and character. The remaining 0.01% depends on whether you are 'sober' enough to realize she's the one."

"Splendid," Aiden said sarcastically. "I'll try to believe your rambling one last time. When can I meet her?"

"Well... hasn't she arrived yet?" Nolan asked, sounding puzzled.

"What? Don't tell me she was among the ones I just kicked out," Aiden exclaimed, his heart skipping a beat in anger.

"No, no. This is a different candidate, not on today's list. She was referred through a private channel, and I only finalized her file at noon. Since you're in a hurry, I sent her straight to the office. Around 4:00 PM today. She's probably in the elevator right now. Hope you like this 'gift.' Goodbye, Boss!"

Tut... tut...

Nolan hung up as fast as a whirlwind. Aiden glanced at his Patek Philippe. 3:58 PM. He stood up, fastened his vest button, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, looking down at a Manhattan drowning in a brilliant yet cold twilight. His headache suddenly eased, replaced by a strange curiosity.

The heavy oak doors of the 88th-floor office were about to open for the eleventh time today. Aiden wondered: would this woman bring him a contract for survival, or just another bitter disappointment?

Down in the lobby of the Power Group tower, Alma Jane-a girl with tired but steadfast eyes-stepped into the VIP elevator. Cold metal surrounded her as she began the journey that would take her straight to the pinnacle of power and the abyss of destiny.

10... 50... 80...

On the 88th floor, the silence was so profound that one could almost hear the ticking of the clock. Aiden remained with his back to the door, eyes fixed on the glass. Suddenly, the crystal control panel on his desk flickered with a pale blue signal-the VIP elevator had just docked at the 88th floor.

The final act of his life had truly begun.

Aiden averted his gaze from the blue signal on the dashboard and tossed his phone onto the oak desk in frustration. The dull thud echoed through the silent room, marking the final snapping point of his patience. He sank into the high-end leather chair, taking a deep breath to suppress the searing pain radiating from deep within-a brutal manifestation of the malignancy he believed was gnawing away at his life. To Aiden, every tick of the clock was a cruel reminder that the hourglass of his existence was bleeding its final grains of sand.

He ran his fingers through his usually impeccably groomed hair, his bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyes staring blankly into the void.

That girl has arrived.

An unusual sense of unease rose within him. Nolan had yet to send the detailed dossier; this final candidate remained an enigma behind the heavy oak door. He wondered: was he being too callous, preparing to turn a woman into a mere tool to sustain his empire before he breathed his last? Or was he the pathetic one, clutching at a fleeting hope?

Knock, knock.

The rhythmic tapping was slow yet firm. Aiden sat upright, smoothing the creases of his vest-a Pavlovian reflex of a man who never permitted himself a moment of weakness.

"Come in," Aiden said coldly, his deep, gravelly voice echoing through the vast 88th-floor office. His eyes remained fixed on the lifeless file on his desk, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He chose silence to stifle the visitor's confidence-a psychological gambit he often deployed in the boardroom. Do not look up.

The heavy door creaked open, bringing an unexpected surge of fresh air into a room saturated with the scent of wealth, sandalwood, and heavy painkillers. Aiden heard hesitant footsteps on the polished marble floor. Unlike the sharp, assertive click of high heels from previous women, these steps were timid, as if fearful that each stride might shatter the solemn atmosphere.

Suddenly, a vivid splash of red crashed into his downward gaze. A pair of red high heels-a burning, rebellious streak of color that completely disrupted the office's cold, neutral palette. Under the dim lights, the red appeared misplaced, even defiant. Upon closer inspection, the leather at the heels was slightly worn-a testament to the many streets they had traversed with their owner-yet they were polished to a mirror shine: the last shred of pride for a girl who had nothing left but her own resolve.

"Who are you? Speak quickly, I don't have all day," Aiden asked, his fingers aimlessly flipping through papers. His tone was lethargic, yet it carried a suffocating pressure.

The room fell so silent he could hear the ticking of the Patek Philippe on his wrist. This stillness unnerved him; it didn't feel like fear, but rather a frozen state of shock. Just as he was about to look up and hurl a scathing dismissal, a voice spoke-a sound he had sealed away in the deepest pits of his memory for fifteen long years.

"I am Alma... Alma Jane. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Thud.

The expensive fountain pen slipped from Aiden's hand, splashing a streak of black ink across the pristine white page. His entire body stiffened as if struck by a high-voltage current. His heart skipped a beat, then began to thrum wildly, the rush of hot blood in his veins drowning out the dull throb of his illness.

Aiden looked up, agonizingly slow, as if he were bearing the entire weight of his past on his shoulders.

The moment her emerald eyes met his razor-sharp gaze, Aiden's world imploded. There was the same radiant smile, tinged with a hidden melancholy; the same saintly face of his unrequited first love-the girl he only dared to watch from afar during those golden dusks in their hometown, back when he was just a poor boy with a soul full of scars.

But Alma looked at him with the eyes of a total stranger. Aiden realized with bitter irony that in her eyes, he was now just a stranger-a powerful, dangerous, and oppressive man. She could never find the shadow of that shy, gentle boy in the "monster" now ruling from the summit of this empire.

"Miss Alma Jane, who told you to come here?"

Aiden demanded. His voice was hoarse, trembling with the emotions screaming within his chest. He offered no warmth in his greeting; instead, he fixed her with a scrutinizing gaze-as if inspecting a piece of merchandise-to mask the violent turbulence of his soul.

Within Aiden, the initial shock quickly spiraled into a heart-wrenching ache, before instantly freezing into a cold, hard fury. Why was a girl as proud and intelligent as Alma standing here? Why had she appeared in this space, thick with the stench of money and the demeaning air of oppression? What flowery promises had Nolan used to lure her into this trap?

Did she, in this very moment, as she faced a gaze that seemed to strip away her every defense, realize with bitter clarity that she was nothing more than a commodity in a contract to trade away her self-respect-one whose name she had never even known?

Under his razor-sharp stare, Alma's cheeks flushed crimson, her shoulders hunching slightly in fear. She felt a frigid aura radiating from the man before her, threatening to freeze whatever courage she had left. Alma bit her lip, her eyes flickering with wary hesitation. She felt suffocated in the vastness of the room. The man in front of her was nothing like a savior from a fairy tale; he exuded an aura of lethal intent and absolute authority that made even a composed former medical student like her feel her skin crawl.

"It was Nolan Alice... Did he not inform you?" she asked anxiously, her small hands gripping the straps of her handbag so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you. I can return at another time... if you're busy."

Alma took a small step back toward the door. Her survival instinct screamed at her to flee from this terrifying man, even if the price was the collapse of her family.

"That won't be necessary," Aiden interjected, his voice firm and absolute-a command that brooked no refusal. "You may stay."

Aiden stared at her, struggling to keep his cold mask from cracking. A delirious thought took hold: If she walked out that door, would fate ever grant him a second chance in the six short months he had left? A dark, primal sense of possessiveness surged within him. He needed her. He needed her blood, her warmth to thaw his final, freezing days. But he would never let her see his vulnerability.

"Nolan mentioned a beautiful woman would be coming," Aiden explained with a sneer, a bitter, faint smile ghosting his lips. "But he withheld the name. So, I need to verify if you're worth my time... or if you're just another gold digger."

His words hit Alma like a slap to the face. She felt her heart tighten with humiliation. However, the haunting image of her father's gaunt face and the mountain of unpaid bills forced her to stand her ground. She knew she was gambling both her dignity and her future by coming here.

"I see... I understand. You are Aiden Power, correct?" she asked, confirming his identity. Her voice was still strained with extreme tension, yet a spark of resilience-the kind belonging to someone with nothing left to lose-began to flicker within it.

"Correct," Aiden said, before gesturing with a sharp, distant motion: "Take a seat, Miss Alma. We shall seriously discuss... the position you are applying for."

"Thank you."

Alma slowly approached the high-end leather sofa. She held the hem of her skirt and sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, mirroring the exact way she had sat on a stone bench at high school fifteen years ago.

She gently pushed her portfolio forward, her eyes brimming with hope. "I have prepared my resume and professional certifications, Mr. Power..."

Aiden didn't respond, nor did he touch the folder. He stood up and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city as the lights began to flicker on. He needed to turn his back so Alma wouldn't see his hands trembling uncontrollably-from both emotion and the sheer terror suffocating his mind.

At that moment, the phone on the oak desk vibrated with a short buzz. Aiden glanced at it through the glass reflection. A message had just arrived from Nolan: "Here is the final candidate's file. I haven't told her the truth about the 'contract' yet; that's on you. She's desperate for the money."

Attached was a skeletal resume with nothing but a name: Alma Jane.

Aiden's entire body went rigid. He had assumed she was just like the materialistic women before her-already coached by Nolan and willing to accept a humiliating transaction for money. But hearing her mention "professional qualifications" and seeing how she cherished those unfinished medical degrees like life-saving treasures, Aiden realized the brutal truth: She knew absolutely nothing.

Nolan had played a sinister hand against both of them. He had thrown a desperate angel into the clutches of a dying monster, blinding her with a sweet lie about an "assistant" position.

A Stage IV death sentence and his only first love-two parallel lines that had finally intersected here on the 88th floor, in the cruelest circumstance Providence could arrange. The game had only just begun. Aiden clenched his fists, watching Alma's frail silhouette reflected in the glass. A dark, primal sense of possessiveness surged. No matter what it took, even if he had to sustain this charade, he would never let her leave again.