ara Grey – POV
The bell above the café door jingled lazily. Morning sun filtered through the glass, casting long golden streaks across the floor, and the espresso machine groaned behind me like it was also tired of pretending everything was okay.
I wiped my hands on my apron and glanced at the growing line. Another day, another double shift.
"Alara!" Percy hissed from the front. "Package for you."
I frowned. "I'm not expecting anything."
She raised a brow and motioned toward the counter, where a delivery man in a black suit placed a pristine white box—tied with a silk ribbon—on the polished surface.
"No note?" I asked cautiously.
The man only nodded once, turned, and left.
Percy leaned in. "Are we about to get murdered or married?"
I swallowed hard and untied the ribbon with shaking fingers.
Inside, nestled in pale cream tissue paper, was a handbag. But not just any handbag.
A Birkin.
I nearly dropped it.
"Is that—?" Percy choked. "Is that the crocodile-skin Hermès Birkin?! The ten-million-dollar one?"
I stared at it like it might explode.
The leather gleamed. The gold hardware shimmered under the café lights. It looked too elegant to belong anywhere near cracked countertops and pastry crumbs.
My voice came out flat. "I can't keep this."
Percy reached for the bag, reverently holding it like a holy artifact. "Are you sure? You could feed a country with this thing."
I didn't respond. Because I already knew who it was from. I didn't need a name tag or a note.
Ace Wolfe.
The man with storm-grey eyes. The billionaire who looked at me like I was a puzzle only he could solve.
But why would he send this?
Why me?
I didn't have long to think about it. My phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
Unknown number.
I hesitated, then answered.
"Did you receive the package?" The voice was unmistakable. Smooth. Controlled. A bit arrogant, like every word he spoke was law.
"You didn't even leave a note," I said evenly. "Anonymous ten-million-dollar gifts are a bit… dramatic."
He didn't laugh. "Would you have accepted it if I had?"
"No," I replied. "And I still don't."
A beat passed.
Then he said, "Would you like to come and return it in person?"
I paused. "Where are you?"
His reply came like a dare. "My office. Fifth Avenue. Wolfe Tower. You can't miss it."
I swallowed. "I'll come."
"I'll send the car."
The line clicked off before I could change my mind.
⸻
Ten minutes later, a black Benz Maybach pulled up in front of the café.
Percy nearly fainted.
"Girl," she whispered, peeking out the window, "you are not just broke and pretty anymore. You are main character energy right now."
I grabbed the Birkin, still wrapped like treasure, and gave her a look. "I'm just returning it."
"To your billionaire stalker," she said, eyes wide. "God, I hope he's shirtless when you get there."
"Percy!"
"Sorry! Manifesting."
⸻
Wolfe Tower looked like something pulled out of a futuristic skyline.
All glass and steel, sharp edges, power in every inch. Even the air smelled different—like success and impossible money. The kind of building where people wore watches worth more than my entire life savings.
A uniformed attendant opened the door. "Miss Grey, please follow me."
The elevator soared like a spaceship to the top floor. And then—
The doors opened to luxury.
A minimalist, stunning office stretched in cool white marble and sleek black leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city like it belonged to him.
Which, maybe, it did.
Ace Wolfe stood by the window, dressed in a dark charcoal suit, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the skyline. He didn't turn until I stepped inside.
"Miss Grey."
"Wolfe," I answered coolly, lifting the Birkin and placing it on the table. "I'm here to return your gift. I'm not for sale."
His mouth twitched, just barely. "Pity. You looked good with it."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He walked toward me, slow and deliberate. "But the bag wasn't the real offer."
My pulse thudded. "Then what is?"
He reached for a black folder sitting on the polished desk. Opened it. Slid a thick document toward me.
"You need money."
I stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"Your mother. The hospital bills. Your sister. You've been drowning since last year. Working overtime. Selling things. I do my research."
I hated how calm he sounded. Like he wasn't casually exposing all my wounds.
"I'm offering a solution."
I stared at the paper.
A marriage contract.
"You're out of your mind."
"I'm pragmatic," he said. "You get financial security. Your family gets help. And I get an heir."
I blinked. "A child?"
He nodded. "Within three months. That's the condition."
I laughed, but it came out breathless. "So I'm what? Your breeding project?"
He studied me. "You're the only woman I've looked at in a long time and thought—maybe."
I felt fire crawl up my neck.
"This isn't love," I whispered.
"No," he said. "This is a transaction."
"And what if I say no?"
His eyes darkened. "Then someone else will say yes."
I didn't touch the folder. Didn't look at the terms.
But I didn't walk away either.
Because for the first time… there was a way out.
And I didn't know if I was strong enough to walk away from it.