The following morning, the front door clicked open. Draven walked in, his clothes slightly disheveled and reeking of Charlotte's heavy perfume. The moment his eyes landed on Ariel, he stopped dead in his tracks. She was fully dressed up, wearing the elegant, professional dress Martha had sent over earlier that morning. The fabric fit her perfectly, making her look sophisticated and entirely different from the broken woman he had left behind the night before.
"Where the hell is my breakfast?" Draven demanded, his voice rough from lack of sleep, his eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance.
"It's already on the table," Ariel replied coldly, refusing to look at him as she adjusted her bag.
Draven glanced toward the dining room, seeing the covered plates, then looked back at her with a dark scowl. "Where do you think you're going looking like that?"
"To work," she said simply.
Draven busted into a loud, mocking laugh, the sound echoing harshly through the hallway. "To work? You? Who would hire a useless, jobless housewife like you? What are you going to do, sweep the floors?" He hurled a few more insults at her, shaking his head in disgust, before walking past her and heading straight to his room to clean up for his own day at the company.
Ariel didn't let his words pierce her armor this time. The sting of his slap from yesterday was still there, but the job offer in her pocket gave her a shield. She calmly finished the remaining house chores, washing the last of the breakfast pans, grabbed her bag, and left the house for the office. By the time she navigated downtown and arrived at the Flinch Tech penthouse suite, it was 10:00 AM sharp.
She sat down in the reception area, her heart pounding against her ribs. The glass walls of the high-rise felt cold, and she kept adjusting her skirt, wondering if she really belonged in a place like this. She waited for what felt like an eternity, until Vincent’s assistant, Andrew, finally came out and called her into the main office.
Inside, the room was quiet. Vincent Lauren was standing by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking imposing in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo suit. He didn't turn around immediately, keeping his back to her as he stared out at the California skyline. The sunlight caught the sharp lines of his shoulders. After some minutes of heavy silence, he walked towards his desk and sat down, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto Ariel.
"I know you need two million dollars," Vincent stated bluntly, cutting straight through any corporate pleasantries. "And I can give it to you."
Ariel’s breath hitched. She sat up straight, completely shocked by how he had found out about her private matter. Her hands gripped the armrests of the chair. "How... how do you know about that?"
Vincent leaned back, a cold, unreadable expression on his face. "Don't look surprised, Mrs. Lin. I am Vincent Lauren. I can find out anything I want to."
Before she could even process his network of resources, Vincent leaned forward, his gaze dropping to her chest. The professional dress Martha had sent was modest, but it couldn't hide the heavy fullness underneath. "Tell me, are you still wet as a breastfeeding mother?"
Ariel felt incredibly uncomfortable, a flush of heat rising up her neck at the sheer audacity and intimacy of the question. She felt exposed, violated by the clinical way he looked at her. But remembering the two-million-dollar noose around her family's neck, she swallowed her pride and answered, "Yes."
"Good," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding baritone. "Based on your medical history and timeline, your supply should be at its peak. I need your breast milk."
Ariel blinked, completely caught off guard. Her mind raced, trying to find a normal explanation. "Do you... do you have a baby niece? Or a nephew? A sick child in the family?"
"No," Vincent said.
"Then who wants to drink the milk?" Ariel asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Vincent smiled, a slow, dark expression that made her pulse race. "I am the one."
Ariel sat there, entirely shocked, her mind scrambling to make sense of his words. The thought of a fully grown man, a powerful billionaire, demanding such a thing made her stomach turn. Before she could speak, Vincent sat up straight, opened his desk drawer, and pulled out a set of highly confidential medical files. He handed them across the desk to Ariel.
"Read it," Vincent told her. "I have a heavily guarded condition—the Dialora sickness. To survive and remain functional, I rely on a constant, pure supply of human breast milk. The synthetic and anonymous clinical treatments aren't matching my system anymore. I need a direct, unadulterated source."
Ariel stared at the medical charts, the complex terminology and lab results confirming his words, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. The sheer bizarre nature of the request left her speechless. She turned the pages mechanically, her eyes blurring over the graphs and physician notes.
Vincent went on, sensing her hesitation. "If you agree to this, I will not only pay you the executive salary, but I will also get the best lawyer in the country to handle the divorce process with your husband. I will ensure he cannot hurt you, and you will walk away completely free with your family's debt erased."
Ariel finally found her voice, trying to clarify the parameters of this insane deal. "So... I just need to supply you my breast milk, right? I can pump it in the morning, leave it in the clinic bottles, and—"
"No," Vincent cut in, his eyes burning with absolute seriousness. "Pumping alters the temperature and exposes the antibodies to the air. My condition requires it fresh. I have to suck it directly from your breast. Three times a day. Once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and once before the evening shift ends."
Ariel’s jaw dropped. The reality of his demand hit her like a physical blow.
"Furthermore," Vincent continued, completely unfazed by her horror, "I will provide you with a specialized, high-protein nutritional diet plan prepared by my private chefs. You will eat what they prepare to help supply more milk in your body and keep your production high. Your health will be entirely managed by my team."
Ariel stood up from her chair so fast it rattled against the floor, her face burning with sudden indignation. "No way! You will drink milk from my nipples? I thought this was a real job! I thought you were hiring a secretary!"
Vincent cut in, his voice tight, rough, and entirely unyielding as he closed the drawer. He stood up, towering over the desk, his black tuxedo making him look like a dark shadow in the bright office. "You have twenty-four hours to think about it and give me a response. Two million dollars, your absolute freedom from Draven, or your pride. The choice is yours, Ariel. My assistant will see you out."
