Sold To The Ruthless Wall Street Tycoon

My family's empire went bankrupt overnight, and my father was dying in the ICU.

To save him, I had to walk into the penthouse of Wall Street's most ruthless billionaire, Gerard Boyle, and beg for a bailout.

But Gerard didn't just want my company's shares as collateral.

He demanded I take off my engagement ring and sign a suffocating prenuptial agreement to become his society wife.

Meanwhile, my fiancé of three years, Jerrad, vanished the second our stock plummeted.

When he finally showed up as my family estate was being foreclosed, it wasn't to save me.

"All you need to do is sign over your voting rights to me."

He wanted to steal my father's legacy for pennies on the dollar while playing the white knight.

When I publicly exposed his betrayal and threw the diamond ring at his chest, he threatened to ruin me.

I lost everything, even having to abandon my lifelong Juilliard fellowship to find cheap corporate gigs just to survive.

I thought selling my freedom into a terrifying, cold marriage with Gerard would at least guarantee my father's survival.

But then the doctor delivered a crushing blow: my father needed a sudden half-million-dollar experimental surgery to live.

It was a massive out-of-pocket cost completely excluded from Gerard's ironclad contract.

Why was I being pushed into a corner with absolutely no way out?

Looking at my frail father through the ICU glass, I knew that begging my new billionaire husband for this money meant surrendering my soul entirely.

I wiped my tears, turned my back on the ward, and silently vowed to raise the money myself, even if it killed me.

——

Carolina Gonzalez stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse office, her posture straight despite the violent trembling in her hands.

Beyond the thick glass, a violent thunderstorm battered the Manhattan skyline. The rain lashed against the pane, blurring the city lights into streaks of cold gray. Her trench coat was soaked through, the damp fabric clinging to her skin, but she refused to wrap her arms around herself. She would not look weak. Not here. Not now.

Behind her, the heavy mahogany double doors clicked open.

The sound was sharp, like a gunshot in the dead silence.

Carolina turned slowly, her chin lifting as she faced the man who had just entered.

Gerard Boyle stepped into the dim office. He didn't look like a man who had just finished a fourteen-hour day on Wall Street. His charcoal bespoke suit was immaculate. He radiated a cold, suffocating authority that instantly thickened the air in the room.

He didn't look at her. He ignored her presence entirely, his long strides carrying him straight to the crystal liquor cabinet against the far wall.

Carolina swallowed hard. The back of her throat tasted like copper, but she forced her voice steady before she spoke.

"Mr. Boyle."

Gerard poured a measure of amber whiskey into a heavy crystal glass. The liquid splashed softly against the ice. He finally turned, leaning his hip against the cabinet, and fixed his dark, predatory gaze on her.

Carolina met his eyes. She did not look away.

"My father is in the ICU. My brother Caswell is in federal custody—charges fabricated by my fiancé. The Gonzalez Group is facing a hostile takeover. I'm here because you're the only person on Wall Street with the capital and the nerve to go against the Hutchinson family."

Gerard lifted the glass to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip. His expression was completely unreadable, a mask of carved stone.

He lowered the glass and set it down on his massive desk. The crystal hit the polished wood with a sharp clink.

"And why," Gerard said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Carolina's chest, "would I want to make an enemy of the Hutchinsons for a failing construction empire?"

Carolina took one step forward. Her heels sank into the plush carpet, but her gait was steady.

"Because you're relocating your portfolio back to the domestic market, and Gonzalez Group holds the largest private infrastructure contracts on the Eastern Seaboard. You want a foothold in American construction. We are your fastest route."

Gerard's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"I can offer you my ten percent stake in the company," Carolina continued. "Full management rights. You would have controlling interest without a hostile takeover battle."

"A ten percent stake." Gerard pushed off the cabinet. He began to walk toward her. His steps were slow, measured, and entirely predatory. "From what I understand, Miss Gonzalez, you are drowning in debt. Whether you can even hold onto those shares is debatable."

Carolina's pulse hammered in her ears.

"The shares are mine. And I'm offering them to you for free."

Gerard closed the distance between them. He stopped inches away, his height forcing her to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. The scent of sharp cedarwood and expensive scotch washed over her.

"Free?" He repeated the word as if it amused him. "Nothing on Wall Street is free. What else are you offering?"

"If you help me," she said, her voice dropping but not breaking, "I can offer you... anything."

Gerard's dark eyes flickered. Something shifted in their depths.

"Anything." He tasted the word. "That is a dangerous blank check to write, Miss Gonzalez."

"I have nothing left to bargain with except myself." Carolina held his gaze. "I am offering you my last asset."

Gerard studied her face for a long, agonizing moment. Then he turned, walked to his high-backed leather chair, and sat down. He leaned back, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

"Prove it."

Carolina stiffened. "What?"

"Prove that you're serious." Gerard's voice was cold, detached, as if he were negotiating a standard merger. "Show me that you are willing to follow through on your offer."

Carolina's hands clenched at her sides. Her knuckles went white. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Gerard took a slow sip of his whiskey, watching her over the rim of the glass.

"Kiss me."

The air rushed out of Carolina's lungs.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Her mind violently flashed back to a dark room, heavy hands, the suffocating panic of being pinned down. Her deep-seated fear of intimacy clawed at her throat, making it hard to breathe.

She didn't move.

Gerard watched her panic with cold patience. "The door is open. You are free to leave and find another investor."

Carolina's chest rose and fell rapidly. She weighed the image of her father dying on a hospital bed against the screaming trauma in her own head. She thought of Caswell, locked in a cell because of Jerrad's lies. She was the only Gonzalez still standing.

She walked toward the desk.

Her heels clicked against the floor, each step a deliberate choice. She rounded the desk and stopped beside his chair.

Gerard looked up at her, his expression unreadable.

Carolina leaned down. Her trembling hands gripped the armrests of his leather chair, caging him in. She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the world, and pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was a transaction. Her lips were stiff, closed tight, pressing against his mouth with rigid fear and desperate determination.

Gerard froze. For a fraction of a second, his entire body went completely rigid. He was genuinely surprised by her stiff, inexperienced approach.

Then, his large, warm hand slid to the back of her neck. His long fingers tangled in her damp hair, holding her firmly in place. He tilted her head, taking absolute control, and deepened the kiss with a punishing pressure that spoke of anger, of possession, of something dark and unnamed.

Carolina whimpered softly against his mouth. Her fingers dug into the leather armrests. Pure panic flooded her veins, but she did not pull away.

Gerard abruptly broke the kiss.

He pulled back, his chest rising as his breathing turned slightly uneven.

Carolina's eyes fluttered open. Her lips were swollen, red, and trembling.

Gerard stared at her mouth. His dark eyes narrowed in sudden, sharp realization. Jerrad Hutchinson had been her fiancé for three years, but Gerard knew instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man had never actually slept with her.

"That," Gerard said, his voice rougher than before, "is how you kiss."

Carolina could barely breathe. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stand straight. She would not collapse. Not in front of him.

"Now," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt, "do we have a deal?"

Gerard leaned back in his chair. He picked up his whiskey and drained the glass in one slow swallow. When he set the crystal down, his expression was once again a mask of cold, unreadable stone.

"I will help you. But I have one condition."

Carolina's heart hammered against her ribs. "Name it."

Gerard's dark eyes locked onto hers.

"Marry me."