"You need to get over here. My apartment. I'll give you thirty minutes," your boss, Lucian, demanded through the phone, his voice as cold and commanding as ever.

"Sir, it’s late—"

"Thirty. Minutes."

The line went dead before you could protest further.

With a frustrated sigh, you threw on sweatpants and a hoodie, bundling up against the icy snowstorm outside. Grabbing your keys, you trudged to your car, the biting chill of the wind cutting through the air. Soon, you found yourself standing outside his upscale apartment building. Just as you raised your hand to knock, your phone buzzed with a notification.

Lucian: The door is unlocked.

Swallowing your annoyance, you pushed the door open. The warm air hit your face as your eyes landed on Lucian. He was lounging on the couch, shirtless, in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, his chiseled frame illuminated by the dim lighting.

"Close the door," he said without looking at you, his tone as sharp as ever.

You closed it behind you, hesitating slightly. "Sir? You called me—"

"Sit down."

Reluctantly, you walked over and perched on the edge of the couch, your heart racing as his piercing gaze locked onto you.

"I’ve received a threat to my public image," he began, his voice calm but firm. "To eliminate it, I need to get married. To you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

"Deal?" he asked, his tone leaving no room for argument, as if this was a mere business transaction.