Bound By The Cruel Billionaire's Deal

"I think we are done here."

Penelope Astor-Vance slid the thick, glossy business plan back across the polished mahogany table. The heavy document stopped inches from Aida Ruiz's hands. Aida looked down at the rejected proposal. She pressed her fingertips into her palms, her nails digging so hard into the soft flesh that a sharp, stinging pain shot up her forearms.

Penelope picked up her limited-edition Hermes Birkin from the empty chair next to her. She let out a soft, breathy laugh that echoed in the quiet conference room.

"It is a valiant effort, Aida," Penelope said, walking around the large table until she stood right beside Aida's chair. She leaned down, her expensive perfume thick and suffocating. "But the market doesn't run on charity. NovaTech will be filing for the Bankruptcy Code by next month. You should start looking for a regular desk job."

Aida pulled in a slow, deep breath. The air in the room felt thin. She forced the corners of her mouth up, stretching her lips into a flawless, impenetrable public relations smile.

"The game isn't over yet, Penelope," Aida said. She stood up, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. She leveled her gaze, looking Penelope dead in the eye. Her voice was cold, flat, and completely steady. "I wouldn't write my obituary just yet."

Penelope shrugged, a dismissive lift of her narrow shoulders. She turned toward the heavy glass doors.

"Good luck with that," Penelope said. She gestured to her legal team, and the three men in tailored suits followed her out, pushing the doors open and disappearing down the hallway.

The heavy glass doors swung shut with a soft click. The moment the latch caught, the rigid tension holding Aida's spine together snapped. Her shoulders slumped forward, and she grabbed the edge of the conference table to keep her knees from buckling.

Emmet Miles stepped out from the corner of the room, his brow deeply furrowed. "I just ran a background check on Penelope's holding company. They have a massive, undisclosed vested interest in one of our direct competitors. She never intended to fund us; this was just a fishing expedition to look at our financials," Emmet said, his tone heavy with frustration. He walked over to the water pitcher, poured a glass of room-temperature water, and held it out to her. His brown eyes were heavy with worry.

"Drink this," Emmet said quietly.

Aida reached out and took the glass. Her hand was shaking so violently that the water sloshed over the rim, spilling cold drops onto her knuckles and the cuff of her silk blouse. She stared at the ripples on the surface of the water, her chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic jerks.

"We have exactly fifteen days of cash flow left, Aida," Emmet said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "After that, we can't make payroll. The servers shut down. It's over."

Aida set the glass down on the table with a loud clatter. She closed