Chapter 108
"That’s exactly right. I pay you to navigate my public relations and anchor my image," Raphael purred, his voice dropping into a low, predatory octave as a dangerous smirk curved his lips. "Consider it an extension of your primary duties, Miss Redwood. Since this Swann disaster happened on your watch, you should be grateful I’m handing you the only viable solution on a silver platter."
Mila’s eyes widened, a sudden wave of panic tightening her chest as she realized the golden-blooded star had just backed her into a corner. She opened her mouth, struggling to find words sharp enough to cut through his arrogance.
"I can’t—"
"Listen to the parameters before you decline," Raphael interrupted smoothly, cutting her off with a flick of his wrist. "I will provide a monthly retainer of half a million dollars to secure your signature on a marriage certificate. The contract term will endure for exactly one year—just long enough to establish my image as a devoted, family man to the board. Once the year terminates, we file for a quiet dissolution, and you walk away entirely free."
Mila blinked, the breath completely knocked out of her.
"Raphael, that is legally and professionally impossi—"
"Half a million a month," he repeated, deliberately deepening his tone to let the wealth saturate her human senses. "Full access to the corporate account, additional premium perks, and I cover every single one of your personal expenses without question."
Half a million.
The figure echoed relentlessly in her mind, a dizzying sum that could rewrite her entire reality.
Mila had been an orphan since the age of five, left completely adrift after a fatal highway crash claimed both of her parents. She had been reared by her grandmother and an uncle who made it explicitly clear she was an unwanted financial burden.
Though her uncle’s family treated her like a stray, she had forced herself to be grateful for the stale bread and the drafty attic room they provided. She had clawed her way out on her own, securing an elite academic scholarship, working grueling night shifts to fund her text books, and landing the primary PR slot for the Dumas empire the exact week she graduated.
But her grandmother was the only soul who had ever truly loved her. Now, the old woman lay dying in a sterile ward, her failing heart racking up medical debts that Mila’s regular salary couldn’t begin to cover.
Her uncle had already refused to allocate a single dime of the family assets to the hospital, callously declaring that the elderly weren’t worth the investment. Yet, he still demanded a massive portion of Mila’s monthly earnings, claiming it as payback for the years he spent sheltering her.
Mila had paid that debt tenfold. She had used her position to manage her cousin Hannah’s portfolio, abusing her industry contacts to land the girl a luxury ad campaign that kick-started her modeling career.
And then there was Daniel. Her boyfriend was a hollow, draining weight—a former law student turned severe addict and gambler who had lost his license and now spent his days bleeding Mila’s bank accounts dry.
Her head throbbed as the conflicting possibilities collided in her mind. As his PR director, she owed Raphael a professional resolution. If she signed this contract, her grandmother’s treatment would be secure, her debts would vanish, and the studio scandal would be completely buried. The absolute security of the money was an intoxicating lure.
Yet, a deep, instinctual knot in her stomach begged her to pause. Even though it was a corporate arrangement, a sham marriage felt like a betrayal of Daniel—no matter how toxic their relationship had become.
"What is there to calculate, Mila?" Raphael pressed, his sharp gaze breaking through her internal battle. He leaned forward, his scent of rich spice and woodsmoke invading her space. "You’d wear the Dumas name, the media would bow to you, and your financial accounts would be bulletproof. You won’t find a more lucrative offer in this city."
Mila let out a frustrated huff, her eyes tracking the sharp, perfect lines of his jaw. He was undeniably magnificent to look at—a male carved from pure, dominant lineage—but he was still her arrogant asshole of a boss.
"If you want to negotiate specific clauses, liability limitations, or a higher baseline, contact my legal counsel and have the initial draft drawn up. We can bind the agreement by the end of the week," he suggested indifferently.
Mila marvelled at the terrifying whiplash of his personality; a few minutes ago he was mourning his rejection, and now he was aggressively scheduling a wedding. "Before I agree to anything, I require twenty-four hours to discuss the matter with my family and my boyfriend," she said firmly.
Boyfriend.
Raphael’s left eyebrow arched. So the plain, nerdy woman actually belonged to another male. An unfamiliar, bitter sting of possessive envy flared deep in his chest, catching him completely off guard. He had never expected to feel a territorial pull toward a woman who wore oversized suits and a perpetual scowl.
"Fine. Consult your people," he said dismissively, masking his irritation behind a mask of bored royalty. "But remember, Miss Redwood, an asset like this doesn’t stay on the market long. With that kind of capital in your account, you can buy your boyfriend whatever he wants after the divorce."
Mila didn’t answer. She stood up, her fingers trembling slightly as she grabbed her tote bag. She knew the reality behind her hesitation: both her uncle and Daniel were financial black holes, and her grandmother’s heart was failing. She couldn’t afford to be proud.
"I’ll give you my decision in the morning," Mila murmured, walking toward the double doors.
"Ensure that you do," Raphael replied, his voice tracking her through the room.
The heavy doors clicked shut behind her, leaving Raphael alone with his thoughts. He let out a low chuckle, his mind already calculating the contract terms. Mila was defiant, but she was cornered. He reached for his phone to call his personal attorney, Louis, but the line went straight to voicemail. Just as he tossed the device back onto the table, the screen lit up with an incoming call.
His senses stood alert as Fleur’s name flashed across the display. The mere sight of it sent a rush of possessive warmth through his veins.
"Hey, Fleur," he answered brightly, his voice instantly dropping its arrogant edge. "I was wondering when you’d call. Where have you been hiding?"
"I’ve been occupied with the estate layout, Raphael," Fleur’s smooth, familiar voice flowed through the speaker, though there was a strange, tight caution to her tone. "What is going on with the studio news? Larry said the board is panicking."
"Don’t worry about the investors. I’m getting married, Fleur," Raphael declared, his tone laced with a deliberate, testing patience as he waited for her reaction.
"What are you talking about?" Fleur gasped, the sudden shock evident over the line. "Married? To whom? Raphael, you were just discharged from the clinic!"
She couldn’t tell if the actor was running a reckless PR stunt or if he had completely lost his mind. The males in her life were becoming increasingly volatile—but none compared to the terrifying, possessive Alpha currently waiting for her at the new estate.
Raphael let out a soft, bittersweet chuckle at her distress, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register.
"Take a breath, Fleur. I’ve only ever wanted to put a ring on one woman’s finger. And if you ever change your mind, if you ever decide to leave the Wayne grasp... you know exactly where to find me."