Chapter 1
The emergency room standard operating procedure dictated three rapid chest compressions for every ventilation, but the rhythm in Lily Rossi’s head had devolved into a frantic, internal count. Blood-soaked gauze littered the tray beside her as she clamped a severed artery in the patient’s thigh. At twenty-four, she was the youngest surgical resident on the night shift at St. Jude’s, but her hands remained steady even as the heart monitor emitted a sharp, continuous tone.
“V-fib! Charge to two hundred!” Lily shouted, her brown eyes darting toward the crash cart.
Sweat glued strands of her brown hair to her forehead. She pressed the paddles against the patient’s chest, the shock lifting the man slightly off the table. A faint, shuddering pulse flickered back onto the screen. She didn’t pause to breathe; she simply reached for the suture kit to close the wound. Life and death were clean, logical puzzles. Out in the real world, her life was turning into a train wreck she couldn’t control.
Her father’s desperate voice echoed in her mind from that morning’s phone call: The Rossi empire is completely bankrupt, Lily. The debts are suffocating us. The only way out is this alliance.
Across the city, high above the glowing skyline on the top floor of the Vance Tower, Damian Vance felt no such desperation.
He was leaning back against the edge of his massive mahogany desk, his six-foot-five frame casually balanced while his secretary sat astride his lap, her hands buried in his thick black hair. The silk of her blouse was torn open, exposing her to the cool air of the executive suite, but the heat in the room came entirely from Damian.
He moved inside her with a slow, brutal rhythm that made her throw her head back and cry out his name. Damian didn’t close his eyes. His piercing blue eyes remained clear, fixed on the reflection of the city in the glass window beyond her shoulder. At thirty-six, as the billionaire founder and CEO of Starlight Tech, he dominated every market he touched, and his personal life was no different. He took what he wanted, took his pleasure without affection, and discarded the aftermath.
“Damian... please,” she gasped, her hands gripping his broad shoulders, her nails digging into the dark fabric of his tailored suit jacket.
He didn’t answer. He simply shifted his grip, his strong hands sliding down to her hips to force her down harder against his eight-pack abs, pushing her over the edge until her body shuddered violently around him. Only then did he allow himself to finish, a low growl escaping his throat as he emptied himself into her.
Without a word of tenderness, Damian lifted her off his desk and set her on her feet. He adjusted his belt, smoothed his suit, and reached for a fountain pen.
“Clean yourself up,” Damian said, his voice a deep, icy baritone that filled the silent office. “And call my legal team. Tell them I’ve agreed to the Rossi merger terms. The daughter will do fine.”
Back in the trauma bay, Lily finished the final knot on the patient’s thigh and stepped back, stripping off her bloody rubber gloves. Her small, petite frame felt utterly drained.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out with trembling fingers. A text message from her mother read: It’s done. Damian Vance accepted the arrangement. The wedding is in two weeks.
Lily stared at the glowing screen, her chest tightening as the steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room around her. She had just saved a man’s life, but her own was officially over.
