Till debt do us part

Christiana

I just didn’t know he was this desperate.

I’ve always hated the man. Growing up, I thought he was nice—sweet even. He gave me presents, called me his princess, carried me on his shoulders like I was the only thing that mattered. But after my mom died, that man disappeared. He didn’t care anymore about me or anyone.

He resents me—I can tell. And he hates the world. Hates himself most of all, though he’d never admit it. He blames us both for my mother’s death, blames fate, blames the world, blames everything but himself. But that’s a story for another day.

His company is failing. Badly. He’s been calling investors every day, begging for miracles, looking for some divine intervention. But no one wants to come close to him and his debts.

He drank and gambled himself into ruin. What a joke of a man.

At this point, everyone in NewYork is aware of his bad habits, which is why I am guessing he is losing his investors.

So when I walked into his office that night, I already knew something was wrong. I knew he had done the unimaginable, which was saying a lot, because I didn’t think my father could shock me any longer. But alas, he had.

He had made a deal with the devil. El Diablo himself.

Jordan Pierson. A “businessman,” they called him, but everyone knew better. People who got into business with him were doomed for all eternity.

But God, he was handsome.

A gorgeous man, tall and broad, fair-skinned with piercing green eyes. The kind of eyes that sliced straight through you like a scalpel. His hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, his expensive glasses framing a face carved from ice and arrogance.

The devil sure knew how to tempt me.

Every headline I’d ever read about him didn’t come close. He wasn’t just rich—he was untouchable. Ruthless. A man carved out of stone and steel. The kind of man who didn’t walk into a room, he owned it.

And he was sitting across from my father, silent, calm, as if he already knew how this would end.

“Sweetheart,” my father started, his voice strained, “Mr. Pierson has… proposed a solution.”

“Solution to what?” My stomach twisted.

“To everything,” Pierson’s voice cut in. Deep. Even. Merciless. “Your father’s debts. His collapsing company. The enemies closing in.”

His eyes didn’t go to me first. They landed on my father, hard and unrelenting. “His drug addiction. His gambling. Everything.”

Then finally, they found mine. And I felt pinned, like a butterfly under glass.

I waited. Waited for numbers. For contracts. For some ruthless business acquisition—because surely that’s what this was about, right?

But then he said it.

“Marry me.”

The air punched out of my lungs. I almost laughed. Almost. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Marry me,” he repeated, unblinking. “Your father gets my protection. His company survives. You get a roof over your head and a life most women would kill for. In exchange, you become Mrs. Pierson. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I stared at him, heat rushing to my face. “That’s not a solution. That’s—”

“A contract,” he interrupted smoothly. “One you’re in no position to refuse.”

My father flinched. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even look at me.

My throat burned. “Why me? You could have anyone. A model. An actress. Someone who actually wants you.”

Something flickered in his gaze—gone as quickly as it came. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose I could. But I don’t want anyone. I want control. And you…” His lips curved, though there was no humor in it. “You’ll do.”

My heart thundered. He didn’t mean it like desire. But the way his eyes lingered on me said he hadn’t meant it like nothing either.

This was insane. My father and his new friend had gone mad if they thought I would agree to such a ludicrous thing.

Marriage? Definitely madness.

“Listen here, Mr. Pierson,” I snapped, trying to keep my voice steady, “I don’t know what my father has told you, and I don’t care about whatever agreement you have. I will not be marrying you.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “I thought you would say that.”

“If that is all,” I said, rising from my chair, “I will take my leave.”

“That’s not a wise decision, Miss Christiana,” he replied, voice like a blade. “You see, your father here not only gambled away his company…”

He paused. A deliberate pause. A power play. He enjoyed watching me squirm.

“He sold yours as well. Well, your mother’s, but semantics.”

The blood drained from my face. “What?”

“He can’t do that. I didn’t sign any document, neither did I give him permission to sell my company.”

Jordan leaned back, studying me. “Your mother made him a co-owner when she founded it. He bought out a majority of her shares before he decided to run the company straight into the ground.”

I turned on my father. “Dad, how could you do that to Mom? You know how much she loved that company.”

His face was pale, lined with shame. “Honey, I was desperate. I was in trouble. They would have killed me.”

I laughed, sharp and bitter. “It’s a real shame they didn’t.”

My father flinched as if I had struck him, but I didn’t care. The last piece of her I had—the only thing my mother built—was gone. And now, I was being sold like cattle to a man who looked at me like I was both a nuisance and a prize.

I straightened, meeting Pierson’s green eyes head-on. “You’ll forgive me, but I’d rather burn in hell than marry you.”

His lips curved again, a faint, dangerous smile. “Careful, Miss Christiana. Hell has a funny way of following me around.”