Chapter 7: An Indecent Proposal

Chapter 7: An Indecent Proposal

The boardroom meeting had been a masterclass in psychological warfare. Mira’s team had left pale and shaken, exhausted by a fight they hadn’t fully comprehended. Mira, however, felt scoured raw, every nerve ending exposed and humming with a terrifying, vibrant energy. She had held her own, meeting his veiled threats with icy defiance, but it was a performance that had cost her dearly.

She was standing at her office window, staring down at the city lights that had once felt like her birthright, when her phone buzzed on the polished surface of her desk. An unknown number. One line of text.

My office. One hour. We finish our negotiation.

There was no signature. None was needed. It wasn't a request; it was a summons. A chill traced its way down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her to ignore it, to block the number, to retreat behind the walls of her legal team. But she knew it was futile. He had already breached her defenses in the most profound way imaginable. This was merely the next step in a game he had started long before she was even aware she was a player. He was holding her company hostage, and the ransom, she suspected, had nothing to do with money.

An hour later, she was stepping out of a black town car in front of a sleek, obsidian tower that clawed at the night sky. Thorne Industries. His name was carved into the granite facade in letters that seemed to absorb the light around them. The building was a monument to his power—silent, imposing, and absolute.

A silent security guard escorted her to a private elevator that ascended without a single stop, the ride so smooth it felt like falling upwards. The doors opened directly into his office. It was a cavernous space, occupying the entire top floor. One wall was a solid sheet of glass, revealing a breathtaking panorama of the city that dwarfed her own view. The decor was minimalist and masculine—dark wood, chrome, and leather, all chosen with an eye for brutalist elegance. It was the lair of a predator at the top of the food chain.

Adrian Thorne was not behind his desk. He stood by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, looking out at the glittering expanse. He turned as she entered, and the casual power in the movement made her stomach clench.

"Ms. Vance," he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "I’m glad you could make it. I was beginning to think you’d forfeit the negotiation."

"I don't forfeit," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She walked further into the room, refusing to be intimidated by the space. "Let's dispense with the theatrics, Thorne. What is your real offer?"

He gestured to a seating area with two low-slung leather armchairs. On the table between them sat a crystal decanter and a second glass, already poured. "Scotch. Twenty-five-year-old single malt. I remember you like your victories to have a little smoke and peat."

Mira froze. During her due diligence on him, she had found nothing personal. He was a ghost. Yet he knew her drink of choice, a preference she only indulged in after closing a particularly difficult deal. The implication was staggering. He hadn't just researched her company; he had researched her. The night in her penthouse hadn't been reconnaissance; it had been the final piece of his data collection.

"I’m not here to drink," she said, ignoring the chair.

"No," he agreed, his eyes dark and intense over the rim of his glass. "You’re here to surrender. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet." He took a slow sip, watching her. "You impressed me today, Mira. That fire in the boardroom… the way you pushed back. It was magnificent. The defiance only makes the submission more exquisite."

The bluntness of it stole her breath. "My company is not for sale," she bit out, grabbing onto the one piece of solid ground she had left.

"Everything is for sale," he corrected softly, placing his glass down with a soft click. He closed the distance between them, his presence consuming the air. "But you're right. This isn't just about your company."

He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "I don't just want Vance Innovations. I want its CEO. I want the mind that built it and the body that fuels it. I want the fire and the fight and the moment it all breaks. I want the woman who broke the rules and asked for me."

His words were a physical assault, stripping away her professional armor and leaving her naked and trembling with a volatile mix of fury and arousal.

"You're insane," she whispered.

"I'm a collector of rare and beautiful things," he countered, his gaze dropping to her mouth. "And you, Mira Vance, are the rarest thing I have ever found. So, here is my proposal. The real one."

He moved to his vast, empty desk and picked up a slim, leather-bound folder. He held it out to her. Her hand trembled as she took it.

"You will sign a contract. Not with Thorne Industries, but with me. For ninety days, you will be mine. In all things. You will surrender your body, your will, and your pride. We will explore every fantasy, every limit—yours and mine. No questions, no refusals. Absolute submission."

Her blood ran cold. She stared at him, aghast. "And what do I get? In exchange for selling my soul?"

"You get to keep it," he said simply. "If you refuse, the hostile takeover proceeds as planned. I will tear your company down to the studs. I'll liquidate the assets, gut the staff, and sell the intellectual property to your most hated rival. Everyone who depends on you, everyone who helped you build your empire, will be on the street. Their ruin will be on your head. Because your pride was more important."

He let the brutal words hang in the air.

"But if you accept," he continued, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "the takeover becomes a merger. A partnership. Vance Innovations remains intact, with you as CEO. I will provide capital and resources that will make you untouchable. You will have everything you've ever worked for. All you have to do… is give me everything you are."

It was an impossible choice. A monstrous, indecent proposal that pitted her pride against her life's work, her identity against her responsibility. The room seemed to tilt, the city lights outside blurring into streaks of mocking brilliance.

"You think you can buy me?" she choked out, her voice thick with outrage. "That I'm some kind of prostitute?"

He smiled, a slow, knowing smile that held no warmth. "Don't be crude, Mira. We are far beyond that. This isn't a financial transaction; it's an alignment of desires. Your body craved release. Your company craves survival. And I," he paused, his eyes blazing with dark possession, "crave you. We all get what we want. The only thing standing in the way is that armor you love so much. The same armor that was making you miserable before I walked through your door."

He was right. That was the most devastating part. He had seen the truth of her, the lonely, touch-starved woman beneath the CEO, and he was using it as the ultimate weapon.

She looked down at the leather folder in her hands. It felt impossibly heavy, the weight of her entire world bound between its covers. He had backed her into the perfect corner, a cage built from her own ambition and desire.

"You have until midnight tomorrow to decide," Adrian said, retrieving his glass and moving back to the window, dismissing her as if the deal were already done. "I do hope you'll make the logical choice, Ms. Vance. It would be a shame to destroy something with so much untapped potential."

He left her standing alone in the center of his vast office, holding the contract that offered her two futures: utter ruin or exquisite damnation.