My Boss’s Hidden Heir (Elara and Marcus) novel Chapter 4

One Million Reason

“Marry me.”

The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Elara stared at Marcus, waiting for the punchline, the smirk, anything that would indicate this was some elaborate joke at her expense.

Nothing came.

Is this man insane?

“You heard me.” His tone was flat, like he’d just asked her to schedule a meeting, not commit to a lifetime legal bond.

God, she despised this man.

“What is this?” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Some kind of mental breakdown? A psychological experiment? The physical workload wasn’t torture enough, so now we’re moving into emotional manipulation?”

“Marry me, and I will…..”

“No.”

The word came out loud. Too loud. Sharp enough to cut through the thick glass walls of his office and reach the assistants stationed outside. She saw heads turn, eyes widening before quickly looking away.

Marcus blinked.

It was the first genuine reaction she’d seen from him in three years. Actual surprise flickering across his face before the mask slammed back down.

“No?”

“Should I say it in French? Morse code? Sign language?” Elara’s hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was rage. Pure, undiluted rage at this man who thought he could control everything, including her. “Which translation works best for you, Mr. Thorne?”

“You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“I’m not interested in whatever twisted game you’ve cooked up in that calculating brain of yours.” She stood, chair scraping against the floor. “Find another assistant to play with.”

Marcus watched her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The look on his face was almost comical. Almost. She’d just become the first person in Thorne Dynamics history to tell Marcus Thorne no, and he genuinely didn’t know how to process it.

Elara turned to leave.

“One million.”

She stopped. Her hand was on the door handle, fingers frozen mid-grip.

“One million what?”

“Dollars.”

Slowly, she turned back around. Marcus hadn’t moved. He stood behind his desk, hands still in his pockets, expression carefully neutral except for that slight tightness around his eyes that suggested he was recalculating every assumption he’d made about this conversation.

“One million dollars,” she repeated. The number felt absurd in her mouth. Fake. Like Monopoly money. “For what? A year? Six months? How long does this arrangement last?”

“Two years. A marriage contract. You play the role of my wife. After twenty four months, we divorce. You walk away with the money.”

Elara laughed. It came out bitter and sharp. “You think you can just throw money at me? After three years of treating me like I’m nothing? Like I’m some object you keep in that office to make your life easier?” She took a step closer to his desk. “All the impossible deadlines. The emails at 3 AM. The constant criticism. The way you look through me like I’m invisible. And now you want me to marry you?”

“It’s a business transaction.”

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