The Billionaire's Price for My Salvation

utched a worn leather folder tightly to her chest - the last remaining fragment of her past life. Inside were the blueprints she had painstakingly designed. Though the paper itself was light

ception desk. "Excuse me, I.

p of junior executives, whose weekly earnings likely exceeded what she made in three

however, only glan

the counter. Someo

id no more. As she set down the cardboard coffee tray, her hand trembled, and scalding cof

cheeks burning with shame. The mocking stares around

ve. I'll

celebrity. Not the model from the covers of business magazines, but the man himself. He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit that seemed

not loo

efficiency, and wiped away the stain in one gentle stroke. Then he folded the scarf neat

et her eyes. He turned and walked toward th

if helping her had been nothing more than a casual afterthought. She grabbed