THE BILLIONAIRE BARGAIN: A ONE NIGHT STAND

ough the streets. Beyond the skyscrapers and sleek buildings where the wealthy played and lived, lay the city's neglected underbelly, a place where th

he room. Once a respected lecturer at the local university, he had been well-spoken, dignified, and looked up to by students and colleagues alike

with frustration and disappointment. She was small but sturdy, her eyes betraying the resilience that had kept her here for so long, trying to support a man who, in so many ways, was no longer

. Williams didn't look up. He took another slow, deliberate sip, letting the whiskey burn down his th

his fingers tracing its glassy curve, finding comfort in its familiar weight. To him, it was a friend, a solace in the

n the last. "It's always one more, isn't it?" Her tone was bitter, almost mocking. "One more bottle,

ou don't understand," he replied, his tone defensive, his

restrained anger. "I understand that this drinking of yours has drained us

nk I wanted this?" His words came out as a low growl, his voice thick with resentment. "Losing everything-my mother... S

to watch my husband drink himself into oblivion every night. To watch him waste away in front of me, while everything

tle, as though he, too, saw the stranger he'd become. But just as quickly, he shook it off, shrugging with a

ggled in silence, each pulling with equal determination, her small frame somehow a match for his. The bottle became a symbol of everything unsaid, a tug-of-war between what o

defiant. "Let go," he warned, his voice da

eated sigh, stepping back. Her face twisted with frustration and hurt, and her hands shook as she smoothed the

She paused at the door, her gaze lingering on him one last time, hoping for something-a word, a gesture, anything that might prove there wa

t with a finality that echoed through the small ap

with wide, frightened eyes, her tiny frame leaning against the doorframe, as though she might disappear if she stayed still enough. She had heard everything, seen every argument, every

tebasket, barely making it before the whiskey came back up, harsh and sickening, filling the room with a bitter sme

uickly as it had come, replaced by a scowl that turned his face hard and cold. He glared at her, his voice r

ing at him with wide, teary eyes, her small frame tense, hoping for something kinder, somethi

r back against it, sliding down to the floor, her face buried in her hands as she began to cry. She was alone,