The Billionaire's 7th Clause

Mae Velora had three dollars in her bank account, half a loaf of bread in her kitchen, and exactly one client who still owed her money.

She stared at her phone for a few seconds before locking the screen.

"Perfect."

She dropped the phone onto the tiny table beside her bed and pulled the blanket over her face.

Being broke was becoming a full-time job.

Her alarm went off again.

Mae groaned.

"Okay. I'm awake."

She wasn't.

But rent was due in five days, so unfortunately, sleeping until death was not an option.

She dragged herself out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

The woman staring back at her from the mirror looked just as exhausted as she felt.

Her short curly hair was a mess.

There was a tiny stain on her white shirt.

And the cheap watch around her wrist had stopped.

Again.

11:47.

Mae stared at it.

"Seriously?"

She tapped the glass.

Nothing.

She sighed and removed it.

The watch had been a gift from her mother years ago. It wasn't valuable. It wasn't even particularly pretty.

But Mae had worn it every day since she was nineteen.

She couldn't bring herself to throw it away.

She placed it on the sink and reached for her toothbrush.

Her phone rang.

She picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Mae, please tell me you've finished the sketch."

Mae closed her eyes.

"Good morning to you too, Zara."

"Good morning. Now tell me you've finished it."

"I've finished the outline."

"That's not what I asked."

"The outline is beautiful."

"Mae."

"Fine."

Mae smiled despite herself.

"Give me twenty minutes."

"Your client is coming in fifteen."

Mae froze.

"Zara."

"What?"

"You could have started with that."

"I did. You just spent five minutes complaining."

The call ended.

Mae stared at her reflection.

"Twenty minutes."

She grabbed her sketchbook.

"Easy."

It wasn't.

Fifteen minutes later, Mae was running down the stairs of her apartment building with her shoes in one hand and her bag bouncing against her hip.

Her landlord was standing by the entrance.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

He looked at the envelope in his hand.

Mae immediately smiled.

"Good morning, Mr. Cole."

"Mae."

"Beautiful weather today."

"It's raining."

"Exactly. Very beautiful."

He sighed.

"Your rent."

"I know."

"You said Friday."

"I know."

"Today is Friday."

Mae stopped.

"I also know that."

He folded his arms.

"I'm giving you until Monday."

Her shoulders dropped with relief.

"You're a wonderful man."

"Monday, Mae."

"I'll have it."

"You said that last month."

"This time I mean it."

Mr. Cole walked away.

Mae watched him go.

Then she whispered, "I have absolutely no idea where that money is coming from."

Her phone buzzed.

A message from her client.

Payment delayed until next week. Sorry.

Mae stared at the message.

Her smile disappeared.

"Of course."

She shoved the phone into her bag.

Maybe today was going to be one of those days.

It was.

By noon, she'd finished the forensic sketch for a private investigator, spilled coffee on her only clean trousers, and received another message reminding her that her electricity bill was overdue.

At least her work was interesting.

Mae had always been good at remembering faces.

It was one of the reasons she became a forensic sketch artist.

Give her a description of someone's eyes, nose, jawline, scars, or even the shape of their smile, and she could put the face on paper.

She remembered details people forgot.

That was her gift.

Unfortunately, gifts didn't pay bills.

She packed her things and left the small studio she rented by the hour.

Outside, the city was loud.

Cars moved through the crowded street.

People hurried past her.

Businessmen spoke into phones.

Street vendors shouted over one another.

Mae pulled her bag closer and started walking.

She had no idea that before the day ended, one of the richest men in the city would know her name.

And by the end of the week, he would ask her to become his wife.

Not because he loved her.

Not because he wanted her.

But because he believed she was the only woman who could save his life.

The first time Mae saw Damian Khazri, she thought he was arrogant.

The second thing she thought was that he looked expensive.

The third thing was that he was about to get himself killed.

It happened outside a pharmacy.

Mae had stopped to buy painkillers when she noticed the black cars parked across the street.

Three of them.

All expensive.

All tinted.

A group of security guards stood around a tall man in a black suit.

He was walking toward a waiting vehicle.

Even from across the road, Mae could tell he was the kind of man people noticed.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair.

Cold gray eyes.

He didn't smile.

He didn't need to.

People moved out of his way without being asked.

Mae took one more step toward the pharmacy.

Then she noticed the truck.

It was moving too fast.

Straight toward him.

"Hey!"

Nobody reacted.

Mae dropped her bag.

"HEY!"

The man turned.

The truck swerved.

One of his security guards shouted.

Everything happened at once.

Mae ran.

She didn't think.

She simply moved.

She grabbed the man's arm and pulled him backward.

The truck smashed into a streetlight.

Glass exploded across the road.

People screamed.

Mae stumbled.

The man's hand caught her waist before she could fall.

For one second, they simply stared at each other.

His gray eyes met hers.

Mae's heart skipped.

Not because she was attracted to him.

Definitely not.

She was just shocked.

"Are you insane?" she demanded.

His eyebrows moved slightly.

"Excuse me?"

"You were standing in the middle of the road."

"I was on the sidewalk."

"You were standing close enough to get hit."

"You pulled me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Mae stared at him.

"Because apparently I'm the only person here with functioning eyes."

One of the security guards rushed over.

"Mr. Khazri, are you hurt?"

The man's expression hardened.

"No."

Mae looked between them.

Mr. Khazri.

That name sounded familiar.

Then it clicked.

Damian Khazri.

CEO of Khazri Global.

Pharmaceuticals.

Technology.

Hotels.

Real estate.

The man whose face appeared on business magazines every few weeks.

Mae looked at him again.

"Oh."

His eyes narrowed.

"You know me?"

"Unfortunately."

Something almost resembling amusement appeared in his eyes.

Almost.

Then it disappeared.

A security guard approached Mae.

"Miss, you should come with us."

Mae immediately stepped backward.

"No."

Damian looked at her.

"You saved my life."

"I saved a stranger from getting hit by a truck."

"I owe you."

"You don't."

"I insist."

"I don't need anything."

That was a lie.

She desperately needed money.

But there was something about him that made her uncomfortable.

His gaze was too observant.

Like he was studying her.

"I'll compensate you," Damian said.

Mae shook her head.

"No."

"Everyone has a price."

She picked up her bag.

"Apparently I don't."

Then she walked away.

She didn't see Damian watching her leave.

She didn't see the confusion in his eyes.

And she definitely didn't hear him ask his assistant one question.

"Find out who she is."

That night, Mae returned to her apartment exhausted.

She kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the couch.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She ignored it.

It buzzed again.

She frowned and answered.

"Hello?"

"Miss Velora?"

"Who is this?"

"My name is Victor Hale. I'm Mr. Khazri's legal representative."

Mae sat up.

"Okay."

"I'd like to meet with you tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I have a proposal."

Mae laughed.

"If this is about compensation, I already told Mr. Khazri I don't want anything."

"This isn't compensation."

Her smile faded.

"What is it?"

There was a pause.

"Marriage."

Mae blinked.

"What?"

"Mr. Khazri would like to offer you a marriage contract."

Silence.

Mae stared at the wall.

Then she laughed.

A real laugh this time.

"Goodnight."

She hung up.

Her phone rang immediately.

She ignored it.

It rang again.

Mae threw a pillow over her head.

"Rich people are insane."

She didn't know that the following morning, a black car would be waiting outside her apartment.

She didn't know that Damian Khazri would personally step out of it.

And she certainly didn't know that the marriage contract waiting inside his briefcase contained seven clauses.

The seventh one would change her life forever.

At 11:47 that night, Mae's cheap watch suddenly started ticking.

Once.

Twice.

Then it stopped.

Mae looked down at it.

For the first time in five years, the hands moved past 11:47.

And stopped at 11:48.

Her phone rang.

The same unknown number.

Mae hesitated before answering.

"Hello?"

A man's voice came through the darkness.

"Miss Velora."

Mae frowned.

"Who is this?"

There was a long silence.

Then the man said quietly,

"You should never have saved Damian Khazri."

The call ended.

Mae's blood ran cold.

Because the voice sounded exactly like Damian.