The billionaire s fiancée

Rain lashed against the grimy skylight of Elmwood Museum, a mournful melody mirroring the storm brewing inside Scarlett Moore. Hunched over a stack of unpaid bills, the harsh fluorescent lights cast an unforgiving glare on the mounting evidence of their impending doom. Elmwood wasn't just any museum; it was her life's blood, a haven for forgotten treasures that whispered stories of ancient civilizations. Yet, with each passing day, the once-vibrant halls echoed with a growing silence, a testament to their dwindling number of visitors and dwindling funds.

Desperation gnawed at her. Grant applications lay ignored, gathering dust like the moldering tapestries lining the walls.Fundraising events, once a vibrant source of income, now yielded only a trickle of donations from increasingly disinterested patrons. The wealthy elite, those who once graced the halls with thinly veiled displays of philanthropy,seemed to have developed amnesia when it came to Elmwood.

A flicker of hope, however, dared to pierce the gloom. It came in the form of an email, a lifeline thrown by Liam Miller, a childhood friend who'd carved his name into the high-stakes world of art dealing. Liam's offer was audacious, a proposition that reeked of desperation and smelled faintly of trouble.

He spoke of a reclusive billionaire, Alexander Thorne, a name synonymous with ruthless business tactics and a pathological aversion to the public eye. Thorne, Liam claimed, possessed the Aztec Sunstone, a legendary artifact rumored to be of unimaginable value. The email laid out a plan that felt more like a Hollywood plot than reality - convince Thorne to donate the Sunstone to Elmwood.

There was, of course, a catch. A catch large enough to swallow Scarlett's pride whole. Thorne, burdened by a past scandal and distrustful of anything resembling a spotlight, needed a "fiancée." A prop, a carefully curated image to appease his iron-willed mother for a critical business deal.

Scarlett scoffed. A fake fiancée for a billionaire recluse? It sounded like the opening line to a bad reality TV show. Yet,staring at the mounting bills and the silent pleas emanating from the museum's ancient artifacts, a flicker of desperation ignited within her. Could she swallow her pride, become part of this elaborate charade, all to keep Elmwood alive? The answer, much to her own surprise, was a resounding - maybe.

The decision gnawed at her for days. Sleep came in fitful bursts, haunted by visions of irate creditors and shattered terracotta busts. Finally, after a sleepless night spent researching the enigmatic Alexander Thorne and the legendary Sunstone, she fired off a reply to Liam. It was a simple email, devoid of promises or guarantees, just a single sentence:"I'm willing to listen."

The response came a day later, a terse message with a time and location. The Carlyle Hotel, a bastion of luxury ill-suited to Scarlett's threadbare backpack and secondhand trench coat. Yet, with a deep breath and a silent apology to the dust bunnies clinging to her apartment, she set out to meet her fate.

The Carlyle was a gilded cage, dripping with opulence and a suffocating air of entitlement. Navigating the lobby felt like wading through a sea of silk and disdainful stares. Finally, after a tense exchange with a doorman who clearly viewed her with suspicion, she found herself outside the designated suite. Taking another deep breath, she knocked.

The door opened, revealing Liam. His usual disarming charm was laced with a nervous edge. He ushered her in, the plush interior a stark contrast to the rain-soaked city outside.

Across the room, a figure sat by a window, his back to them. He was tall, with broad shoulders that strained against the dark suit he wore. His posture spoke of an unsettling stillness, a predator waiting to pounce.

"Scarlett," Liam greeted, his voice laced with forced cheer, "this is Alexander Thorne."

The man turned, and Scarlett felt a jolt course through her. His face was striking, a canvas of sharp angles and piercing blue eyes that held a hint of weariness. His lips were set in a hard line, and his gaze swept over her with an unnerving intensity. This wasn't the arrogant billionaire she expected; this man carried the weight of unspoken burdens.

"The... fiancée," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "Pleasure."

The word felt like a slap. A stark reminder of the charade she was about to embark on. She squared her shoulders, her fiery spirit momentarily reignited.

"The future Mrs. Thorne," she corrected, extending her hand with a perfectly executed tilt of her chin. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Alexander. Though I wouldn't call this a pleasure per se. But business is business."

Alexander's lips twitched at the corner, a hint of amusement battling with his usual stoicism. He took her hand, his grip firm and surprisingly warm. A spark of electricity shot up Scarlett's arm, momentarily blurring her vision.