The Indecent Proposal

Kira’s POV:

If I misjudged Dante Kincaid’s intentions, the worst fallout was a bruised ego. I would make a fool out of myself in front of the most intimidating man in the city. But a bruised ego meant nothing compared to the ticking clock hovering over my mother’s life. If I sat in that freezing hospital waiting room and did nothing—if I let my pride stop me from begging for his help—and her heart gave out before morning, I would carry that guilt to my grave.

I exhaled a sharp, jagged breath. Pushing myself up from the plastic chair, I forced my shaking legs to hold my weight.

My choice was made.

Pulling out my phone, I quickly searched for the precise address of Kincaid Enterprises. Silas used to take me to the upscale bistros around his older brother’s corporate empire, showing off his family’s wealth by proximity, but I never memorized the street number. At the very least, I knew Dante was in town.

I looked down at my reflection in the dark window pane. I was still wearing the same plain black dress from my father’s funeral. My hair remained twisted into a messy, low bun, stray pieces clinging to the dried tears on my face. I looked exactly like what I was—a grieving, broken woman. I carried the physical weight of mourning on my shoulders. I was mourning my father, the safe future I planned, the man I trusted, and the financial security ripped from my hands in a matter of hours.

I had nothing left to lose. Nothing except this reckless, desperate gamble.

Thirty minutes later, the taxi dropped me off. The monolithic glass structure of Kincaid Enterprises loomed over the empty streets, its sharp edges cutting into the dark, pre-dawn sky. The city around me was dead quiet. The sidewalks were deserted. Yet this towering empire, the one Dante built with his bare hands and ruthless ambition, was awake at four in the morning.

I spotted a row of sleek luxury vehicles lined up in the private VIP parking sector. Their polished exteriors caught the orange glow of the streetlights.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, pulling my shoulders back to steel my nerves. Common sense told me I would not get past the front doors. Billionaire CEOs did not take walk-in appointments from sleep-deprived women before the sun came up. I planned to write my phone number on a piece of paper, leave it with whatever poor soul was working the graveyard shift at the reception desk, and pray Dante called me back. Asking Silas for his brother’s personal contact information was out of the question. Not when my entire plan revolved around destroying him.

I pushed through the heavy revolving glass doors, my low heels clicking against the pristine marble lobby.

The receptionist sitting behind the massive curved desk wore a tailored blazer and an earpiece. She looked up from her dual monitors as I approached. Instead of the polite, dismissive customer service smile I braced for, her eyes widened in sheer shock. She blinked hard, sitting up straighter.

"Are you Miss Kira?"

I froze mid-step, my brow furrowing. "You know who I am?"

She hesitated for a split second, her professional mask slipping back into place. "Ah, yes. Sir told me to send you straight up."

My pulse flatlined.

I stared at her manicured hand as she pushed a sleek black VIP key card across the marble counter. My ears rang with the sudden, deafening rush of my own blood.

Had he anticipated my arrival?

No. That defied logic. I only made the decision to come here thirty minutes ago while standing in a hospital corridor. I never told a single soul. How could he possibly know?

My hands curled into tight fists at my sides, my chest tightening with genuine panic.

"Take the private elevator on your left to the twenty-seventh floor," the receptionist instructed, offering a stiff smile. "He is expecting you."

I nodded on autopilot. I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I took the plastic card. I forced my feet to move, walking toward the designated elevator bank while my mind spiraled out of control.

Was this a bizarre coincidence? Did he predict I would hit rock bottom tonight? Or did he possess some terrifying network of surveillance? A much darker, far more dangerous theory crawled into the back of my brain. Was Dante Kincaid stalking me? Did he track my location?

I stepped into the empty elevator cab, shivering as the polished steel doors slid shut, sealing me inside. I pressed my spine against the cold metal wall, letting out a shaky breath.

*Keep it together. Don't show fear.*

I tapped the black card against the sensor panel. The machine hummed to life, launching me upward with a stomach-dropping speed. The air felt thinner with every floor I ascended, suffocating my lungs.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-seven.

A soft, melodic chime broke the silence. The doors glided apart to reveal a wide, dimly lit corridor. There was only one destination on this floor. At the far end of the hall stood a set of massive, dark oak double doors. A young man sat at a sleek desk just outside the entrance, his fingers flying across a laptop keyboard.

The moment I stepped onto the carpet, he stood up. "Sir is waiting for you, Miss Sinclair."

He did not ask for my name. He did not ask for my ID. He just stepped forward, gripped the brass handle, and pulled the heavy door open for me.

I mumbled a faint thank you, stepping over the threshold. My gaze instantly locked onto the man sitting at the far end of the sprawling office.

Dante Kincaid lounged in a massive leather chair behind a desk carved from dark mahogany. He held a thick file folder in one hand, casually flipping through the printed pages as if my 4 AM intrusion was just another scheduled meeting.

He was unfairly attractive, exuding an aura of raw, unfiltered power. He looked perfectly composed, lacking the exhaustion that plagued normal people at this hour. His tailored charcoal suit fit his broad shoulders flawlessly. He had discarded his tie, and the top button of his crisp white shirt hung open, exposing the faint, dark lines of ink tattooed across his collarbone.

He was the picture-perfect predator sitting at the top of the food chain.

And I was the prey, standing frozen in the middle of his floor.

"Good morning," Dante murmured, his voice a deep, rough baritone that sent a strange shiver down my spine.

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, forcing myself to step deeper into the room. "Morning."

"Have a seat."

I crossed the room and sat in one of the leather guest chairs. I kept my spine straight, refusing to slouch, fighting the internal storm threatening to tear my composure apart.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked, not bothering to look up from the document in his hand.

"Neither. I'm fine."

Dante paused. A faint crease appeared between his dark brows. He reached out, picking up the telecom unit on his desk. "Send in a pumpkin spice latte."

My body went rigid. The breath caught in my throat, refusing to move.

How did he know my specific favorite drink?

Dante dropped the telecom and leaned back in his chair. He tossed the file onto his desk, steepling his fingers together. He watched my horrified expression with clear, unapologetic amusement.

"Don't overthink it," he drawled, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Silas talks a lot about you."

Hearing my ex-fiancé’s name echo in this room felt like a physical punch to my ribs. A sickening wave of betrayal washed over me, but I refused to let Dante see me bleed. I maintained a steady, unwavering gaze, meeting his dark eyes head-on.

"You know what he did, don't you?" I demanded.

His smirk deepened. "I warned you, didn't I? I told you he isn't husband material."

I dug my fingernails into the fabric of my dress, ignoring the ‘I told you so’ dripping from his tone. "Why do you hate Silas?"

Dante let out a low, breathy chuckle, though there was zero warmth in the sound. "Hate? No, I don't hate him. But I dislike him."

I narrowed my eyes. "What is the difference?"

"He's spoiled," Dante stated, his voice laced with cold disdain. "Daddy’s little treasure. He has never suffered a single day in his miserable life. He never had to fight, bleed, or claw for anything he owns. He thinks with his crotch rather than his brain."

Dante punctuated the insult by lazily motioning toward his own crotch, a blatant, crude gesture that made the air in the room shift.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, suppressing the urge to argue with him. I wanted to defend the man I spent years loving, but the harsh truth paralyzed my tongue. I saw Silas’s true nature with my own eyes hours ago. Dante’s brutal assessment was dead-on.

"After all," Dante continued, his dark eyes raking over my face, "if he had any brains at all, he wouldn’t have fumbled a woman like you."

A sharp, electric heat crawled up my spine. The shift in his tone was undeniable. The predator was circling.

This was it. This was my opening.

I lifted my chin, matching his intense stare. "I have an offer for you."

A spark of genuine interest flickered in his dark eyes. He tilted his head, waiting.

"Marry me," I commanded, my voice shocking me with its steady cadence. "Give me enough money to save my mother’s life. In return, I will give you a wife on paper. And I will give you the ultimate weapon to make your little brother a laughingstock."

For the first time since I walked through those double doors, Dante’s flawless composure cracked. He froze. The casual amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a sharp, calculating intensity. He leaned forward slightly, studying me as if trying to figure out a complex puzzle.

Slowly, a dark, dangerous smirk curled on his lips.

"You are pretty straightforward," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I expected you to take more time to come around."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I ruthlessly cut him off. "I don’t have time to play games. My mother needs emergency bypass surgery immediately. I need the cash upfront. Are you willing to help me or not?"

I glared at him, refusing to blink, refusing to back down.

A heavy, suffocating silence stretched between us. The tension in the office grew so thick it felt tangible. Dante was weighing my worth, calculating the risk and the reward of taking me up on my insane proposal.

Then, he tilted his head. "If I say no... will you go back and ask Silas for the money?"

A wry, bitter smile spread across my face. He was testing my desperation. He was trying to figure out where my loyalties truly rested.

"Silas isn't the only member of the Kincaid family I can go to, you know," I replied, lacing my tone with a dangerous, suggestive edge. "After all, I know Daddy Kincaid has notorious tendencies toward girls half his age. I am sure he would love to sponsor me."

I was pushing my limits. I was dancing on the edge of a cliff, taunting the devil himself.

But I operated on a reckless, burning hunch.

A hunch that Dante Kincaid wanted me just as much as he wanted to destroy his brother.