Snatched a Billionaire to Be My Husband — Episode 16
Cora’s declaration silenced the hotel lobby for exactly two seconds. Then the reporters erupted. Questions collided beneath the flashes—when had Byron proposed, did Easton know, and was the marriage payment for the hospital bill? Cora kept her hand around Byron’s, although she could feel the dangerous stillness that had taken over him.
She had acted to seize control of Malcolm’s scandal, not because she expected Byron to cooperate. He could deny her with one sentence and leave her looking exactly like the desperate social climber the headlines described. The possibility should have terrified her before she spoke. Now there was no room for regret.
Byron drew her closer, turning his body into a barrier against the crowd. “Cora is correct,” he said, his voice carrying through the lobby without effort. “Easton ended their engagement before our relationship began, and I intend to marry her. Any suggestion that she exchanged affection for money will be answered by my attorneys.”
The certainty in his answer shocked Cora more than the cameras. A reporter demanded to see her ring. Byron glanced at her bare finger, then lifted her hand and pressed a slow kiss to her knuckles. “Some details belong to us,” he said. The intimate gesture transformed the frenzy into delighted speculation.
Hotel security opened a path, and Byron guided Cora toward a waiting car. She did not breathe freely until the doors locked behind them and the reporters became a flashing wall beyond tinted glass. Only then did he release her hand. The absence of his touch felt colder than it should have.
“You announced our marriage,” he said. His tone was controlled, but his eyes were not. Cora braced herself. “You were losing your company because Malcolm made us look like a secret affair. An engagement gave the story a different shape.”
“That explains the strategy. It doesn’t explain why you chose marriage.” Byron leaned closer. “You could have called me your boyfriend.” Cora looked away from the intensity of his attention. “No one risks a billion-dollar company for a casual girlfriend. I needed them to believe I mattered.”
His fingers tipped her chin back toward him. “You do.” The answer stripped away every clever defense she had prepared. Before she could ask what he meant, his phone rang with an urgent call from Hansen Holdings, restoring the ruthless executive where the dangerous man had been.
The board’s counsel reported that Malcolm’s arrest had not reversed Byron’s suspension. Directors feared that his relationship with Cora created exposure while the Lane accounts remained under investigation. A public retraction would look unstable; a credible engagement might buy time, but only if both parties submitted to an independent conflict review.
Byron ended the call and studied Cora. “We can correct the record tonight. I’ll say you acted under pressure.” The offer would protect him and humiliate her. Worse, it would return Malcolm’s version of events to the public. “No,” she said. “We finish what I started.”
At Byron’s penthouse, attorneys arrived with draft agreements before midnight. The document described a six-month public engagement, separate finances, mutual confidentiality, and Cora’s cooperation with the Lane audit. In return, Byron would secure Evelyn’s care and protect Cora from claims arising from Malcolm’s transactions.
Cora pushed the pages back. “This makes me your dependent.” Byron dismissed the attorneys and waited until they were alone. “Tell me what would make it acceptable.” His willingness to negotiate reminded her of the promise he had made in the hospital garage: she would set her own terms.
“The treatment money remains a loan,” she said. “I repay every dollar, and I work for it. No ceremonial job, no salary invented to keep me quiet.” Byron considered her demand. “I own a bar called Nocturne. Its events division needs someone who understands wealthy clients and refuses to be intimidated by them.”
“You think that describes me?” Cora asked. “I watched you challenge an entire lobby after facing my family, an attempted attack, and a man who ruined yours.” His mouth curved faintly. “I think intimidating wealthy clients may become your favorite part of the job.”
She added conditions of her own: no lies about the Lane investigation, no decisions concerning Evelyn without consent, and no using the engagement to control whom she saw. Byron accepted each clause until she reached the final one. “No expectations in private,” she said. “What happened between us does not become part of the contract.”
Something shuttered behind his eyes. “Agreed.” The speed of the answer disappointed her, though she had demanded it. The attorneys returned, revised the document, and placed two copies before them. Cora signed first, refusing to give herself time to imagine what six months beside Byron could cost her.
Byron signed beneath her name. “The public announcement is tomorrow. Your first shift at Nocturne is Monday.” He opened a safe and removed a small velvet case. Cora recognized the box Easton had surrendered, but Byron shook his head before she could object.
Inside was not the Hansen heirloom. A slender band of dark gold surrounded a single emerald, its color deep and vivid against the velvet. “This belonged to no one,” Byron said. “It carries no history you didn’t choose.”
Cora could not make herself reach for it. “Is this part of the contract?” Byron lifted the ring and held her gaze. “The announcement is. The ring isn’t.” His distinction made accepting it far more dangerous than any legal clause.
He lowered himself onto one knee—not for the press, the board, or the family waiting to judge them. In the silent penthouse, Byron held up the emerald and asked, “Cora Lane, will you let me make your reckless promise real?”
