The Billionaire's Secret Brush

The contract lies between us, its ink as dark as Adrian Cole's unwavering gaze. 'One year,' he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the marble floor of his penthouse. 'In exchange, your family's studio is saved.' He's the cold, powerful CEO who could buy and sell my world a hundred times over. But as I reach for the pen, his fingers brush mine—a fleeting warmth that contradicts the ice in his eyes. My heart stutters, a traitorous flutter I can't afford. This is business, nothing more. Yet, why does his touch feel like a promise?