The Billionaire s Contract A Lovers Ultimatum

MANHATTAN, NYC (GREY CONGLOMERATE TOWER)

The boardroom of Grey Conglomerate sat Forty-eight stories above Manhattan, its glass walls capturing the city like a jewel trapped in steel. Inside, silence reigned. Executives in tailored suits leaned forward at the long table, every pen poised, every eye fixed on one man.

Alexander Grey stood at the head of the room. His presence was a force. Tall, broad-shouldered, cut in a tailored suit of midnight wool, he radiated the kind of authority that could silence a storm. The sharp line of his jaw and the steel glint in his gray eyes left no doubt that he was not simply a man, he was the heir to an empire. He spoke, and the room bent around his voice.

"Projections show shipping revenue will cross two billion by the third quarter," Alexander said, pacing with measured steps. His gaze swept over the men and women seated before him, pinning them like prey. "But numbers mean nothing if we lose control of the ports. Negotiations with Beijing close before the end of the month. I expect direct access to Singapore locked in within weeks. Delay is weakness, and the Greys don't trade in weakness."

A man in his fifties cleared his throat, sweat at his temple. "Mr. Grey, the European board-"

Alexander cut him off with a flick of his hand. "Europe follows when Asia bends. We dictate. They obey. That is how this empire was built. If you don't have the stomach for it, resign now."

No one moved. No one dared.

Alexander's lips curved into a razor-thin smile. "Meeting adjourned."

Chairs scraped as the executives rose, bowing their heads, their voices hushed. They slipped out one by one, careful not to linger under his gaze. When the last of them disappeared, silence returned, broken only by the faint hum of the city below.

And then came a soft knock at the door.

It wasn't the tentative knock of an employee, nor the brisk rap of an assistant. It was lighter, warmer, familiar.

"Come in," Alexander called, his tone softening.

The door opened, and Luna Wells entered.

She was a striking contrast to the polished severity of the boardroom. Where glass and steel ruled, she brought color and warmth. Dressed in a cream sundress smeared faintly with the remnants of paint, her dark hair loose in soft waves, she seemed to carry her studio with her. Her hazel eyes locked on Alexander, and the tension in his shoulders eased.

"You look like you just chewed half of Wall Street alive," Luna teased, walking toward him with a small paper bag in hand.

Alexander's lips curved. "Half? You underestimate me. I devoured all of it."

Her laughter spilled through the room like sunlight cracking the storm. She perched on the edge of his desk, utterly unbothered by the power this space represented. No one else dared sit so casually in his presence. Only her.

"I brought lunch," she said, setting the bag down. "Because I know you skipped breakfast. Again."

Alexander arched a brow. "And who told you?"

"No one had to. You're predictable when you're in meetings from dawn." She unwrapped a sandwich and held it toward him like a bribe.

He took it, his eyes never leaving hers. The ruthless heir to Grey Conglomerate who sent seasoned executives trembling, sat back in his leather chair and ate because Luna Wells told him to.

"You shouldn't come here so often," he said after a bite, his tone softer now, intimate. "The sharks will smell blood."

Luna leaned closer, her lips curving. "I'm not afraid of sharks. Besides, I like watching you in your world. All sharp edges and authority." She tilted her head. "Though I still prefer you when you're covered in paint, letting me boss you around in the studio."

Alexander's smile deepened. "That's the only place I let anyone boss me."

The words hung between them, and the shift in the air was instant. The hum of the city outside faded. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and hers lingered on his.

Luna slid closer, her knees brushing his. "You're impossible," she whispered, but her tone betrayed her desire.

Alexander rose, towering over her. One hand came to rest at her waist, pulling her in, while the other tilted her chin up. When his lips touched hers, the kiss was slow at first, savoring. Then it deepened, hunger and need pouring into it.

Her hands gripped his suit jacket, pulling him closer until she was pressed against the edge of his desk. His mouth moved with a commanding intensity, claiming her the way he claimed everything else in life decisively, ruthlessly.

"Alexander," she breathed against his lips, her voice trembling with heat.

His forehead pressed to hers, his breath unsteady. "You undo me," he murmured. "Every damn time."

The moment lingered, fire and softness tangled together. Then, slowly, he pulled back, resting his thumb against her cheek. His eyes, usually cold steel, burned with something only she could draw from him.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, but his tone betrayed no real conviction.

"Then tell me to leave," she challenged softly.

He didn't. He kissed her again, slower this time, before finally breaking away.

Luna smiled, brushing her thumb across his lips. "I love when you lose control."

His chest tightened at the words. Love wasn't something his world allowed, but with her, it was undeniable. Which was why her next question struck so deeply.

"Alex... when will you stop hiding me from them?"

The warmth in the room chilled. He stilled, every muscle tense.

"You've kept me away from them for three years," Luna pressed. "The press calls me your other half, and yet I've never once sat at your family's table. Why?"