Marry Me, Mr Ashford

Chapter One

Whitmore Biotech had twenty-seven days left to survive.

No one in the boardroom spoke.

Twelve directors sat around the polished oak table, untouched cups of coffee cooling beside stacks of financial reports. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan moved at its usual pace—horns, taxis, pedestrians, buildings swallowing and releasing people as though nothing in the world had changed.

Inside, everything had.

A financial statement glowed across the projection screen.

OPERATING LOSS.

DEBT OBLIGATIONS.

WITHDRAWN INVESTMENTS.

CANCELLED CONTRACTS.

One red figure after another.

A company that had stood for more than seventy years was running out of time.

A quiet click broke the silence, then the report disappeared.

Aurelia Whitmore lowered the remote onto the table. "Let's stop pretending this is temporary..." She said, and no one argued.

At twenty-six, Aurelia was the youngest person in the room, but she had spent years earning her seat at that table. She had salvaged failing projects, negotiated contracts other executives had already written off, and stayed in the office long after everyone else had gone home.

Today, none of it seemed to matter.

Director Hamilton adjusted his glasses. "The banks rejected our restructuring proposal this morning." He enounced.

Another director opened his folder. "Sterling Group acquired another twelve percent of our remaining suppliers..." He hesitated, then added. "— every supplier we lose ends up in Victor Sterling's hands."

The name settled over the table — Victor Sterling.

Aurelia's fingers tightened together.

Director Lewis cleared his throat. "Three institutional investors withdrew before the market opened."

"How much cash do we have?" Aurelia looked toward the CFO.

The man didn't look up. "At our current operating expenses..." He inhaled slowly. "Twenty-seven days."

Silence suddenly took over the room, no one challenged the figure.

At the head of the table sat Richard Whitmore, founder and CEO. For decades, competitors had called him the man who could turn empty lots into skylines.

Today, he looked tired.

His suit was immaculate. His back was still straight. But the confidence that had built an empire was beginning to show cracks.

"We're out of time." His voice was quiet and somehow, that made it worse.

Aurelia leaned forward. "If we liquidate the non-performing subsidiaries, we can free enough capital to—"

"Too late..." Hamilton's interruption was almost apologetic.

But Aurelia didn't stop. "What about the overseas assets?"

"No buyer will offer fair value now, despite already approaching three buyers."

"Then sell the patents..."

"That won't cover the debt."

"Private equity?"

"They've all refused."

Aurelia stared at him. "Then who hasn't rejected us?"

Nobody answered.

Aurelia looked around the table from one face to another, but no one met her eyes. And that was when she finally understood — there was no investor waiting, no bank willing to extend another line of credit, no miracle hiding in the numbers.

Whitmore Biotech wasn't fighting bankruptcy anymore, it was counting down to it.

"The meeting is adjourned." Richard enunciated and closed his folder.

Chairs scraped against the floor as folders were put back into briefcases. Directors murmured among themselves as they walked out, each of them suddenly very interested in somewhere else they needed to be.

Within minutes, the boardroom was empty while Aurelia remained where she was. The projection screen had gone blank, leaving only her faint reflection staring back at her.

Twenty-seven days.

— yet hundreds of employees who had no idea their jobs were quietly disappearing with every passing hour.

A knock came at the door.

"Miss Whitmore?"

Aurelia looked up.

Emma, the executive receptionist, stood in the doorway. "They're waiting for you downstairs." She said.

Aurelia blinked. "Right..."

She gathered her papers and stood.

By the time she stepped into the hallway, the company looked perfectly normal — phones rang, printers hummed and employees hurried between offices carrying laptops and folders.

Claire, another receptionist, spotted her and smiled. "Good afternoon, Miss Whitmore."

"Afternoon, Claire." Aurelia returned the smile, then noticed the balloons tied around the employee lounge.

She pointed toward them. "Did Miguel finally decide between chocolate and vanilla?"

"Chocolate won..."

"I knew it..."

Claire laughed, then added. "You're still coming for cake later, right?"

Aurelia's smile hesitated. "I'll try..." She said and then continued down the hallway.

An accountant waved at her while balancing a stack of invoices. Two employees were arguing over whether the birthday banner was crooked. Someone laughed from the break room.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIGUEL!

Aurelia slowed.

For a moment, she simply watched them.

They didn't know. Claire didn't know. Miguel didn't know. The intern who always stayed late didn't know. The maintenance worker who greeted everyone by name didn't know.

They were still celebrating birthdays, still complaining about crooked banners, still planning what they would do after work. Because as far as they knew, Whitmore Biotech would still be here tomorrow.

Aurelia looked away. Her chest tightened, but she kept walking.

At the lobby, she stopped beside the building's centerpiece fountain. It had once been the pride of the Whitmore Building — crystal-clear water flowing over polished black stone throughout the day.

Now it was dry. The pumps had been switched off weeks ago when the maintenance budget was frozen.

Someone had still placed fresh flowers beside it as though flowers could make the silence look intentional.

Aurelia pushed through the revolving doors and the warm afternoon air met her face instantly, Fifth Avenue was alive.

Traffic moved while pedestrians hurried past. Nobody looked twice at the Whitmore Building. Why would they? The world didn't care when a company was dying.

Aurelia took a breath.

Then a massive digital billboard across the street changed as a logo filled the screen.

ASHFORD HOLDINGS

Beneath it:

RECORD PROFITS FOR THE SIXTH CONSECUTIVE YEAR

Aurelia stopped abruptly, then a photograph appeared — Damian Ashford — young, confident and untouchable.

He looked like the kind of man who had never once had to count the days until something important disappeared.

Another line appeared beneath his photograph.

NEW YORK'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR

Aurelia stared.

Twenty-seven days. Record profits. Twenty-seven days. Damian Ashford.

The contrast almost felt cruel.

She should have looked away, instead, an absurd thought slipped into her mind. What if I asked him to marry me?

Aurelia blinked, then almost laughed at herself. That's ridiculous, because Damian Ashford probably didn't even know she existed.

She turned toward the waiting company car, took two steps and stopped. Slowly, she looked back again — the billboard was still there, so was his face.

Her eyes narrowed. Then why can't I stop thinking about asking him to marry me?

Chapter Two

The billboard changed.

A luxury watch replaced Damian Ashford's face, then a perfume advertisement, then another corporate campaign, but Aurelia didn't notice.

She stood on the sidewalk outside Whitmore Holdings, staring at the empty screen as if his photograph were still there.

The city's noise rushed around her — car horns, footsteps, distant sirens — but none of it reached her. The thought had lodged itself so deeply in her mind that she couldn't force it out.

She heard herself whisper. "— what if I asked him to marry me?" The words hung in the air.

For a moment, she simply blinked. Then she let out a quiet laugh. "You're losing it, Aurelia..."

It was absurd.

Damian Ashford — the billionaire every magazine wanted on its cover, the man every business school studied, the country's most eligible bachelor.

She had never met him, and he probably didn't even