He didn’t want my money. He wanted the one thing I had left to give: my soul. My life was a symphony of structure. The rough drag of a bow against a string. The sharp, bitter scent of rosin dust. The stinging ache in my calloused fingertips after a four-hour rehearsal. I was Elena Ricci, the rising star of the Philharmonic, until my father’s greed turned my music into a death knell. He stole five million dollars from the wrong man. Dante Moretti. They call him "The Shark of Wall Street." He doesn't have a heart; he has a ledger. He doesn't see people; he sees assets to be liquidated. And now, he sees me. When Dante walked into my dressing room, he didn’t bring the police. He brought a contract. A cold, clinical alternative to my father’s life behind bars. The deal? I move into his glass-and-steel penthouse. I wear the diamonds that feel like cold shackles. I play my cello for him at midnight to drown out the noise in his head. And for six months, I pretend to be the woman who tamed the beast. He wants to own my talent. He wants to control my every breath. He thinks he can buy the silence he craves. But as the line between his corporate war and our private passion begins to blur, I realize the Shark isn't just hungry for my debt. He’s hungry for me. And in his world, the only thing more dangerous than a debt unpaid... is a heart under contract. "Sign the paper, Elena," he whispered, his breath smelling of expensive scotch and cold ambition. "Or watch the life you love burn. The choice is yours. The alternative is mine." Why thi