Her Tiger Billionaire
One
Annalise Conrad held the paper in front of her as if it was a ticking bomb ready to explode. The situation was surreal. And she wasn’t dreaming either. The document was a marriage registration. Once she signed it, her life would be dramatically changed. She would become the wife of Sven Torvik—the man who up until one hour earlier hadn’t existed in her life.
Sitting across her old kitchen table was Sven himself. Annalise guessed he must have come from Russia or Northern Europe, where the sun was shy and the winter was brutal. The cool, expressionless manner emanating from him could really freeze a room. Ice King, Annalise secretly nick-named him. Sven Torvik was also a man of imposing stature. He was in his mid-thirties on paper, but he appeared to be in his late twenties.
Besides being very good-looking, he was also tall and athletic. When he had entered her kitchen, Annalise noticed that his head almost touched the door frame. He must have been at least six feet five or more. He had dark auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. His wore a three-piece black suit that screamed expensive in every stitch.
He carried himself like those who lived in the upper crust of society. Every fiber of his being exuded raw power and absolute authority. Sven was supposed to be a man with great wealth, the kind of person who would never patron a lowly establishment like the diner where Annalise worked. The way he wound his way into her little crummy apartment in the rundown part of Brooklyn on this cheery Saturday morning was sort of a miracle.
She had been reading the employment section of the newspaper, looking for a third part-time job, when someone knocked on her door. An impeccably-dressed handsome young man introduced himself as Sven Torvik, and he was the executor of Annalise’s estranged uncle’s estate.
Torvik came with two men. One was Torvik’s attorney, Hill Abbott, a man in his sixties with silvery hair. His friendly, grandfatherly demeanor had put Annalise at ease about welcoming strangers into her apartment. The third man just called himself Thompson. He was the city clerk whose services were engaged by Torvik and Abbott for a rare house call.
After the men were seated, the attorney explained to Annalise that her mother’s older brother, Seymour Dune, had recently passed away and left everything to Annalise.
Annalise was shocked. She had only met the man a few times when she was little. Uncle Seymour had always been an eccentric. He was a doctor and brilliant scientist, working for a giant pharmaceutical company. He traveled to exotic countries when he was young, and later on quit his job to establish his own company. From what she heard, Annalise knew Uncle Seymour was quite successful. But she hadn’t guessed he was that wealthy.
However, Uncle Seymour’s inheritance came with strings attached.
Annalise would be able to claim it if she married Sven Torvik for at least one year, during which she would take over as the chairman of Dune Industry. Sven himself was Uncle Seymour’s protégé, until he had decided to go solo and started his business. Uncle Seymour had requested that Sven would teach Annalise everything she should know about the pharmaceutical trade.
It took a good fifteen minutes for the news to sink in. She was surprised, happy, and then deeply concerned. She was glad she would receive some money that could be used toward her brother’s medical costs, but the joy quickly dissipated when she learned she had to marry a stranger for a year.
Uncle Seymour’s strings were a tall order for a reserved person like her.
The lawyer added that the married part was important even it was only a pro forma. By becoming Torvik’s wife, her position as chairman would be backed by Torvik’s credentials and influences. The board of directors and Dune Industry investors would have to think twice before they could plot something sinister to oust her from the company. Apparently, there had been constant struggles between Seymour Dune and the others for the past few years. Uncle Seymour had hoped Sven’s invisible presence would smooth out the tide for Annalise to sail on.
She focused her attention on the document before her.
The marriage registration had been prepared in advance. Some requirements had been waived due to the urgent nature of the business. All Annalise needed to do was to sign on the dotted line.
Still, she wasn’t sure that this was what she wanted to do. It didn’t feel right, marrying someone for money—even if it was money she desperately needed.
Her guests saw her reluctance. She hadn’t been given an opportunity to sleep on it at all. Torvik must have expected her to say yes on spot; therefore the city clerk was brought to her home.
Torvik glanced at his lawyer, but didn’t say anything. After a minute of awkward silence, Abbott cleared his throat and offered a sympathetic smile.
Annalise Conrad held the paper in front of her as if it was a ticking bomb ready to explode. The situation was surreal. And she wasn’t dreaming either. The document was a marriage registration. Once she signed it, her life would be dramatically changed. She would become the wife of Sven Torvik—the man who up until one hour earlier hadn’t existed in her life.
Sitting across her old kitchen table was Sven himself. Annalise guessed he must have come from Russia or Northern Europe, where the sun was shy and the winter was brutal. The cool, expressionless manner emanating from him could really freeze a room. Ice King, Annalise secretly nick-named him. Sven Torvik was also a man of imposing stature. He was in his mid-thirties on paper, but he appeared to be in his late twenties.
Besides being very good-looking, he was also tall and athletic. When he had entered her kitchen, Annalise noticed that his head almost touched the door frame. He must have been at least six feet five or more. He had dark auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. His wore a three-piece black suit that screamed expensive in every stitch.
He carried himself like those who lived in the upper crust of society. Every fiber of his being exuded raw power and absolute authority. Sven was supposed to be a man with great wealth, the kind of person who would never patron a lowly establishment like the diner where Annalise worked. The way he wound his way into her little crummy apartment in the rundown part of Brooklyn on this cheery Saturday morning was sort of a miracle.
She had been reading the employment section of the newspaper, looking for a third part-time job, when someone knocked on her door. An impeccably-dressed handsome young man introduced himself as Sven Torvik, and he was the executor of Annalise’s estranged uncle’s estate.
Torvik came with two men. One was Torvik’s attorney, Hill Abbott, a man in his sixties with silvery hair. His friendly, grandfatherly demeanor had put Annalise at ease about welcoming strangers into her apartment. The third man just called himself Thompson. He was the city clerk whose services were engaged by Torvik and Abbott for a rare house call.
After the men were seated, the attorney explained to Annalise that her mother’s older brother, Seymour Dune, had recently passed away and left everything to Annalise.
Annalise was shocked. She had only met the man a few times when she was little. Uncle Seymour had always been an eccentric. He was a doctor and brilliant scientist, working for a giant pharmaceutical company. He traveled to exotic countries when he was young, and later on quit his job to establish his own company. From what she heard, Annalise knew Uncle Seymour was quite successful. But she hadn’t guessed he was that wealthy.
However, Uncle Seymour’s inheritance came with strings attached.
Annalise would be able to claim it if she married Sven Torvik for at least one year, during which she would take over as the chairman of Dune Industry. Sven himself was Uncle Seymour’s protégé, until he had decided to go solo and started his business. Uncle Seymour had requested that Sven would teach Annalise everything she should know about the pharmaceutical trade.
It took a good fifteen minutes for the news to sink in. She was surprised, happy, and then deeply concerned. She was glad she would receive some money that could be used toward her brother’s medical costs, but the joy quickly dissipated when she learned she had to marry a stranger for a year.
Uncle Seymour’s strings were a tall order for a reserved person like her.
The lawyer added that the married part was important even it was only a pro forma. By becoming Torvik’s wife, her position as chairman would be backed by Torvik’s credentials and influences. The board of directors and Dune Industry investors would have to think twice before they could plot something sinister to oust her from the company. Apparently, there had been constant struggles between Seymour Dune and the others for the past few years. Uncle Seymour had hoped Sven’s invisible presence would smooth out the tide for Annalise to sail on.
She focused her attention on the document before her.
The marriage registration had been prepared in advance. Some requirements had been waived due to the urgent nature of the business. All Annalise needed to do was to sign on the dotted line.
Still, she wasn’t sure that this was what she wanted to do. It didn’t feel right, marrying someone for money—even if it was money she desperately needed.
Her guests saw her reluctance. She hadn’t been given an opportunity to sleep on it at all. Torvik must have expected her to say yes on spot; therefore the city clerk was brought to her home.
Torvik glanced at his lawyer, but didn’t say anything. After a minute of awkward silence, Abbott cleared his throat and offered a sympathetic smile.