Balancing a five-hour daily lecture schedule with a six-hour shift at O'Martins was nothing short of brutal. Being in my final year meant classes could land in the morning or evening—or cruelly, both. The pay from O'Martins was great on paper, but in reality, the demands left little room to breathe, let alone save. Most of my earnings disappeared into hospital bills for my brother or patching up my own quiet, personal struggles.
It was only my second week on the job, and my body was already screaming for rest. I had spent nearly every night the previous week at the hospital, curled up beside Audrey's bed, listening to machines hum and hoping for good news that never came.
So tonight, I was determined to feel the comfort of my bed again. As I walked quietly toward my apartment, the air felt… off. The neighborhood, usually hushed by this time, buzzed with commotion. Voices echoed, louder than usual. I thought maybe I was just tired, but as I drew closer, unease wrapped itself around me.
There was a crowd near my building—clustered, murmuring, and pointing.
As I approached, a woman whispered to someone beside her, "That's the girl who lives there."
My stomach dropped. Audrey. Something must have happened to him.
I yanked out my phone. No missed calls.
A man nearby added in a hushed tone, "Such a tragedy… Left with her sick brother and college almost done. I heard she still owes the mortgage too."
My heart pounded like a war drum.
"What happened?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.
A neighbor pointed at my door, his expression grave. "Your place was robbed. Happened just minutes ago."
My legs moved before my brain could process. I ran up the steps, past the crowd, and flung open the door.
Gone.
Everything was gone.
The money I'd scraped together for Audrey's emergency surgery. The heirloom bracelets Mom left behind. Even my spare laptop and documents.
It was like someone had vacuumed the life out of the space.
My knees hit the floor. No words. No scream. Just silent devastation.
From the corner window, I could see the onlookers still watching. Pitiful expressions, murmuring like I was some tragic character in a drama. Turns out, I wasn't the only one robbed—but I was definitely the one with the most to lose.
I wiped my tears, straightened up, and stepped outside. "Nothing important was taken," I lied, offering a small smile before disappearing back in.
But inside, I shattered.
---
Meanwhile, in a penthouse drenched in amber lights and expensive silence, Ethan O'Martin poured himself and Christian a glass of wine.
"This might be my breaking point," Ethan said, swirling the glass like the weight of the moment sat in its crimson depth.
Christian raised a brow. "Why do you say that?"
"You remember the client from yesterday's meeting?" Ethan asked, sinking into his leather chair.
"Yeah, the international tech conglomerate. Big deal."
Ethan nodded. "Turns out, I'm a top candidate. My stats, my record, everything lines up."
Christian leaned forward. "So what's the problem?"
"There's a catch," Ethan said coolly, "The client's old-fashioned. Big believer in the 'American dream'—marriage, family, white-picket-fence nonsense."
Christian choked on his wine. "You? Marriage?"
"I know," Ethan smirked. "Twelve exes in four years and not one emotional connection. But if landing this contract means playing house, I'll do it. A contract marriage. Three months max. Business arrangement, no feelings involved."
Christian stared. "Do you even hear yourself? That sounds like emotional suicide—for the girl especially. What if she catches feelings? What if it gets messy?"
"I'll have my lawyer handle it. Boundaries, rules, timelines," Ethan said, brushing it off like it was another transaction.
"And the girl? How do you even find someone for this?"
Ethan's eyes gleamed with a dangerous calm. "Finding her won't be the hard part. Getting her to say yes... that's where logic comes in."
Christian set his glass down, suddenly quiet.
"Ethan, this contract—does it really mean that much?"
Ethan leaned back, the city skyline reflected in his cold gaze.
"It means everything."
---
I hadn't slept.
Not really.
The apartment felt colder than usual, hollow and exposed. The silence was cruel—it made the loss echo louder. The stolen money, the few valuables I'd held onto from my mother… all gone. But it was the surgery fund that crushed me the most.
I sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs curled up beneath a worn blanket. My head pounded from crying. Audrey was still in the hospital. And the one emergency hope I'd clung to? Erased in ten minutes by someone else's greed.
When morning finally came, I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Puffy eyes. Pale skin. But I had to show up for work. Missing a day at O'Martins might as well be a death sentence. Besides, Ethan O'Martin didn't care about excuses, especially not emotional ones.
I walked into the building like a ghost in borrowed skin.
The receptionist, who normally avoided eye contact, looked up and gave me a long, uncertain glance. I guessed the neighborhood gossip had traveled faster than I expected.
I didn't want sympathy.
I wanted my life back.
I got to my desk early and started sorting files without a word. My hands trembled occasionally, but I forced them steady. The ache behind my eyes throbbed like a second heartbeat.
Then, as if summoned by the weight of my pain, Ethan walked by.
He paused. He never paused.
His eyes swept over me like scanners—observant, calculating. For once, there was no smirk on his face, no thinly veiled sarcasm in his expression. Just… interest. Or curiosity. Maybe both.
"Lena," he said slowly, "come to my office."
I stood quickly, pretending I wasn't dizzy from lack of sleep and hunger.
Inside his office, I expected the usual—an errand, a sharp comment, something cold. But instead, he just sat down and gestured toward the seat across from him.
"I heard what happened," he started, his voice lower than usual.
My stomach clenched. I nodded but said nothing.
"Money was taken," he continued, "among other things. Important things."
I blinked, unsure how he knew the details.
"You haven't reported it. I checked," he added casually, like it was normal to have access to my every move.
"It's not like it'll bring anything back," I muttered. "And I have more urgent things to worry about."
"Like your brother?"
I looked up sharply. "How do you know—"
"I know a lot more than people think," he interrupted. "I know you're behind on rent. That you've been rotating your shifts around hospital visits. That you haven't eaten properly in days. You're efficient, but you're unraveling."
I didn't know whether to be angry or impressed.
He leaned forward, folding his hands. "And I also know this—when pushed into a corner, most people break."
I swallowed hard. "Then I guess I'm almost there."
He studied me for a moment, then leaned back.
"What if I told you there's a way out?"
I frowned. "What kind of way out?"
He stood up, walked over to the glass behind his desk, and looked out at the skyline like a man calculating risks.
"I need a wife."
The words slammed into the room like thunder.
"I'm sorry—what?" I said, almost laughing, thinking it was a joke.
"A wife. Publicly. Legally. For three months."
My heart skipped. "Why me?"
"Because you need help. Because you're desperate. And desperate people are reliable when the terms are right," he said coolly.
I stared at him. "So I'm what? A logical solution to your business problem?"
He turned, met my gaze. "You'd be compensated. More than enough to pay for your brother's surgery. And the rest. You'll live comfortably. No strings, just appearances."
My throat went dry.
"That's insane," I whispered. "You don't even know me."
"I don't need to," he replied. "I just need you to play the part. Smile when needed. Stand beside me. No actual affection required."
And then, like fate choosing the exact moment to destroy what was left of me, my phone buzzed.
Hospital.
My hand trembled as I picked it up.
"Yes?" I breathed.
"Miss Lena… it's about your brother. The doctor wants to speak with you directly."
Minutes later, the words "two weeks max without the surgery" rang through my ears like a death bell.
I slowly lowered the phone, my heart thundering.
Ethan hadn't moved. He was still watching me, calm as ever.
"So?" he asked, voice low.
I looked at him—this man with his cold eyes and impossible logic—and for the first time, I realized just how far I was willing to go to save the only person who mattered.
My lips parted to answer.
But the door creaked open.
Vivian stepped in, all sharp heels and tighter smiles, looking between us with narrowed eyes.
"You called for me?" she asked Ethan.
He didn't even blink. "No, I didn't. I'm in the middle of something important."
I stood frozen.
Vivian looked from him to me. "Is she… the something?"
The tension in the room snapped like a string.
Ethan didn't deny it.
Instead, he said, "She's exactly what I need."
---
I didn't leave his office right away.
Not even after Vivian stormed off, heels tapping like gunshots against the marble floor. Her expression—a mix of disbelief and barely concealed jealousy—should've rattled me. But I couldn't focus on her.
I was stuck in Ethan's gaze.
Cold. Still. Calculated.
Like he already knew I would say yes.
And the truth? He wasn't wrong.
I sat back down in the chair, feeling like the ground beneath me was slowly giving way.
"What would it involve?" I asked softly, hating how weak I sounded. "Details."
Ethan walked back to his desk, flipping through a folder before sliding it across to me. "I've already drafted a preliminary agreement."
Of course he had.
"There'll be a ceremony," he continued, "public, intimate but believable. You'll move into my house. Appearances, parties, photos. You'll be compensated weekly. But I need loyalty. No leaks. No mess."
His voice was smooth. Like velvet hiding the blade.
"And afterward?" I whispered.
"Three months," he said. "Then we dissolve it. You walk away with enough money to fix your life—and I walk into that contract meeting as the man who finally has a 'family.'"
It was insane.
It was cold.
It was everything I should've said no to.
But my mind kept looping back to the doctor's voice. Two weeks max. I didn't have time. Or options.
I stared at the folder in front of me like it held my soul.
"What if I can't play the part?" I asked, more to myself than him.
Ethan's voice was calm, like someone giving instructions on how to disarm a bomb. "Then I'll teach you."
I looked up at him, seeing for a moment not just the CEO or the emotionally distant boss—but a man who always got what he wanted. Whether through charm, strategy, or manipulation.
And now... he wanted me.
No, not me.
He wanted a solution.
And I was the cheapest one available.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palm. "I'm not sure I can live like that. Lie to everyone. Pretend something so... huge."
His eyes didn't flicker. "You already pretend every day, Lena. You pretend you're fine. You pretend you're not exhausted. You pretend you're not about to break. This... is just another performance. But this time, the reward is real."
God. He made it sound so logical.
I felt tears rise to my eyes, and I hated them.
Not in front of him.
Never in front of him.
But then he did something unexpected.
He handed me a tissue.
Silently.
No pity. No softness. Just... the quiet presence of someone who wasn't leaving until I gave an answer.
I looked at the tissue. Then at the folder.
"Will I get the first week's payment upfront?" I asked.
He nodded once. "Immediately after you sign."
I bit my bottom lip, pulse roaring in my ears.
"I want one condition."
"Name it."
"You'll help Audrey get the best care possible—before, during, and even after this marriage ends."
Ethan didn't hesitate. "Done."
I reached for the pen on his desk with a shaky hand. My fingers hovered over the page.
Once I sign, nothing will ever be the same.
With a trembling breath, I signed my name.
Lena Marks.
A signature that sealed a fake future.
I stood up too quickly, my knees nearly giving out.
Ethan stood too, smooth and composed. "We'll announce it tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I choked out. "Just like that?"
He smirked faintly. "We're on a tight schedule."
I turned to leave, heart hammering in my chest.
"Oh, and Lena?" he called after me.
I paused at the door.
He tilted his head just slightly. "Practice your smile."