Contractual Marriage: The CEO’s Belated Love

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. But the scent of disinfectant drifted into her lungs, making her feel nauseous. Three months ago, she was a young designer pouring her creativity into sketches, believing that while life was ordinary, it was at least moving steadily on the right track. Occasionally, after working late into the night, she would stand by the window of her studio, looking out at the city lights of New York, imagining when she might finally have a lamp of her own. Back then, she didn't know the meaning of desperation. Her phone rang again. She looked down at the screen—an unknown number with a New York area code. It was the seventh one today. She didn't answer. The caller was persistent, hanging up only to redial immediately. Finally, a text message popped up: "Ms. Sterling, your father’s debt has been overdue for three months. We are all respectable people. Don't force us to show up at your door." She stared at those words, her fingers trembling slightly. Respectable people. What kind of respectable people would hound a debtor at a hospital room door? What kind of respectable person would call until a phone burned hot? What kind of respectable people would threaten an old man lying in a hospital bed? She flipped her phone face down on her lap, not wanting to look anymore. But those words were already seared into her mind. Rewinding to three months ago, Arthur Sterling was still the owner of Sterling Architecture. The company wasn't huge, but it had a solid reputation built by over a decade in the industry. The year Evelyn graduated from the Academy of Art, he patted her shoulder and said, "Evie, I’ve saved enough for your dowry. If you want to start your own studio, do it. If not, come help out at the company. We might not be fabulously wealthy, but I promise you’ll never have to worry in this life." As he spoke, he was full of vigor, his hair dark, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled with pride. Evelyn, having just won first prize in a design competition, was at her most spirited and proud. She had hugged her father’s arm and teased, "I don't even want to get married. I want to stay with you forever and make our company the best in New York!" "I want to stay with you forever, Dad, and make our company the best interior design firm in New York!" Evelyn had said back then. Arthur Sterling had laughed heartily. "Good, good! We’ll be the best. I’ll always be your backer." But the backer had collapsed. Even now, Evelyn didn't fully understand how that "broken capital chain" had happened. All she knew was that overnight, creditors swarmed the doors, banks withdrew loans, and suppliers filed lawsuits. The company her father had painstakingly built for over a decade was like a castle made of sand—one wave from the tide, and nothing was left. That night, Arthur locked himself in his study. The next morning, when Evelyn pushed the door open, she saw him sitting in his chair, his hair having turned mostly white overnight. He looked up at her, his eyes red and terrifying. "Evie, I'm sorry." That was the first time he had ever apologized to her. Then came the second time, the third time, and countless more, until he collapsed at the company entrance and was rushed to the hospital. The ward door opened. A nurse poked her head out. "Ms. Sterling? Your father is awake and wants to see you." Evelyn stood up, her legs feeling weak. She braced herself against the wall for a moment to steady herself before stepping inside. Arthur Sterling lay on the hospital bed, his face ashen and his lips parched. The man who was once so full of vigor was now so thin that his cheekbones protruded sharply. When he saw his daughter enter, his eyes brightened for a moment before quickly dimming again. He reached out his hand, and Evelyn hurried over to grasp it. It was withered, icy, and bony. She squeezed it hard, trying to transfer some of her own warmth to him. "Dad, how are you feeling?" Arthur didn't answer; he just stared at her. He looked at the dark circles under his daughter’s eyes, her thin cheeks, and the smile she was forcing—then, his tears began to fall. "Evie, those creditors... have they been making things difficult for you?" Evelyn’s hand stiffened for a second. "No. Dad, don't overthink it. Just focus on getting better." Arthur Sterling didn't believe her. He knew all too well what kind of people they were. Back when he was in his prime, those people had followed him around, calling him "Mr. Sterling." Now that he had fallen, they couldn't wait to skin him alive and tear his soul apart. "Evie, listen to me. Those debts... just ignore them. This old man's life doesn't matter anymore. Let them do whatever they want..." "Dad!" Evelyn interrupted him, her eyes turning red. "What are you talking about? You're my father. How could I not care?"