MARRY ME FOR ThREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX DAYS

Chapter Five: Like Party Confettis

I slammed the door shut before Joanna could even look up from her laptop, the sound making her jolt.

"Jesus, girl. Don't bring down the whole house!"

I stormed in like a hurricane in heels, tossed my clutch on the couch, and kicked off my shoes forcefully with a groan that could've cracked a glass.

Joanna blinked. "Okay... either the date went horribly wrong, or you just got rejected too."

I spun around, hair clinging to my damp cheek, eyes wide and wild. "Rejected? Joanna, the man practically proposed to me!"

Joanna froze mid-sip. "Wait - hold up. He what?"

"Oh, yeah." I threw up my hands. "Except it wasn't a proposal-proposal. It was a contractual obligation disguised as one."

Joanna’s mouth fell open. “You’re gonna have to explain that before my brain explodes.”

I paced, my voice rising with every word. "He said - and I quote - 'Marry me for three hundred and sixty-six days.' Like it was some twisted job offer. With terms. And payment."

Joanna's brows shot up. "Payment?"

My eyes narrowed. “Don’t act clueless, Jo. He said you were in on this.”

Her expression turned defensive. “Okay, yes—I knew he was looking for a temporary partner. That he was willing to pay whatever it took, and that you needed the money. But I didn’t know he’d get this... creative.”

I exhaled sharply. “One hundred. Million. Dollars.”

Joanna nearly choked. “What?!”

“You heard me.” I dropped onto the couch dramatically, burying my face in my hands. “I thought he was joking. I laughed. But he wasn’t.”

Joanna whistled low. "Girl, if a man offered me a hundred million, I'd marry him, his shadow, and his bad decisions."

I peeked through my fingers, glaring. “You’re missing the point! It wasn’t romantic. Not that I expected it to be. But it was so... corporate. Cold. Like he was buying a house—or worse, a person. I felt like he was buying me.”

Joanna leaned back, half-amused. “And you said no?”

I hesitated. “I walked out,” I said finally, voice softer. “He didn’t stop me either. Just... watched me leave.”

Joanna squinted. “Just that?”

I looked guilty. “Well... not after I told him to go f**k himself.”

Her laughter exploded across the room. “God, I half-expected that! That was savage, girl.”

I sighed and sank deeper into the couch. But the weight in my chest wouldn’t ease. I couldn’t stop thinking about that figure—one hundred million dollars—slipping away through my fingers, just like that, like smoke.

Joanna tilted her head, studying me. “And yet, here you are, pacing like someone who left her sanity back there.”

“Because it’s insane!” I groaned. “Who does that? Who offers a one-year marriage contract with that kind of price tag?”

Joanna crossed her arms. “The rich and emotionally unavailable—usually the ones who need a wife to inherit an empire,” she deadpanned.

I let out a weak laugh, then went quiet. “You should’ve seen his eyes, Jo. He wasn’t bluffing. He meant every word.”

Joanna gave me a long look. “So what now?”

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Now? I forget it ever happened.”

But even as I said it, his voice replayed in my mind—smooth, certain, dangerously alluring:

Three hundred and sixty-six days, Ms. Noah. All I need is a year and a day.

And that was the problem.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to forget. I groaned as I pulled at my hair. Joanna giggled.

'Get out of my f*****g head!'

***** ***** *****

I woke up sore all over the next morning. I had barely slept a wink. Thankfully, it was a weekend.

I sat slumped at the kitchen counter in my oversized T-shirt, staring into a cup of hot coffee like it held the meaning of life - or at least the memory of last night's insanity.

Joanna shuffled in wearing bunny slippers, yawning and clutching her phone. "You look like you got hit by an existential crisis truck."

I groaned. "Because I did. With platinum rims. I'd barely slept a wink."

Joanna raised an eyebrow, swiping through her feed. "Still thinking about Mr. One-Year Marriage Contract?"

"I'm trying not to," I muttered. "But the man had the audacity to make it sound like I was the crazy one for refusing him."

Joanna leaned against the counter. "You are a little crazy. I mean, one hundred million dollars? Babe, I'd have signed that contract before he finished saying 'tax-free.'''

I gave her a look. "That's because, my dear Jo, you have zero sense of self-preservation."

Before Joanna could reply, her phone dinged with a notification. She glanced at the screen - then froze.

"Oh. My. God."

I frowned. "What?"

Joanna didn't answer at first. She turned the phone around slowly, the headline glaring in bold:

"Nimrod Sylvester, The Real Estate Mogul Who Owns Half The East Coast skyline, Returns to Miami - The Ice Billionaire Seen at The Setai Penthouse. Closing The Deal. The Famous Setai Now Belongs to Nimrod Sylvester."

I blinked. My stomach dropped.

Joanna's voice was a mix of awe and accusation. "Please tell me this is not the man you just cursed out and walked away from."

I stared at the screen, the photo crystal clear - him, in that an obsidian suit, the same blue of his eyes, still stood out sharp and piercing.

My voice came out faint. "I... may have."

Joanna gasped. "Aurora, you told Nimrod Sylvester to go f**k himself?!"

I groaned, sinking my head into my hands. "Oh God. Don't say it out loud. It sounds worse when you do."

Joanna was pacing now, flapping her hands. "Girl! He's worth more than I'd thought. He's worth billions! The man own half the East Coast skyline! Do you have any idea how many women would fake their own deaths to get that offer?"

I lifted my face, my hair falling in disarray. "Do you have any idea how many red flags he waved in one conversation? He literally threatened me before I left!"

Joanna stopped pacing, lips twitching. "Yeah, but he threatened you politely, didn't he?"

I glared at her. "You're impossible."

Joanna chuckled, grabbing her mug. "I'm realistic. And also - if the universe sends you a six-foot-three, emotionally unavailable billionaire who throws around hundred-million-dollar proposals like party confetti, and also exceptionally and breathtakingly goodlooking, maybe it's worth listening."

I sighed deeply, staring out the window where the Miami sun glittered over the skyline.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's the start of something I shouldn't touch even with a ten-foot pole."

My voice sounded blank. Lacked conviction. And Joanna saw through it.

She smirked knowingly. "Yeah sure. Keep saying that, sweetheart. But if he calls again, I'm the one picking up."

I rolled my eyes, as I sipped my coffee, my lips twitching. I replayed he's last look last night - cold, expressionless, his eyes burning into mine.

My phone started ringing just as Joanna was making another dramatic rant about "missed billionaire opportunities."

I barely glanced at it from where I sat, now on the couch, nursing my third cup of coffee.

"Unknown number." Joanna said, squinting. "Should I answer? It could be him."

"Or a telemarketer," I muttered.

Joanna grinned. "Even better. Maybe the telemarketer wants to offer you a hundred million too."

"Really?" I rolled my eyes again as I grabbed the phone. "You're insufferable, Jo." I swiped to answer.

"Hello?"

There was silence. Then -

"You left in quite a hurry yesterday."

The voice was deep, smooth, unmistakable.

I froze, coffee halfway to my lips.

Nimrod Sylvester!