Love, lies and a billion dollars

When my father died, I didn’t expect a heartfelt farewell. I didn’t expect any words of wisdom or confessions of regret. But what I definitely didn’t expect was for the old man to have one last trick up his sleeve. The reading of the will was supposed to be a formality. A transfer of wealth from one generation to the next. My father built an empire, and as his only son, it should’ve been mine. Instead, I sat in his mahogany-paneled office, across from his long-time attorney, with a glass of whiskey in my hand and my entire future burning to ash before my eyes. "Let me get this straight," I said, setting my drink down. "He’s leaving me everything… but only if I get married?" Jameson, the family lawyer, nodded, his wrinkled hands clasped together like he was afraid I’d lunge at him. "Yes, Mr. Sterling. That is correct." I let out a sharp laugh. "And if I don’t?" "The estate will be divided among various charities. His shares in Sterling Industries will be transferred to the board, and the remainder of his liquid assets will be placed into a trust for future—" I waved my hand. "Yeah, yeah, I get the picture." This is actually ridiculous, I only saw this in movies never thought I would be experiencing it myself, i whispered to myself. I slumped back in the leather chair, staring at the ceiling. My father’s pettiness knew no bounds. The old man never approved of my lifestyle—too reckless, too unserious, too much of a disappointment. He’d been married three times and had the audacity to act like he was the moral authority on commitment. And now he was forcing my hand from beyond the grave. "Did he leave a reason?" I asked. "Some profound message about why he thinks I should be legally bound to another human being to prove I’m worthy of his money?" Jameson hesitated. "There was a letter." I raised an eyebrow. "Of course there was." He slid a crisp envelope across the desk. My name, written in my father’s familiar, no-nonsense handwriting, glared up at me. I picked it up but didn’t open it. Instead, I turned my attention back to the lawyer. "How long do I have?" "You must be legally married within six months of today’s date." I exhaled slowly. Six months. "You don’t have to marry for love, of course," Jameson added, his tone neutral. "The legal requirement is simply marriage. However, I would advise that you—" I held up a hand. "Spare me the legal lecture. I get it." There was a long silence before he cleared his throat. "Mr. Sterling, if I may… your father was a complicated man. But I don’t believe he intended this as a punishment." I gave him a look. "Right," he muttered, adjusting his tie. "Perhaps that’s wishful thinking." Wishful thinking indeed. I left the office with the letter still sealed, my father’s words burning a hole in my pocket. I should have been mourning, but all I felt was rage. He couldn’t control me when he was alive, so he decided to control me in death. Well, if it was a game he wanted, I’d make sure I won. By the time I got back to my penthouse, I had a plan. A ridiculous, absurd, completely reckless plan. But if my father thought he could manipulate me into playing house just to inherit his billions, he was sorely mistaken. I wasn’t going to find love. I wasn’t going to be pressured into commitment. I was going to do this my way. That’s how the ad idea came to me. "Find me a wife," I told Greg, my best friend and business partner, as we sat in my kitchen later that night. He choked on his drink. "What?" "I’m serious." I leaned against the counter. "We make it a spectacle. An open contest. Women from all over can apply, and we’ll turn it into an event." Greg stared at me like I had lost my mind. "You are making your father’s will into a reality show?" "Exactly." "That’s insane." "That’s genius," I corrected. "Look, I’m not about to go on some soul-searching journey to find ‘the one.’ I don’t believe in that crap. I just need a marriage certificate." He hesitated, then shook his head with a grin. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… this might actually work." "Of course it’ll work," I said. "We’ll place ads, make an event out of it. Hell, we can even do a live selection. I’ll pick someone, we’ll get married, and in a year, we’ll divorce amicably. She’ll walk away with a nice payout, and I’ll walk away with my inheritance. Simple." Greg exhaled. "And what happens if you actually like one of them?" I laughed. "Greg, please. This is a transaction. Not a romance novel." He gave me a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled out his phone. "Alright, then. Let’s get to work." Later that night, after Greg left, I finally opened the letter. Nathaniel, If you’re reading this, then you already know what I have done. You’re probably furious. Good. Maybe that means you’ll actually listen for once. You’ve spent your life running from responsibility. I won’t let you run from this. Love isn’t something you buy, negotiate, or schedule. If you want this inheritance, you are going to have to figure that out for yourself. If I’m wrong, and you do have it in you to build something real, then maybe you’ll thank me one day. If I’m right… well, let’s just say you’ll finally learn what it means to lose. - Your Father I crumpled the letter and threw it across the room. This wasn’t about love. This was about control. And I refused to let my father win. The next morning, the ad went live. "BILLIONAIRE BACHELOR SEEKS BRIDE: WINNER TAKES ALL." Within an hour, my phone was flooded with messages. By the end of the day, my assistant had over five thousand applications. Let the games begin.