Chapter Two: The Devil’s Offer
875 Words
LIANA
The coffee shop smelled like burned espresso and broken dreams.
I was early for the client meeting, clutching my portfolio like it might save my life. Maybe it would. The graphic design job was small, a logo for a startup that would probably fail in six months, but it paid eight hundred dollars. Eight hundred dollars that could buy groceries, push back one creditor, buy me another week to figure out the impossible.
I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, black coffee I didn't want, and claimed a corner table. The morning crowd swirled around me, people in business casual heading to jobs with health insurance and retirement plans, living lives that felt like fairy tales from where I sat.
My phone buzzed. Sofia's name flashed across the screen.
"Please tell me you're not wearing that interview outfit to meet a client," she said instead of hello.
"It's all I have that doesn't have crayon stains." I kept my voice low, watching the door. "The client's supposed to be here in ten minutes."
"Liana, about what we talked about last night…"
"I'm not asking my aunt for money." The words came out harder than I meant. "She already thinks I ruined my life. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of begging."
Sofia sighed, the sound crackling through the phone. "Pride doesn't keep the lights on, babe."
"Neither does humiliation." I spotted a man in an expensive suit walk in, but he headed straight to the counter without looking around. Not my client. "I have to go. Ezra's pickup is at three, right?"
"I'll be there. He wants mac and cheese for dinner, the kind with the cartoon characters."
"You're the best." I meant it. Sofia was the only family that mattered anymore. "I'll text you after."
I hung up and checked my email again. The client was now fifteen minutes late. Typical. In my experience, people who could afford to hire designers were always the ones who valued your time the least.
The chair across from me pulled out.
I looked up, ready to politely tell whoever it was that the seat was taken, and forgot how to breathe.
The man settling into the chair was not my client. My client was supposed to be a twenty something tech bro named Jason. This man was older, maybe mid thirties, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my annual income. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a face that belonged on billboards. Sharp features, the kind of handsome that felt dangerous.
"Miss Hart." His voice was deep, controlled. Not a question. A statement.
"I'm sorry, I'm waiting for someone…"
"Jason Chen cancelled. I bought out his appointment." He placed a black folder on the table between us. "My name is Kairos Blackwood. I have a proposition for you."
The name hit me like cold water. Everyone in New York knew that name. Billionaire. Venture capitalist. The man who'd built an empire before he turned thirty. I'd seen him in business magazines at the dentist office, always unsmiling, always alone.
"I don't understand." My hand tightened around my coffee cup. "How did you…"
"I know about your debt. About Derek Morrison. About the eviction notice you received three days ago." He said it calmly, like he was discussing the weather. "I know you're twenty eight, a graphic designer, and that you're running out of options."
Ice flooded my veins. "You investigated me?"
"Due diligence." He opened the folder, slid a paper across the table. "I have a problem, Miss Hart. I need a wife. You need money. I'm prepared to offer you three million dollars for six months of your time."
The coffee shop sounds faded. Three million dollars. The number was so absurd it didn't feel real.
"This is insane." I should have stood up, walked away. Instead I stared at the contract, at the neat typed lines that promised impossible things. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious when it comes to business." His eyes were cold, assessing. "Six months as my wife. Public appearances, cohabitation, complete discretion. At the end, a clean divorce and you walk away with enough money to solve every problem you have."
"Why me?"
"You're intelligent. Beautiful. Unknown in my social circles. And desperate enough to say yes." He said it without cruelty, just fact. "I need a wife to secure a business deal. You need financial security. This is a transaction, nothing more."
My mind spun. Three million dollars. I could pay off every debt, start over, give Ezra the life he deserved. We'd never have to hide again, never have to worry about eviction notices or creditors.
But living with this man, pretending to be his wife…
"What's the catch?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"No emotional attachment. No scandal. You follow the terms exactly as written." He leaned back, studying me. "Read the contract. You have twenty four hours to decide."
Then he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked away like he hadn't just offered to buy six months of my life.
I sat there long after he left, staring at the contract, at the number with all those zeros.
Three million dollars.
And all I had to do was lie.
- Writer
