The Playboy’s Fake Bride

The hospital bill in my hand was shaking. $100,000. Due in 7 days. Or they pull the plug on Mom. I’d applied to 47 jobs. Got 47 rejections. My rent was 2 months late. My phone was about to be cut off. And now this. The Sterling Tower interview was my last hope. Assistant to CEO. I walked in with thrifted heels and a borrowed blazer, praying. That’s when I saw him. Jay Sterling. 25 years old. $4.3 billion. Playboy of New York. And the coldest eyes I’d ever seen. He didn’t look at my CV. He looked at me. “Miss Carter,” he said, leaning back in a $20,000 chair. “I’m not hiring an assistant.” My heart dropped. “I’m hiring a wife.” The room went silent. “For 6 months,” he continued. “$100,000. My company needs a married CEO to close a deal. You’ll live in my penthouse, attend events, and play the part. Nothing real.” He slid a contract across the desk. I looked at Mom’s hospital bill. Then at the contract. “I’ll do it,” I whispered. His lips curved into a smirk. “Good girl.” He didn’t know rule #1 was about to be broken.