chapter2
1058 Words
The rain was relentless.
It tapped against the windowpane like a restless drumbeat, chasing Ava Morgan’s thoughts as she sat in the backseat of a sleek black car. The leather interior was too perfect, the temperature too balanced—like everything else Liam Carter touched. Flawless. Controlled. Unfamiliar.
Her fingers clenched around the contract in her lap. Cream paper. Gold seal. Ten pages of meticulous legal language that turned her life into a transaction.
One year.
A marriage in name only.
Zero expectations.
A million unspoken risks.
Liam sat beside her, silent. Focused. His phone buzzed twice, but he ignored it. He hadn’t spoken much since picking her up outside her apartment in Brooklyn, but even his silence felt weighted—intentional.
Ava cleared her throat. “You always do this? Pick up strangers and ask them to marry you?”
His eyes flicked to her, one brow arched. “You weren’t exactly a stranger.”
“Right. You overheard me begging the hospital not to throw my dad into the street.”
“It wasn’t begging,” he said. “It was negotiating. Poorly, but passionately.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?”
“I’m not charming. I’m efficient.”
“Well, here’s a tip. Efficient doesn’t keep people warm at night.”
His mouth twitched slightly—whether it was amusement or disdain, she couldn’t tell.
The car slowed and turned onto a private driveway. Tall iron gates parted ahead of them like theater curtains, revealing a building that didn’t look like a home so much as a minimalist palace. Glass and steel, all sharp lines and subtle grandeur. The kind of place that came with silence and security codes and probably a wine cellar bigger than her entire apartment.
She exhaled slowly. “So this is where the one percent lives.”
Liam glanced over. “You’ll be living here, too.”
“Temporarily,” she reminded him. “And under duress.”
“No one forced you.”
“No, just the crushing weight of debt and a dying parent.”
The car pulled to a stop, and a driver opened the door. Ava stepped out, tugging her coat tighter around her as the wind caught her hair. Her boots left small wet prints on the stone driveway.
Inside, the house was even more intimidating—sleek furniture, curated art, spotless floors. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and leather-bound books.
Liam led her into the living room, where a fireplace crackled against the far wall. A stack of papers lay neatly on the coffee table beside two glasses of whiskey—untouched.
He gestured toward the couch. “Sit. Read. Ask questions if you have any.”
Ava dropped onto the couch and unfolded the contract again, even though she’d read it three times already. She had stayed up all night with it—googling legal terms, circling clauses, rereading conditions.
One year.
No romantic expectations.
Joint appearances as required.
Mutual privacy respected.
Full medical and educational expenses paid.
Immediate dissolution upon breach of contract.
“This part,” she said, pointing at a paragraph near the end, “about exclusivity—are you saying I can’t date anyone?”
Liam poured himself a drink. “Correct. Public image matters.”
“And you?”
He smirked slightly. “I don’t date.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I acquire.”
Ava blinked. “Jesus.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Try being human.”
Liam didn’t respond. Instead, he sat across from her and studied her face with a quiet intensity that made her skin prickle.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said.
She tilted her head. “What were you expecting?”
“Someone quieter. More... compliant.”
Ava snorted. “Then you picked the wrong desperate girl.”
“No,” he said softly. “I picked exactly the right one.”
The admission hung in the air between them, startlingly bare.
She looked away, suddenly feeling the weight of this decision in her bones. “And what happens after a year?”
“You get your freedom. I get my company.”
“And in the meantime, we pretend to care about each other.”
“In the meantime,” he said, “we survive each other.”
Ava stared at the contract one last time, heart pounding.
She thought of her father lying in that hospital bed, of the eviction notice waiting under her door, of the unpaid tuition that meant she might never be a lawyer.
And then she picked up the pen.
Her hand trembled only slightly as she signed her name.
Ava Morgan.
Liam took the paper next, his signature crisp and practiced.
Liam Jonathan Carter.
He slid the final page into a folder and closed it with a quiet click.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Now what?” she asked, voice thinner than she wanted it to be.
“Now,” he said, rising, “we plan a wedding.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a press conference next week. We’ll announce our engagement, leak the date, get the paparazzi distracted with planning while we establish a timeline.”
“You want to lie to the entire world?”
Liam turned to her, his expression unreadable. “That’s the contract.”
She stood, folding her arms. “Fine. But if I’m faking a wedding, I’m choosing my own dress.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Deal.”
He offered her a glass of whiskey.
She took it, clinking her glass gently against his.
“To survival,” she muttered.
“To strategy,” he replied.
Their glasses met with a soft chime—two strangers, bound by ink and desperation, stepping into a lie that might just undo them both.
Ava sipped the drink, wincing at the burn. She watched him over the rim of her glass, wondering just how deep she’d fallen into this game.
She didn’t trust him. She wasn’t sure she even liked him.
But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she might have a chance.
Not at happiness.
But at breathing.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
- Writer
