Chapter 1: The Contract
"Don't ever fall for me."
That was the first thing Ethan Knight said to me on our wedding night.
Not hello. Not you look beautiful. Just a cold warning, delivered in that deep, emotionless voice that made every woman in New York swoon.
I clutched the cheap white dress my sister had bought from a thrift store and stared at the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window of the Knight Estate. He was everything the tabloids said - hot, powerful, untouchable in his black tailored suit. The billionaire CEO of Knight Group, the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan.
And my contract husband.
"Mr. Knight, I understand," I whispered. "I'm just here for the terms of our agreement. Six months, no feelings involved."
He finally turned to look at me. His eyes were steel-gray, scanning me from head to toe like I was a business deal he was already regretting.
"Emma Wilson, 22, nursing student. Broke, orphaned, GPA 3.9," he said flatly. "My grandmother chose you because you look innocent enough to fool the board. My father is dying and his last wish is to see me married. You will play the role of my loving wife for six months. In return, you get $50,000 and your sister's medical bills paid."
Fifty thousand dollars. Enough to save my little sister Lily, who was lying in a hospital bed with kidney failure.
I swallowed my pride. "And the rules?"
"Rule one, as I said, don't fall for me. Rule two, no touching me in private. Rule three, in public, you will act like you adore me. Rule four," he stepped closer, and I could smell his expensive cologne, "don't get pregnant. I hate complications."
My cheeks burned. "I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Knight."
"Good." He handed me a thick stack of papers. "Sign it."
My hands shook as I signed Emma Wilson on every page. The last page had a clause that made my stomach drop - if I broke the contract, I owed him $500,000.
I was officially Mrs. Ethan Knight.
What I didn't know was that I was already two weeks pregnant.
And the father was the cold man standing in front of me from a one-night mistake a month ago - a night he didn't remember, but I could never forget.
He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "One more thing, Mrs. Knight. That perfume you're wearing... it smells familiar."
My heart stopped. Could he remember that night at the hotel bar? The night I had been drugged and he had saved me?
No. He couldn't. That would ruin everything.
"I don't wear perfume, Mr. Knight," I lied.
He stared at me for a long second, then smirked. "We'll see."
That night, I slept alone in a cold, giant mansion bedroom, clutching the pregnancy test in my pocket, wondering how I would hide twins from a billionaire who said he hated complications.
