Contracted Bride

Chapter 8

The heart monitor filled way a steady reminder of the life tethered to the machines. Ella sat in the plastic chair beside her mother’s bed, her hands clasped around her mother’s fingers.

It had become her ritual—coming to the hospital after every significant event, no matter how exhausted or overwhelmed she felt. For five long years, she had poured every secret, every fear of hope into this room. Her mother had become her confessional, even if she never opened her eyes to respond.

But tonight felt heavier than usual, because she's now responded to Charles treatment. Now stable to hear me clearly.

Because yesterday, Ella wasn’t just visited as a daughter. She came as someone’s fiancée—someone’s pretend fiancée.

“Mom,” Ella whispered, her voice trembling as though afraid the walls themselves would judge her. “I did something crazy mother.”

Her thumb stroked over her mother’s hand, her skin thin beneath her touch. “I… I agreed to marry someone. Not because I love him. Not because I even like him. But because it’s the only way I could save you.”

I... I'm so sorry mum.

She bit her lip, glancing at the machines that had kept her mother alive far longer than the doctors had predicted.

“I... I felt like you would probably scold me if you knew, or maybe… just maybe you’d understand.”

The events of the past twenty-four hours replayed in her mind like a storm she couldn’t outrun—the first meeting with Charles Don, the shock of his marriage proposal, the rushed contract signing, and the surreal moment when the hospital confirmed her mother’s bills had been cleared.

It should have been a relief. It was, in a way. But the cost… the cost was something she still struggled to comprehend.

“You always told me never to sell myself short,” Ella murmured with tears brimming in her eyes. “You said love should never feel like a transaction. But what was I supposed to do, Mom? I couldn’t let them unplug you. I couldn’t watch you slip away just because I didn’t have enough money.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Her mother, still mute.

She buried her face into her mother’s blanket, letting the tears soak the fabric. For five years, she had fought to keep her mother alive, scraping together sleepless nights, dodging loans and the humiliations. Now, after finally finding her way out, she felt caged.

“Be my bride.”

Those three words still echoed in her mind.

Charles Don had said them with such indifference, as if proposing marriage to a stranger was no more significant than signing a business deal. And perhaps for him, it wasn’t.

The contract had been filled with clauses and fine print:

Three years of marriage!

Absolute discretion—no leaking the arrangement to the media or his family? "God, have mercy on me."

No emotional attachment—falling in love was strictly forbidden.

Ella would live in his mansion, attend events as his wife, and play the role convincingly in public.

"Hmm!" In return, he would pay all her debts, cover her mother’s medical bills, and provide financial security even after the divorce.

It all sound practical measures, a good deal; A miraculous one, even.

But love had never been practical, and the thought of giving up three years of her life—three years of pretending—made her chest ache.

Ella lifted her head lookingat her mother’s face. “His name is Charles Don, you’ve probably heard of him, even in here. Everyone knows him—the youngest president of the DON group. Ruthless, arrogant and impossibly rich.”

“He’s everything I should hate, and yet… he’s the only one who offered to help me.”

“Mom, I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m walking into. He made it clear this isn’t real, that I shouldn’t fall for him. And I won’t—I promise I won’t. But what if…” Ella trailed off, unable to voice the fear forming in her chest.

“Miss Vasilious? Visiting hours are almost over.” A nurse said sitting a tray in her hands down.

Ella nodded wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Just a few more minutes.” Ella begged.

The nurse smiled left for a minute or two.

Ella turned back to her mother, still mute. “I haven’t told Annabelle or Benita everything. They think it’s just a fake marriage, a harmless arrangement. But they don’t know the weight of it. They don’t know that I’m moving into his house tomorrow. That I’m about to step into a world I don’t belong in.”

“I don’t even know how to act around him. He’s so… cold. Every time he looks at me, it feels like he sees straight through me, like I’m just another pawn in whatever game he’s or we are playing.”

“But I’ll do it, Mom, for you. I’ll swallow my pride, my fear, everything—just so you can wake up one day and see the world again.”

The room was silent, but somewhere so deep inside, Ella wished her mother would squeeze her hand, open her eyes, say something—anything—to reassure her.

But there was only silence.

So Ella kept talking.

“Do you remember the night you taught me to make dumplings?” She whispered, her face cracking with nostalgia. “We laughed so much because I kept breaking the dough. You said love is like cooking—you can’t rush it, you can’t fake it, or it’ll fall apart.”

“I guess I’m about to break that rule, huh?”

“If you were awake, you’d probably tell me not to do this. But I don’t have your strength, Mom. I don’t know any other way.”

Ella wiped her tears again, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against her mother’s.

“I promise I won’t let you down, I promise I’ll make this work, even if it means pretending. Even if it means living in a world where love doesn’t exist.”

“And when you wake up… I hope you’ll forgive me.”