Married for his money

I did not even cry when my landlord threw my things out. There was this weird numbness in my chest, like someone stuffed cotton into my ribs. I just stood there on the curb, holding a trash bag that used to be my life, watching the front door click shut behind me. He did not look sorry. I could hear the TV inside as he locked it. Probably watching a football match or drinking the last of the beers I left in the fridge. “You’re two months late, Nina,” he’d said five minutes earlier. “Can not keep making exceptions just because you look sad.” Sad. Yeah, that’s what I looked like. What I felt or looked like? I did not know anymore. The worst part was not losing the apartment. It was realizing no one cared enough to ask why I’d failed this hard. My phone was on 11%, my account was in the negatives, and the only thing I had left was this one trash bag full of things I did not want anymore. I stood there, blinking into space, pretending like I had a plan but the reality was that I did not have any. I just did not want to fall apart in front of that locked door so I decided to go to any place my legs could carry me. --- I walked until I could not feel my feet. It took me three hours to figure out where to go. Four if you count sitting on the steps of the pawn shop two blocks down. I was too proud to call my sister. She’d just say I told you so, and I’d have to hear her chew food through the phone while explaining why marrying her rich husband’s cousin was the only smart thing I could have done. I hated the way people thought survival looked like strategy. Sometimes, you just run out of moves. That’s where I was when I got the call. Blocked number. I almost did not answer but I did “Miss Reed?” A man’s voice. Smooth, clipped like someone who drank expensive water and judged people for saying gonna. “Who’s asking?” “This is Alexander Quinn. I represent Mr. Jaxen Cross.” I blinked. “Who?” “I believe you know someone named Carter Miles.” My stomach twisted. Carter. Of course. “Let me guess. He’s trying to sell my phone number now that he has stolen my money already ?” A pause. “This is unrelated. Mr. Cross would like to meet with you. Tonight, if possible.” I laughed. Actually laughed. “Right. Because what every woman wants after getting evicted is a mysterious meeting with a billionaire.” “It’s a business matter. Legal. Completely voluntary. Your name was referred for a very specific opportunity.” “You know I’m not a hooker, right?” “I’m aware, Miss Reed. If you’re interested in hearing him out, a car will be there in thirty minutes.” I looked at the half-cracked screen of my phone. Three percent battery left. No plan. No rent. And someone was offering me a ride somewhere that might have answers. I don’t know what possessed me, but I said yes. --- The car that showed up looked like it belonged to someone who did not even know what bus stops were. Jet black. Silent engine. Leather that smelled too new. I sat in the back seat like I didn’t belong, hugging my hoodie closer to me. No one said anything on the drive. Just soft music and tinted windows. My hands were clammy the whole time. We pulled up to a building I had only ever seen from across the river. Tall. Cold. Corporate. I stepped out and immediately regretted everything. What the hell was I doing here? Inside, it was even worse. The lobby looked like it cost more than everything I’d ever owned. No one smiled. No one asked my name. A man in a dark suit walked straight up to me and said, “This way.” I followed. We passed glass walls, quiet offices, the sound of keys typing, the smell of nothing but money and control. Then he opened a heavy glass door and motioned me inside. One office. One man behind a desk. He did not look up right away. Just kept typing something. Then he stopped and then relaxed his back before looking at me, not in a creepy way but just like he was taking inventory. “You’re Nina Reed.” I shifted awkwardly. “Unless you were expecting someone else.” His expression didn’t change. “Sit.” I sat. No offer of water. No handshake. Just quiet. Then he said it. Like he was ordering from a menu. “I want you to marry me.” I blinked. “Sorry.... What?” “You heard me.” I stared at him and then laughed out loud. A weird, broken sound that did not sound like me. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not whatever this is.” “I know exactly who you are, Miss Reed. I’ve done the research.” “Well, maybe you should have researched how normal people ask favors.” He did not flinch. “I need a wife. For legal reasons. It would be a contractual agreement six months, you would be compensated heavily at the end.” I opened my mouth and then closed it. “You’re serious?” “Completely.” “I don’t even know your middle name or anything about you.” “You don’t need to.” “Okay,” I said, standing. “This was fun. Thanks for the movie plot. I’ll show myself out....” “I’ll pay you two hundred thousand.” I stopped on the track as I heard that then I turned to face him. “Come again?” “Two hundred thousand,” he repeated, as calm as if he was discussing coffee. “For six months?” “Yes.” “To pretend to be your wife?” “Not pretend. Be. Legally.” I stared at him. “What’s the catch?” “No catch. Just terms.” “Like?” “You will move in with me. Attend selected events. Sign a strict NDA and in six months, we’ll file for divorce. Quietly.” “And... you get what out of this?” He leaned back, eyes unreadable. “My father’s will include a clause, which is, no marriage, no major control. The board is pressuring me. I don’t have time for real relationships. I just need a solution.” “And I’m just... not convinced?” “You’re in debt. You’re desperate and you have no significant ties. That makes you ideal.” I did not have the strength to receive insults. But he was right. I was broke, tired, alone, and fresh out of options. My throat felt tight. “You’re asking me to give up my name. My identity. My life. All just for money.” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised what people give up for far less.” --- I didn’t say yes neither did I leave, I just sat there, staring at the pen on his desk. It was probably worth more than my college degree. “You’ll get the full amount, in parts. First payment the day you move in.” My mouth felt dry. “And if I say no?” “You walk out and go back to whatever life you were barely holding onto.” He didn’t say it cruelly. Just... plainly. And that made it worse. --- I took the contract home that night. Well. Not home. I did not have one. I read it in the 24-hour diner down the block, nursing a cup of coffee I could afford and later on, I went to the bathroom to wash my face and looking at my reflection while I was still thinking about the contract "It was not real, this cannot be happening to me, It's airtight. No touching. No intimacy. No emotional involvement. Just six months of pretending to be Mrs. Jaxen Cross. In return: financial rescue, medical insurance, temporary housing, and enough cash to start a new life." It sounded insane but being broke was crazier. --- By the time the sun rose, I still had not slept. My phone buzzed. Alexander Quinn: “Mr. Cross expects your decision by noon.” I stared at the screen. And then, with shaking fingers, I typed: “I’ll do it.”