MARRY FIRST, LOVE NEVER

**Sophia's POV** The fluorescent lights in the hospital waiting room buzzed like angry wasps. I'd been staring at the same crack in the linoleum floor for two hours, tracing its jagged path with my eyes while my mother's oncologist reviewed her latest scans. My phone vibrated. Emma's name flashed across the screen. "Soph, I need you to come to the police station. Now." My stomach dropped. "What happened?" "They're saying I stole money. Eight million dollars. From Knight Industries." Her voice cracked. "I didn't do it. I swear I didn't…" The line went dead. I ran. Past the nurses' station, down four flights of stairs because the elevator was too slow, out into the cold October air that burned my lungs. The subway ride to the precinct took seventeen minutes. Each one felt like an hour. Emma sat in an interrogation room, her small frame swallowed by a metal chair. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. A detective with dead eyes pushed papers across the table. "Your digital signature is on every transfer," he said. "Your employee ID accessed the accounts. Your personal laptop shows the transaction history." "Someone is framing me!" Emma's hands shook. "I'm just a junior analyst. I don't even have access to those accounts." The detective leaned back. "Twenty years minimum. That's what you're looking at." I pressed my palm against the glass window. Twenty years. Emma would be forty-two when she got out. Mom might not live another twenty months with her cancer spreading. "I need a lawyer," Emma whispered. "You need a miracle," the detective said. I got one three hours later, though it came wrapped in expensive perfume and cold calculation. Grace Knight appeared in the precinct lobby like a queen entering a dungeon. Silver hair pulled back in a perfect bun. Pearls that probably cost more than my annual salary. Two lawyers flanked her like guard dogs. "Miss Chen?" Her voice was smooth as silk. "Walk with me." I followed her to a black Mercedes. The leather seats smelled new. The driver didn't look at us as he pulled into traffic. "Your sister didn't steal that money," Grace said. "My son's business partner did. Marcus Knight. He needed Emma as a scapegoat." Hope flickered in my chest. "Can you prove it?" "Eventually. But your sister will spend months in jail before that happens. Unless..." She opened her purse and pulled out a folder. "Unless you do something for me first." The folder contained photos of a man in a hospital bed. Tubes snaked from his arms. Machines beeped beside him. Even unconscious, he looked dangerous. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. Hands that probably signed documents worth billions. "Alexander Knight. My youngest son. He was in a plane crash six months ago." Grace's voice didn't waver. "He's in a coma. The board wants to declare him unfit and split his company. Unless he's married." My mouth went dry. "You want me to marry a man in a coma?" "Yes." "Why me?" "Because you're desperate enough to agree. Because you have no connection to our world. Because when Alexander dies, and the doctors say he has weeks at most, you'll disappear quietly with your payment." She pulled out another document. "Five million dollars for your mother's treatment. All charges against Emma dropped. A condo in any city you choose." I stared at the contract. The words blurred together. Marry. One year minimum. Inheritance secured. Widow's settlement. "What if he wakes up?" I whispered. Grace's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "He won't. His brain activity is almost zero. I've accepted that. But I won't let his cousin steal everything my father built." She clicked her pen. "Sign, Miss Chen. Save your sister. Save your mother. All you have to do is wear a ring for a few months." I thought of Emma's tear-stained face. Mom's last scan showed three new tumors. The eviction notice on our apartment door. The credit card bills I couldn't pay. My hand moved on its own. The pen scratched across paper. Grace smiled. "The wedding is tomorrow. 2 PM. Wear something appropriate for a hospital chapel." The ceremony lasted eight minutes. I stood beside Alexander's hospital bed in a borrowed cream dress. A judge mumbled words I didn't hear. Grace handed me a simple platinum band. "Put it on his finger," she instructed. His hand was cold. Not dead cold, but not alive either. Somewhere in between. The ring slid on easily, like it was meant to be there. "Now yours." The matching band felt heavy on my finger. Wrong. I was married to a stranger. A dying stranger who didn't know I existed. "Kiss him," Grace said. "Make it legal." I leaned down. His lips were dry, slightly parted. I pressed my mouth to his for one second, then pulled back. The heart monitor beeped its steady rhythm. Nothing changed. The machines kept breathing for him. "Congratulations, Mrs. Knight," the judge said. Mrs. Knight. The name tasted like ashes. Grace's phone rang. She stepped into the hallway. I could hear her sharp voice through the door. "Marcus, the marriage is done. Alexander's position is secure. Tell the board to back down." I sat in the chair beside the bed. My husband's husband. God, that sounded insane. "I'm sorry," I whispered to him. "I'm sorry you're being used like this. I'm sorry I'm part of it." His chest rose and fell with mechanical precision. The ventilator hissed. I should have left then. Should have walked away and counted down the weeks until this nightmare ended. But something made me stay. Maybe guilt. Maybe loneliness. Maybe the way his hand felt slightly warmer when I held it. Grace returned with a nurse carrying a tray. "One more thing. For the inheritance to be ironclad, the marriage must be consummated." My blood turned to ice. "He's in a coma." "Which is why we'll use medical assistance. A simple procedure. You'll be sedated. You won't remember anything." She nodded to the nurse. "It's necessary, Mrs. Knight." "No." I stood up. "No, I won't…" "Your sister's hearing is scheduled for Monday. Such a shame if new evidence appears. Evidence showing she planned this theft for months." Grace's eyes were arctic. "Think carefully about your next words." The walls closed in. I couldn't breathe. I didn't remember signing the consent form. I didn't remember the needle sliding into my arm. I didn't remember anything until I woke up hours later in a recovery room, my body aching and my soul screaming that I'd crossed a line I could never uncross. Grace stood by the window. "It's done. You can go home now. I'll call you if anything changes." I stumbled to the bathroom and vomited until nothing was left. Two weeks later, Grace's call came at 3 AM. "Get to the hospital. Now." "What's wrong?" Her voice shook. For the first time, she sounded human. Terrified, even. "Alexander is awake." The phone slipped from my hand. He wasn't supposed to wake up. The doctors said weeks at most. Brain activity is almost zero. But my husband, the stranger whose ring I wore, whose child might be growing inside me from that horrible procedure, was conscious. And he was going to want answers I didn't know how to give.