MY FAKE HUSBAND IS MY BOSS

Chapter One

The Bill

The hospital called at 2:17 AM.

"Mrs. Reyes? Your mother has coded. We brought her back. But..." The nurse’s voice went quiet. "Your balance is $47,320. We need a payment plan by morning or we transfer her to county."

The word county hit Ella like ice water.

County hospital. Where nurses were too busy to check vitals. Where people died in hallways because there weren’t enough beds.

Ella’s phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. She didn’t pick it up.

Her mom.

In ICU.

And she had $312.47 in her savings.

$312 wasn’t even the ambulance fee.

She sat on the edge of her tiny apartment bed, still in her work clothes from yesterday. She hadn’t slept. She’d been at the hospital until visiting hours ended. The math kept running through her head.

Salary: $2,800 a month.

Rent: $1,600.

Student loans: $400.

Groceries: $300.

That left $500.

At this rate it would take her 8 years to pay the bill. Her mom didn’t have 8 years.

By 6 AM she was showered, wearing her only blazer, with her resume and last 3 pay stubs in a folder. She didn’t have an appointment. She didn’t care.

Desperation made you brave. Or stupid. Sometimes both.

Hale Enterprises. 42nd floor. Glass doors. Receptionists who looked like models.

"I need to see Mr. Hale," Ella said, voice shaking.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No. But it’s about money. A lot of money. I work in Accounting, floor 12. Ella Reyes."

The receptionist sighed and picked up the phone. "Mr. Hale, there’s an Ella from Accounting here. She says it’s urgent."

A pause.

"He’ll see you for 5 minutes."

Five minutes. She could beg in five minutes.

Victor Hale’s office smelled like money. Leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk bigger than her kitchen.

He didn’t look up when she came in. Dark hair, tailored suit, eyes on his laptop.

He was 30 and already worth $2 billion. Everyone in the company knew it. Everyone was also terrified of him.

"Mr. Hale," Ella started. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "I need an advance. $50,000. I’ll sign anything. I’ll work 20 years to pay it back. My mom is in ICU and—"

"No."

The word was flat. Final.

Ella froze. "Sir, please. Just listen—"

"I said no, Miss Reyes." He finally looked up. Gray eyes. Cold. Assessing her like she was a spreadsheet. "We don’t do personal loans. HR can give you information about medical leave."

That was it. That was all he was going to give her.

Something inside Ella snapped. Three weeks of no sleep. Three weeks of watching her mom get weaker. Three weeks of pretending she was fine at work.

The tears came. Not pretty tears. Ugly, gasping, snot-running-down-her-face crying. The kind you cry when you’re alone in the shower and no one can hear you.

"I can’t—" she choked. "I can’t let her go to county. She’ll die there. She’s all I have."

The office went silent except for her crying.

Victor stared at her. 10 seconds. 20 seconds.

Then he closed his laptop with a soft click.

"How fast can you get married?"

Ella hiccupped. "What?"

"Married. Wife. Legal document." He stood up and walked to the window. "I need a wife by Friday. My grandfather will sign over the company to me on my 30th birthday. But only if I’m married."

Ella wiped her face with her sleeve. "I don’t understand."

"It’s simple." He turned back to her. "You need money. I need a wife. Contract marriage. Six months. $1 million when we divorce."

The air left her lungs.

"A million dollars," she whispered.

"For playing Mrs. Hale at events. Living in my penthouse. Pretending we love each other." He walked to his desk and pulled out a folder. "Lawyers already drafted it. Standard NDA. Standard terms."

He slid the contract across the desk.

Ella stared at it. 12 pages. Legal jargon. Her eyes caught on three bullet points that were highlighted in yellow.

Rule 1: No real romantic involvement. This is business only.

Rule 2: Separate bedrooms. Separate lives.

Rule 3: Contract can be terminated by either party with 30 days notice.

"Why me?" she asked. "You could hire an actress."

"I don’t have time to vet actresses. You work for me. You’re desperate. You won’t cause problems." He shrugged. "And you’re not ugly."

It wasn’t a compliment. It was a business assessment.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Unknown number.

She answered with shaking hands.

"Ms. Reyes? This is County General. We have a bed ready for your mother. Transfer is at noon if payment isn’t received."

Noon. Three hours.

Ella looked at Victor. At the contract. At the pen next to it.

Her mom. Or her pride.

She picked up the pen. Her hand was shaking so bad the signature looked like a child’s.

"Ella Reyes."

Victor took the paper. "Lawyers will file it today. Wedding is Friday. 20 minutes at city hall. My assistant will send you the details."

"What about my mom?"

He was already back on his laptop. "Payment will be sent to the hospital within the hour. $50,000. Consider it your first installment."

Ella stood up on shaky legs. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me." His eyes never left the screen. "Be at my penthouse at 7 PM tonight. We have a dinner. You need to learn how to act like my wife."

She walked out of his office in a daze.

Her phone buzzed again.

Hospital: "Payment received in full. Thank you, Mrs. Hale."

Mrs. Hale.

God help her.

Outside, the city was loud and bright. But all Ella could hear was Victor’s voice:

"No real romantic involvement. This is business only."

She had just sold six months of her life.

And the worst part?

For the first time in three weeks, she could breathe