His Bride On Paper

CHAPTERTWO

Three days. That’s how long I waited.

Three days of pacing my apartment, ignoring calls from my sister, and watching the same episode of a cooking show on repeat without registering a single ingredient. I told myself I was weighing the pros and cons of being mature and responsible.

But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was, I was stalling, waiting for some sign to fall out of the sky and rescue me from this decision.

A knock at the door. A forgotten inheritance. A mysterious job offer. Anything that would give me a valid excuse to say no. No to this hellish job description.

But nothing came. No miracle. No alternative. Just silence.

On the third morning, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, phone in hand, my thumb hovering over the number his assistant gave me. My reflection stared back at me, pale, sleepless, scared. I whispered the number to myself once before calling. A clipped, professional voice answered: “Mr. Stone’s office.”

My mouth was dry, but I spoke anyway.

“This is Ava Martin,” I said. “Tell him... I accept.”

There was no hesitation. No small talk. No hint of surprise.

“Please arrive at the address in your email by 10:00 a.m. sharp,” the assistant replied. “Bring a valid ID.”

Click. That was it. No turning back.

I stared at the phone long after the call ended, a quiet hum filling the room like it was holding its

Breathe with me.

The office building towered above everything on the street, its glass panels gleaming like they had never known dust. I’d passed it before, always craning my neck to look up, wondering what kind of people worked inside. The kind never had to count coins at checkout or return items for store credit.

Now, I was walking in.

I wore my best jeans, the ones without the simple back pockets, and a borrowed blazer from my neighbor, Lisa. She didn’t ask why I needed it. She just said, “Here, try this one. It’s sharp, makes you look like you mean business.” I didn’t, but I smiled anyway.

I walked in slowly, trying to appear like I belonged. My hands stayed clenched inside my tote bag, fingers wrapped around my ID like it was my last anchor to reality.

The receptionist glanced up from her sleek white desk and nodded, her voice smooth and rehearsed. “Right this way, Mrs. Stone.”

I froze mid-step.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my heart thudding in my chest.

She smiled politely. “It’s part of the protocol.”

Right. Protocol.

Each word I encountered in this world felt like it had a hidden meaning, like “Mrs. Stone” didn’t just refer to a title, but to a role, I hadn’t rehearsed for.

I followed her down a long, silent corridor. The walls were glass, and the office looked as perfect as ever. Inside, people typed, talked, and moved like clockwork. Some glanced up as I passed, their eyes scanning me with vague curiosity. I could feel the weight of their stares, polished, confident, Dior-wearing people who probably never cried in the shower over a past-due notice.

It must be nice to have such a perfect life, I thought.

Then we reached it. The boardroom.

The receptionist gave a light knock and opened the door.

Adrian Stone was already inside.

He stood with his back to the window, sunlight casting a sharp outline around his frame. Black tailored suit. Crisp white shirt. Watch that probably costs more than my rent for a year. His face, as always, was unreadable. Stoic. A man in a navy blue suit sat beside him, flipping through a thick stack of papers. His glasses perched at the edge of his nose.

Adrian gestured to the chair across the table without a word.

“This is the agreement,” he said. Everything we discussed. You can take your time.”

The lawyer pushed the folder toward me. The weight of it alone made me hesitate.

I sat, my knees brushing the underside of the glass table, and took a deep breath before

opening it.

-Non-disclosure clause.

-No physical intimacy.

-Public appearances required.

-Zero legal claim to his assets.

-One million dollars, paid in quarterly installments over one year.

Each line was clean and cold.

It was the kind of document that didn’t leave room for second-guessing. The kind meant for clear minds and dry eyes.

But mine were anything but.

The lawyer, maybe sensing my hesitation, asked softly, “Would you like a moment alone?”

I glanced at Adrian. His jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing. His silence said more than words could. This wasn’t a man trying to make me feel special. He wasn’t pretending.

This was business.

A transaction.

Nothing more.

And strangely, the honesty of it grounded me.

“I have one question,” I said, still looking at him.

“Do you do this often?”

His answer came immediately. “No. Just this once.”

There was no charm in his voice. No softening of the eyes. Just that same stone wall tone he always used. Like the idea of affection was as foreign to him as debt collectors were to me. I looked back down at the paper. The ink was crisp. The terms are very clear. It didn’t promise

happiness. But it offered stability. Time. Space.

A second chance at rebuilding without being buried underweight I couldn’t carry alone.

I picked up the pen. My hand hovered for a second too long. Then… Signed.

And just like that, Ava Martin became Ava Martin-Stone.

A billionaire’s wife. On paper. No ring. No vows.

Just an arrangement. Sealed in silence.

Adrian stood, his hand outstretched. Not to shake mine. Just to guide me out.

“We’ll take the next steps,” the lawyer said. “You’ll receive a schedule, appearance details, and your first disbursement.”

I nodded numbly.

As I followed Adrian out of the boardroom, the world suddenly felt heavier and lighter at the

same time. Like I had closed one door and opened another, but I didn’t know what was waiting behind it.

Just as we reached the elevator, Adrian finally spoke.

“You did well.”

I looked up at him. “Is that your version of congratulations?”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Maybe amusement. Maybe indifference.

But it vanished before I could name it.

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” he said.

Then the elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside, leaving me standing there, signing, sealed, and unsure of what I had just truly agreed to.