The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

Emily's POV The hospital lights were blinding, but not nearly as harsh as the reality I was facing. I sat motionless in the stiff plastic chair, clutching a stack of medical bills that might as well have been my death sentence. Two hundred thousand dollars. That was the price to keep my little brother alive. It might as well have been two million. "Miss Chen?" A gentle voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I looked up. Nurse Patricia was standing there, her usual soft expression tinged with something heavier this time. “David is stable,” she said. “But Dr. Morrison needs to speak with you. It’s about the surgery scheduled for tomorrow.” I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. We walked silently down the hallway, the scent of antiseptic clinging to every breath. Just last week, I was stressing over my literature thesis. Now? I was trying to save my brother’s life with empty pockets and a part-time bookstore job. Inside the doctor’s office, Dr. Morrison’s expression told me everything before he even opened his mouth. “I’ll be honest, Emily,” he said. “Without a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit by tomorrow morning, we’ll have to transfer David to the county hospital.” “But he won’t survive there,” I whispered. He didn’t deny it. “I’ve applied for grants, begged for loans, called every charity I could think of,” I said, voice trembling. “Nobody’s helping.” “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll try to delay things by twenty-four hours. But that’s all I can do.” I walked back to the waiting area like a ghost. My knees buckled as I sank into the chair. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I had nothing left to give. “Miss Chen?” A deep, smooth voice startled me. I looked up into the sharp gray eyes of a man in a tailored black suit. Everything about him screamed power—wealth, control, danger. “Who are you?” I asked, wiping my face quickly. He offered me a business card. Harrison Webb. Senior Partner, Webb, Morrison & Associates. “I represent a client who may be able to help you,” he said. I blinked. “What do you mean?” “I’d prefer to explain in private.” Common sense told me to say no. But desperation overruled everything. “Five minutes,” I said. He led me to a quiet consultation room. The door clicked shut behind us. “I’ll be direct, Miss Chen,” Mr. Webb said, his gaze intense. “My client is offering to cover all your family’s medical expenses, effective immediately.” My heart pounded. “Why?” “He requires a wife. A temporary, contractual marriage. One year. You’ll receive monthly compensation, live separately in his estate, and fulfill appearances when required. After a year, a clean divorce. Discreet. No strings.” I stared at him. “You’re joking.” “I assure you, I’m not.” “And who is your client?” He smiled slightly. “Aiden Blackwood.” The air left my lungs. Aiden Blackwood. Tech billionaire. CEO of Blackwood Industries. America’s most powerful—and most elusive—bachelor. “I’m not a model. Or a celebrity,” I said. “Why me?” “Because you’re no one,” he said bluntly. “No scandals. No baggage. No connections. The perfect ghost wife.” “This is insane…” “It’s real. And it’s the only offer on the table,” he said. “Your brother’s surgery is tomorrow morning.” He handed me a leather portfolio. I flipped it open. Numbers danced before my eyes. Enough money to save David. Enough to give Mom the care she needed. Enough to end this nightmare. I didn’t remember picking up the pen. But I remembered the way my hand trembled as I signed. “The wedding is this Friday,” Mr. Webb said. “You’ll receive instructions in the morning.” And just like that, he was gone. I stared down at the contract. My name in black ink. My soul in invisible chains. I had just agreed to marry Aiden Blackwood. Not for love. For survival. And there was no turning back.