The Price of Fame

CHAPTER 2

Patrick leaned forward, his gaze intense. "I want you to marry me.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating her. Hanna stared at him, her mind struggling to process what she had just heard.

"Marry you?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Patrick didn’t flinch. "Yes. A marriage of convenience, if you will. I’ve reached a point in my life where I need to settle down, for both personal and professional reasons. And I want someone by my side who understands the industry, someone who can be an asset to me as much as I can be to them."

Hanna felt like the ground was slipping out from under her. This couldn’t be real. Marry Patrick Owen? She had come here hoping for a record deal, not a proposal.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice shaking. "You could have anyone you wanted. Why choose someone like me?"

Patrick’s expression softened, but only slightly. "Because you’re different. You’re hungry, you’re driven, and you’re talented. I see potential in you, not just as an artist, but as a partner. Together, we could be unstoppable."

Hanna’s mind raced. This was insane.

She didn’t even know this man, and he was asking her to marry him? But then, her thoughts shifted to her mother’s failing health, to Liam struggling to keep up with his studies while also worrying about their next meal. This could solve everything. It could lift her family out of poverty and give her the career she had always dreamed of.

But at what cost?

"I need time to think," she said finally, her voice trembling.

Patrick nodded, as if he had expected her to say that. "Take all the time you need. But remember, opportunities like this don’t come around often. If you want to be a star, if you want to save your family, this is your chance."

Hanna stood on shaky legs, barely able to keep herself upright. "I’ll get back to you," she said, her voice distant.

Patrick’s eyes followed her as she left the suite, his expression unreadable.

"I hope you make the right decision,

Hanna," he called after her.

"Your future depends on it."

The cold evening air hit Hanna like a slap to the face as she stepped out of the hotel.

Hanna sat at the kitchen table, the dim light from the single bulb overhead casting long shadows across the room. It was late, but sleep had eluded her for days. The offer Patrick had made continued to loop in her mind, a strange mix of hope and dread. She had avoided telling anyone, especially her mother, who was already weak and frail. Liam, her brother, was too young to understand the gravity of the situation. This decision was hers alone to make.

She picked up the phone, staring at Patrick’s number saved in her contacts. Her finger hovered over the call button for what felt like an eternity before she finally pressed it. The phone rang twice before he answered, his deep voice calm and controlled, as if he had been expecting her call.

“Hanna,” Patrick said smoothly. “I take it you’ve made a decision?”

Her throat was dry, and she struggled to find her voice. “I... I have. I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a quiet chuckle. “I knew you would see reasons. This is the best decision for both of us.”

Hanna closed her eyes, trying to block out the uncertainty gnawing at her insides. “When do we start?”

“We’ll meet tomorrow morning at my office to finalize the details,” Patrick replied, all business. “I’ll have my lawyer prepare the contract. Once everything is signed, we can proceed with the arrangements. This needs to be done quickly and discreetly.”

“Okay,” Hanna whispered, feeling a lump form in her throat. “I’ll be there.”

---

The next morning, Hanna dressed in a simple, modest outfit—black slacks and a white blouse. She wanted to look professional, but not flashy. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized the person looking back at her. The vibrant, passionate musician who once dreamed of conquering the world was gone, replaced by someone who was making a deal with the devil to survive.

When she arrived at Patrick’s office, she was greeted by his assistant, who led her into a sleek, modern conference room. Patrick was already there, seated at the head of the long table, a stack of papers in front of him. Beside him sat a middle-aged man with a serious expression and a briefcase—Patrick’s lawyer, she assumed.

“Hanna,” Patrick greeted her with a nod. “Have a seat.”

She sat down opposite him, feeling the tension in the room. The lawyer offered her a polite smile, but his eyes were cold, calculating.

“This is Mr. Walters,” Patrick said, gesturing to the man beside him. “He’s my attorney and will be handling the legal aspects of our arrangement.”

Mr. Walters nodded curtly, pushing the stack of papers toward her. “Miss Brooks, this is a prenuptial agreement. It outlines the terms of your marriage to Mr. Owen. I’ve taken the liberty of drafting it based on the discussion we had earlier.”

Hanna’s hands trembled slightly as she picked up the top sheet of paper, her eyes scanning the dense legal jargon. It was all there, in black and white—her duties as Patrick’s wife, the financial support he would provide for her family, and the terms of their inevitable divorce. It was as cold and clinical as she had feared.

“Take your time to review it,” Mr. Walters said, his tone neutral. “If you have any questions or concerns, we can address them now.”

Hanna looked up at Patrick, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. “You want me to sign this?” she asked quietly.

Patrick’s gaze didn’t waver. “This is a business transaction, Hanna. We both stand to gain from it. You’ll have the career you’ve always wanted, and your family will be taken care of. In return, you’ll be my wife for a specified period, after which we’ll part ways. No strings attached.”

“No strings attached,” Hanna repeated, the words feeling hollow. She glanced back down at the contract, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it—signing away her freedom, her future, for the sake of her dreams and her family’s survival.

Her eyes caught on a clause near the bottom of the page, and she frowned. “What’s this about a non-disclosure agreement?”

Mr. Walters cleared his throat. “Given Mr. Owen’s status, it’s imperative that the details of your arrangement remain confidential. The NDA ensures that you won’t discuss the nature of your marriage with anyone, including the press or third parties, without Mr. Owen’s explicit permission.”

Hanna’s stomach turned. It was one thing to marry Patrick out of necessity, but to keep it a secret from the world? She had expected some level of privacy, but this felt like she was being silenced.

Patrick must have sensed her hesitation. “It’s for your protection as much as mine, Hanna. The media can be brutal, and we don’t want unnecessary speculation that could damage your career before it even begins. This agreement is the safest way to handle it.”

Hanna bit her lip, weighing her options. If she didn’t sign, she would lose everything—the chance to escape poverty, to provide for her family, to finally make it in the music industry. But if she did sign, she would be trapped in a marriage that wasn’t real, forced to live a lie.

Her mind drifted to her mother, whose health was rapidly declining, and to Liam, who deserved a better life than what they had now. This was the only way she could ensure their future.

With a heavy heart, Hanna picked up the pen and signed her name at the bottom of the page. She felt a strange sense of detachment as she handed the papers back to Mr. Walters, as if she were watching someone else go through the motions.

Patrick smiled, satisfied. “Welcome to the family, Hanna.”

Mr. Walters gathered the documents, slipping them into his briefcase. “I’ll file these immediately. The wedding arrangements will be made immediately. We’ll keep it small, private—just a simple ceremony to make it official.”

“A simple ceremony,” Hanna echoed, nodding numbly.

Patrick stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. “I’ll have my assistant contact you with the details. In the meantime, I suggest you prepare yourself for the next phase of your career. We’ll start recording your album as soon as possible.”

Hanna stood as well, feeling a wave of dizziness. The room felt too small, too suffocating. “I’ll be ready,” she managed to say.

Patrick walked her to the door, his demeanor calm and controlled. But as he opened it, he paused, turning to face her. “Hanna, remember why you’re doing this. It’s for your family, for your dreams. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Hanna nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a sof

t click. It felt final, like a door shutting on one chapter of her life and opening onto another.