The Contract Marriage.

The contract was 12 pages long. I read it twice. Then I read it a third time, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Clause 4.2: No romantic involvement. No physical intimacy. No public affection. Clause 8.1: Term: 12 months. After 12 months, marriage is dissolved. No contact. Clause 9.3: Payment: 50,000,000 paid in full after signing. Fifty million. Enough for my brother’s chemotherapy. Enough to save him. Across the glass table sat Adrian Cole. 32. CEO of Cole Industries. Cold gray eyes. Jaw so sharp it could cut glass. And the most desperate man in this room. “My fiancée left me two weeks before the wedding,” he said. His voice had zero emotion. “My grandmother has stage 4 cancer. Her last wish is to see me married and settled.” He paused. Looked straight at me. “I need a wife. For one year. I will pay you fifty million.” The air in the office was too cold. Or maybe that was just me. “Why me?” My voice came out small. “Because you’re broke,” he said bluntly. “Because you’re quiet. Because you won’t fall in love with me.” He said it like he was listing groceries. “And because your brother is at St. Mary’s Hospital. Room 204. You need the money by Friday.” My blood went cold. He did a background check. Of course he did. I thought of Eli. 16 years old. Bald from chemo. Smiling at me yesterday and saying, “Sis, don’t worry about the bills. I’m getting better, I promise.” He wasn’t getting better. The doctors said Friday was the deadline for the next treatment. Or... My hands shook. “If I sign this,” I whispered, “what happens?” “You move into my mansion tonight. You attend family events as my wife. You play the part.” “And after one year?” “You walk away. With the money. And we never see each other again.” Simple. Sell one year of my life. Save my brother’s. I picked up the pen. It felt heavier than it should. “Eva Monroe,” I signed. My handwriting looked nothing like me. “Good,” Adrian stood up immediately. “Wedding is Saturday. Small. Private. We fly to the estate tonight.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t shake my hand. Just walked out. His assistant, Ms. Reed, handed me a folder. “Your schedule. Your new wardrobe. The rules again.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Congratulations, Mrs. Cole.” Mrs. Cole. The name felt like a costume. --- That night I moved into a house that didn’t feel like a home. White marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. No photos. No mess. No warmth. Just money. A maid showed me to “my room.” King size bed. Walk-in closet already full of dresses with tags still on. And a door that locked. At 2:13am, there was a knock. Soft. Hesitant. I opened it. Adrian. Hair messy. Black t-shirt. Bare feet. He looked nothing like the CEO from this afternoon. “You didn’t eat dinner,” he said. And held out a plate. Rice. And fried egg. My favorite. “How did you—” “My assistant did a background check,” he said again. Like that explained everything. “Eat.” We sat on the floor. Not at the dining table. On the floor, backs against the wall. For ten minutes, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... nice. Then his phone buzzed. “Grandma,” he answered. And his whole face changed. The cold was gone. “Hey, Grandma. Yes. Yes, I’m married now.” He looked at me. Held out the phone. My throat closed. “Hello?” I whispered. A frail, happy voice came through. “Oh sweetheart! What’s your name?” I glanced at Adrian. He was watching me. For the first time, he didn’t look cold. He looked... hopeful. “Eva,” I said. Tears stung my eyes. “I’m Eva. And... I love Adrian very much.” The lie tasted like ash. But when I hung up, Adrian whispered, “Thank you.” Just two words. But they hit me harder than the contract. In my room later, I stared at the ceiling. 1 year. 365 days. 50 million. And a man I was forbidden to love. But as I closed my eyes, all I could think about was how soft his voice got when he said “Grandma.” And how dangerous that felt. *TO BE CONTINUED...*