The CEO'S Unwanted Bride

Amara knew she was in trouble the moment she saw the envelope. It sat on the small wooden table beside her bed, white and perfectly clean against the chaos of her room. She stared at it for several seconds before slowly dropping her bag onto the floor. There was no name on it. No address. Nothing that explained who had left it there or why. Amara walked closer. Her heart began to beat faster. She lived alone in a tiny apartment she could barely afford, and nobody came to visit without calling first. Her landlord certainly would not leave an envelope on her table. She reached for it. Then stopped. A strange feeling settled in her stomach. She looked around the room. The old standing fan in the corner rattled as it turned from side to side. A pile of clothes sat on the chair she had promised herself she would clean yesterday. Her nearly empty kitchen cabinet was visible from where she stood. Everything looked normal. Except for the envelope. Amara finally picked it up. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper. She read the first line. Then read it again. FINAL NOTICE. Her stomach dropped. She continued reading. The letter was from the hospital. Her mother's treatment bill had been reviewed, and the outstanding balance had to be settled within seven days. Seven days. Amara sank onto the edge of her bed. "No." The word escaped her lips like a whisper. She looked at the amount again. It was more money than she had seen in her bank account at one time. Her eyes burned. For the past three months, she had done everything she could. She had borrowed from friends. She had taken extra shifts. She had sold the few pieces of jewelry she owned. She had stopped buying almost everything that was not absolutely necessary. And still, the debt kept growing. Her mother was the only family she had left. She could not lose her. Amara pressed the paper against her chest and closed her eyes. "God, please." Her voice cracked. "I don't know what else to do." A tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. She hated crying. Crying did not pay hospital bills. Crying did not put food on the table. Crying did not save people. She stood up and walked toward the small mirror hanging beside her wardrobe. Her reflection looked exhausted. Her hair was messy from work. Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, and there were dark circles beneath them. She barely recognized herself. Six months ago, she had been different. She had plans. She had dreams. She had believed that if she worked hard enough, eventually everything would fall into place. Then her mother got sick. Everything changed. Her dreams became bills. Her savings became hospital payments. And every morning became another fight to survive. Her phone suddenly rang. Amara looked at the screen. It was the hospital. Her heart stopped. She answered immediately. "Hello?" "Miss Amara?" "Yes." "This is the accounts department." She swallowed. "Yes, ma'am." "I am calling to remind you about the outstanding balance on your mother's account." "I know." There was a brief silence. "We understand your situation, but the hospital cannot continue treatment without payment." Amara gripped the phone tightly. "Please. I just need more time." "We have already extended the deadline twice." "I know, but I am trying." "I understand." The woman's voice softened slightly. "But you need to make a substantial payment within the next seven days." Amara closed her eyes. "How much?" The amount was repeated. She nearly stopped breathing. "I will pay it." She did not know how. She had no idea where the money would come from. But she said it anyway. "I will pay it." After the call ended, Amara remained seated on the bed, staring at nothing. Her phone was still in her hand. She opened her contacts. One name after another. She considered calling her old university friend. No. She had already borrowed from her twice. Her former boss? Impossible. Her cousin? Her cousin was struggling too. She opened her banking app. The balance mocked her. She laughed bitterly. "Seven days." Her voice sounded empty. Seven days to find a miracle. She had never believed in miracles. But she was beginning to think she needed one. --- The next morning, Amara arrived at the hospital before sunrise. The corridors were unusually quiet. She walked toward her mother's room, holding a small paper bag containing breakfast. Her mother was awake. The moment she saw Amara, she smiled. "You are here early." Amara forced a smile. "I wanted to see you before work." Her mother looked at her carefully. "You look tired." "I'm fine." "You always say that." Amara placed the breakfast on the table. "How are you feeling today?" "Better." "Really?" "Yes." Her mother reached for her hand. "You should stop worrying about me." Amara's smile disappeared. "Don't say that." "Amara." "Please." Her mother sighed. "You have done enough." "No, I haven't." "You have." "No." Amara sat beside the bed. "I will take care of you." Her mother looked at her daughter for a long moment. Then she squeezed her hand. "You have always been too strong for your own good." Amara looked away. She could not tell her about the letter. She could not tell her that they might stop her treatment. She could not tell her that she had no money. Her mother had enough to worry about. So Amara smiled. And lied. "Everything is fine." --- By noon, Amara was back at work. She spent the entire day trying to think of ways to raise the money. Nothing worked. By the time her shift ended, she had already rejected three different calls from an unknown number. On the fourth call, she answered. "Hello?" "Is this Miss Amara?" "Yes." "This is Mr. Collins from Blackwood Enterprises." She frowned. "I think you have the wrong number." "I don't." She stopped walking. "How did you get my number?" "I was asked to contact you." "By who?" There was a pause. "Mr. Damien Blackwood." The name meant nothing to her. "Who?" "Damien Blackwood." Amara frowned. She had heard the surname before. Everyone had. Blackwood Enterprises was one of the largest companies in the city. But why would someone from that company be calling her? "Why does Mr. Blackwood want to speak to me?" "I cannot discuss that over the phone." "Then what exactly do you want?" "Mr. Blackwood would like to meet you." Amara almost laughed. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that's possible." "I understand." "Good." "But the meeting concerns an offer that could solve your financial problem." She stopped laughing. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "What offer?" "I cannot discuss it." "Then why call me?" "Because Mr. Blackwood specifically requested that you be invited." Amara looked down the street. Cars moved past her as people hurried home. "What does he know about me?" "More than enough." That answer made her uncomfortable. "Where does he want to meet?" "The Blackwood residence." She almost refused. Everything about the situation felt strange. A wealthy businessman she had never met suddenly wanted to meet her. And somehow, he knew she needed money. But then she remembered the hospital. Seven days. "Fine." She heard the man exhale. "I will send the address to your phone." "Okay." The call ended. Amara stared at her screen. A message arrived almost immediately. She opened it. The address was for one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city. She had never been there. She locked her phone. "This better not be a scam." But deep down, she knew she was going. Because she was desperate. And desperation had a way of making even the most unreasonable doors look worth opening. --- The next evening, Amara stood outside the Blackwood residence. She stared at the enormous gates. This was not a house. It was a mansion. Security guards stood near the entrance while a long driveway disappeared behind rows of perfectly trimmed trees. Amara suddenly felt painfully aware of her simple dress. She looked down at herself. It was clean. That was all that mattered. She took a deep breath. Then walked toward the entrance. A guard checked her name before allowing her through. Inside, everything looked expensive. The marble floor. The enormous chandelier. The paintings on the walls. Even the silence seemed expensive. A woman in a black dress approached her. "Miss Amara?" "Yes." "Mr. Blackwood is waiting for you." Amara followed her through the hallway. Every step made her more nervous. Finally, they stopped in front of a large wooden door. The woman opened it. "He's inside." Amara stepped into the room. And stopped. A man stood beside the enormous windows overlooking the city. He was tall. Broad shouldered. Dressed in a perfectly fitted black suit. He turned slowly. Their eyes met. Amara immediately understood why people spoke about Damien Blackwood as if he were more than just a businessman. There was something intimidating about him. His expression was calm. Almost unreadable. He studied her for several seconds. Then he said, "Sit." Amara remained standing. "You wanted to see me." "I did." "Why?" Damien gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Sit down, Miss Amara." She reluctantly sat. He took the seat across from her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Damien placed a folder on the table. "I understand you need money." Amara's expression changed. "How do you know that?" "I know about your mother's medical treatment." Her heart sank. "Who told you?" "That isn't important." "It is to me." Damien looked at her calmly. "I can help you." Amara stared at him. "Why?" "I need something from you." She frowned. "What?" He opened the folder. Then pushed a document across the table. Amara looked down. Her eyes moved over the first page. Then stopped. She looked up at him. "Is this a joke?" "No." She looked at the document again. Her heartbeat became louder. There was one sentence she could not stop staring at. Marriage agreement. Damien leaned back in his chair. "I need a wife." Amara stared at him in disbelief. "And you want me to marry you?" "Yes." "For how long?" Damien's gaze remained fixed on hers. "Six months." The room suddenly felt too quiet. Amara slowly pushed the document away. "You have lost your mind." Damien did not react. Instead, he calmly said, "I will pay every medical bill your mother owes." Amara froze. He continued. "And I will give you enough money to start a new life when the marriage ends." She stared at him. For the first time since entering the room, she had nothing to say. Damien folded his hands. "Think about it carefully." Amara looked at the contract again. Six months. Marriage. Money. Her mother's life on one side. Her freedom on the other. And somewhere between the two stood a man she barely knew. A man who was offering her everything she desperately needed. But Amara had no idea what Damien Blackwood would demand in return.