365 days with Ethan Cole

Ariana pov And with that final chart signed, another day of work was done and completed. I really loved my job. The patients, the rush, the tiny victories—it gave me a sense of purpose. But I also loved the moments when I could clock out, take off my scrubs, and just breathe. Those sweet, golden after-work hours? Bliss. Smiling to myself, I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder as I headed out of the clinic. “Hey, Ariana. You heading home?” Jared called out from behind the front desk. Jared was one of my coworkers—sweet, a little too charming for his own good with his long blond hair and green eyes that could make a girl swoon, and very much not someone I was mentally equipped to deal with right now. “Yes, I am,” I said, flashing a polite smile. “Would you maybe want to meet for coffee some—?” “Oh no, look at the time!” I cut in quickly, holding up my phone and faking surprise. “Gotta run,Bye!” Before he could reply, I darted out the door, my bag bouncing at my side as I let my wavy hair loose from its clip. “Ahhh,” I sighed out loud, stepping onto the sidewalk. There was something about Fridays that made me feel alive. Like anything could happen. Like maybe—just maybe—I’d get home and finally make that spicy ramen I’d been craving all week. But just as I turned the corner, a sleek black car rolled up and stopped directly in front of me. I blinked. Once. Twice. The window lowered slowly, revealing a man with dark, stormy eyes and a face that looked like it belonged on a Forbes cover. Ethan Cole. What was he doing here? My stomach flipped. My feet rooted to the ground. I thought we were done. I thought I’d never see him again after that… unfortunate incident in the hospital. But here he was. Out of the hospital. Out of nowhere. And staring right at me. “Ariana Carter ,” he said calmly. “Get in.” “Uhm, I don’t need a lift, thank you,” I said, backing away and attempting to walk around to the other side of the car like I had any real plan. “I said,” his voice was low, warning, and way too attractive for someone who was clearly unhinged, “would you f*****g get in?” Before I could protest, he was already out of the car, slamming the door shut with a controlled fury and walking straight toward me. His hand grabbed the collar of my shirt—not roughly, but firm enough to make my heart stutter. “Hey! Wait—what are you—!” He yanked the passenger door open and basically shoved me into the leather seat like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is kidnapping!” I squeaked, pulling at the seatbelt he so kindly buckled for me like that was supposed to make any of this better. “Relax. I’m not taking you to a murder basement.” “That’s exactly what someone taking you to a murder basement would say!” He slid in beside me, shut his door with a soft click, and the driver took off before I could find the courage—or balance—to fling myself out. “I swear, if this is about me tripping on you that one time—” He cut me off by pulling a slim leather folder out from the center console and dropping it in my lap. “What’s this?” I asked, looking down, already dreading the answer. “A marriage contract,” he said smoothly, like we were talking about the weather. “You’ll be staying with me for 365 days. No more. No less.” “Excuse me?” I said, my voice climbing several octaves. “I’m a nurse, not your mail-order bride!” “You tripped, Ariana,” he said, turning to face me with those annoyingly perfect cheekbones. “You tripped and fell on me. In a hospital room. While I was recovering from surgery. You knocked over a tray of instruments. On a client’s father. Who is now threatening to sue the hospital for emotional trauma.” I covered my face with both hands and groaned. “Oh my God. I feel like a goat.” “Good,” he said. “Because goats are useful. You, right now? A liability.” “I’m sorry!” I peered at him between my fingers. “I said I was sorry, okay? Can’t you just forgive me like a normal, emotionally functional person?” “I could. But that wouldn’t benefit me,” he said, tapping the folder. I stared at it like it might bite. “What’s even in this contract?” “You marry me. You attend a few social events. We put on a happy front. After days, we go our separate ways. In exchange, I drop the lawsuit. The hospital keeps its funding. You keep your job. And I—” he paused, leaning slightly closer, “—keep my inheritance.” “What?” “My grandfather’s will. It states I need to be ‘happily married’ before the board meeting in three months. Otherwise, I lose controlling interest in Cole Industries. You’re a good actress when you’re panicking, and unfortunately for you, I like the optics.” “You’re insane,” I whispered. “You say that like I haven’t heard it before.” I looked down at the contract. Then at him. Then at the door I definitely wasn’t going to open mid-drive. “One year?” “365 days.” “No kissing?” “No expectations.” “No falling in love?” He smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I gritted my teeth. I had a job to keep. A student loan to pay off. A heart that—God forbid—had always been kind of stupid around men with sharp suits and sharper eyes. “Fine,” I said. I signed. Ethan leaned back in his seat like he had all the time in the world. “And you,” he said, tapping the tinted window as the car turned down a street I didn’t recognize, “are moving in with me. Today.” My mouth dropped open. “Wait. What?” “I don’t like repeating myself,” he said with that maddening smirk. “No. No, you can’t just decide that!” I threw my hands up. “I have an apartment. With plants. I have fish, Ethan!” “They’ll survive without you.” “I have a job!” “Already spoke with your supervisor,” he said, casually flipping open his phone. “He thinks you’re doing some kind of charitable rehabilitation program. Very noble of you, apparently.” I stared at him, absolutely offended. “You are unbelievable.” “And yet,” he gestured lazily between us, “here you are. Sitting next to me.” I stepped out of the car, my shoes hitting the polished pavement with a soft click. And then I looked up. The building towered above me—glass, steel, and quiet intimidation. It shimmered like money. Cold, distant, impossible money. This… this was going to be my home? For the next 365 days? My stomach turned. I adjusted the strap of my bag, suddenly aware of how ordinary I looked in the reflection of the sleek windows. One hundred days. One hundred days of whatever this was. And somehow, I’d agreed to it. Or… had I?