THE BILLIONAIRE MARRIED A MAID, NOT KNOWING WHO SHE IS

Chapter 2: Rhys POV

Most people believe money solves problems. They're wrong. Simply, it changes the kind of problems you have.

The bigger your bank account becomes, the more expensive your mistakes get. The more people want something from you. The harder it becomes to know who is genuine and who is simply playing a role. I learned that lesson years ago.

I was engaged to a woman I believed I would spend the rest of my life with when I was twenty-three. Instead, she sold confidential information about my company to one of my competitors. A million-dollar deal was almost ruined by the deception. More importantly, it destroyed my ability to trust people.

Since then, I have trusted contracts more than promises.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows in my office, staring down at the city below. Traffic moved through the streets like streams of light while business towers pierced the evening sky.

Normally, the view helped me think, but tonight, it wasn't helping.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Carter entered carrying a folder. One look at his face told me something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"The board meeting starts in twenty minutes." I raised an eyebrow.

"That's not what's bothering you."

Carter sighed and placed the folder on my desk. "The Moretti Acquisition."

I sat down and opened the file. Billions of dollars at stake. Everything was finally in place except for one ridiculous condition. I turned to the page and immediately felt my patience evaporate.

The acquisition agreement clearly stated that the future owner had to be legally married. Not engaged or dating, legally married for at least one year.

I still couldn't believe it. The founder of Moretti Global was nearly eighty years old and stubborn enough to ignore every alternative we proposed. According to him, married executives were more stable, more responsible, and better suited to lead a long-term business empire.

Personally, I thought it was outdated nonsense. Unfortunately, he held all the cards.

"The deadline?" I asked.

"Thirty days."

I leaned back in my chair. Thirty days. If I failed, the deal would collapse. If the deal collapsed, competitors would move in immediately. That wasn't an option.

"What about other solutions?" I asked.

"We've exhausted them."

I rubbed my jaw thoughtfully. There was only one solution left. The solution I had spent weeks rejecting. A temporary marriage. The idea sounded absurd every time I thought about it.

Marry someone, remain married for a year, finalize the acquisition, and get divorced. Simple.

Completely ridiculous, yet the more I looked at the situation, the more practical it became. Carter seemed to sense where my thoughts were heading.

"You already have someone in mind, don't you?" I asked. A faint smile appeared on his face. That was all the answer I needed.

He opened another folder and slid a photograph across my desk. The moment I looked at it, I recognized her.

Nera. The hotel maid, the woman I'd met yesterday. I picked up the photo.

There wasn't anything flashy about her appearance. No designer clothes. No carefully curated social media image. No obvious attempts to attract attention.

Yet for some reason, she had stayed in my mind. That was unusual. I met hundreds of people every month and forgot most of them within hours, but I remembered her.

"What makes you think she'd agree?" I asked.

Carter opened the file. "Her grandmother." I looked up.

"What about her?"

"She's seriously ill."

He handed me several documents. Hospital records, financial information, and employment history. I scanned the pages. The picture quickly became clear.

Nera's grandmother required a major surgery. The cost was enormous. Far beyond what a hotel maid could realistically afford. I closed the file and stared at the photograph again.

"What else?" I asked.

"Clean background."

"No criminal record. No public scandals. No known relationships. No political connections." In other words, no complications.

From a business perspective, she was the ideal candidate. The arrangement would attract minimal attention. That alone made the idea dangerously appealing. Still, something bothered me.

I couldn't quite identify what.

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-four."

I nodded slowly. Then looked back at the photograph. There was something in her eyes. Something stubborn. Something guarded.

She didn't look like someone waiting to be rescued. She looked like someone used to surviving on her own.

"Arrange a meeting," I said.

Carter nodded.

"The board will want an answer today."

"They'll get one."

After he left, I remained seated for several minutes. My gaze stayed on the photograph. Nera Vale. A stranger, a maid, and possibly the solution to the biggest business problem of my year.

The thought was still absurd.

Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that this situation was about to become far more complicated than either of us expected.

Three hours later, I was sitting inside one of Arden Holdings' private conference rooms.

I glanced at my watch. Ten o'clock. Right on time, the door opened. Nera walked in. She looked tired. But she carried herself with quiet dignity.

No nervous smile.

No attempts to impress me.

No obvious excitement about being invited into a billionaire's office.

I almost respected that.

"Miss Vale."

"Mr. Arden."

The silence that followed was brief but uncomfortable. Finally, she crossed her arms.

"Why am I here?"

"Please, have a seat."

"I'd rather know why I'm here first."

Interesting. Most people followed the instructions immediately. Nera challenged them. I decided not to waste time.

"Your grandmother needs surgery." Her expression changed instantly. Pain flashed across her face before she managed to hide it.

"You investigated me."

"Yes."

"You had no right."

She wasn't wrong. Still, I didn't apologize.

Instead, I said, "I have a proposal."

Suspicion immediately appeared in her eyes.

"What kind of proposal?"

"A marriage." For several seconds, she simply stared at me. Then she blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"I need a wife."

Her mouth opened slightly. Then closed again. Finally, she stood.

"No."

The answer came so quickly it caught me off guard.

"No?"

"No."

She grabbed her bag.

"Goodbye."

For the first time in a long while, I found myself genuinely surprised. Most people would have stayed, asked questions, negotiated, pretended to be interested. Nera was already heading toward the door.

"Nera."

She stopped but didn't turn around. I slid a document across the table. Slowly, she looked down. The amount written there was enough to pay every medical bill connected to her grandmother's treatment.

I watched her reaction carefully. She was shocked. There was a difference; eventually, she looked back at me.

"What exactly are you offering?" Now we were having the real conversation.

"A one-year contract marriage." She remained silent, listening.

"A private agreement. Your grandmother receives the best medical treatment available. You receive financial security."

"And after one year?"

"We divorce."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"It sounds too simple."

"It isn't."

I handed her the contract.

"There are rules."

She skimmed the pages.

"Public appearances together."

I nodded.

"Expected."

"No romantic relationships with other people during the contract."

She nodded again.

"Also expected."

"You'll live in my residence."

That one made her pause. I noticed immediately she didn't like the idea. Not at all.

"What happens if I refuse?"

I answered honestly. "You walk away."

She studied me carefully as if searching for hidden motives. Maybe she was right to. Finally, her voice softened.

"My grandmother will survive?"

For the first time since the meeting began, she looked vulnerable, not weak, just scared, scared of losing someone she loved.

"Yes," I said.

And I meant it.

She looked down at the contract again, then into her bag. For a brief second, an old photograph became visible.

My attention immediately locked onto it. A silver crest. Something about it felt familiar. Very familiar. Before I could study it further, she slid the photograph back into her bag.

Too quickly. Too carefully. As if it mattered. A strange feeling settled in my chest.

I couldn't explain it.

But suddenly, the contract marriage wasn't the most interesting thing in the room.

The photograph was.

Because I was almost certain I had seen that crest somewhere before. And if I was right, Nera Vale might not be who she believed she was.