Beneath the Ice
910 Words
Lily stood in front of the grand glass doors of Reed International Tower, her heart pounding like a warning drum. She had seen tall buildings in magazines, movies, and news channels, but this was different. This wasn’t fiction. This wasn’t distant. This was real—and she was walking straight into it.
Security barely looked at her once she showed the card that had come with the letter. She was escorted in silence, the soft hum of polished shoes echoing as the elevator climbed past floors of polished marble and quiet wealth. By the time the number 57 lit up in soft blue, she was gripping the strap of her purse like it was a lifeline.
The doors opened into a hallway that looked like it belonged in another world—one where people never worried about bills or sickness or whether they had enough gas to get to work. The receptionist, all sleek hair and bored elegance, didn’t even bother asking Lily’s name.
“He’s waiting,” she said, nodding toward the frosted glass doors behind her.
Lily inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and walked into the lion’s den.
Alexander Reed stood with his back to her, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows like a king overlooking his empire. His presence filled the room—silent, sharp, commanding. He didn’t turn when she entered. He didn’t speak right away.
She waited.
Finally, he said without turning, “You came.”
“I got your letter,” she said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. “I don’t know what this is about, but—”
“I do.”
He turned then.
And she understood why people whispered his name like a warning.
He was…perfect. Not in a warm, approachable way, but in a way that carved through the air like winter wind. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired. Cold eyes the color of stormy steel met hers with unflinching focus. Everything about him screamed control, calculation, danger. And yet…something else. Something she couldn’t quite name.
“I’ll be brief,” he said, stepping toward the desk. “I need a wife.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“A wife,” he repeated, voice as emotionless as the word itself. “For two years. No more, no less. In return, I’ll provide full medical coverage for your father and a financial settlement when the agreement ends.”
She stared at him.
Then she laughed.
But it came out brittle. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s a contract. One that will solve both our problems.”
Lily shook her head. “You don’t know anything about my problems.”
He opened a file on the desk.
“I know your mother passed six years ago. I know your father was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma ten months ago. I know you dropped out of college to care for him. I know you have three credit cards maxed out and no viable income.”
Her blood ran cold. “How—”
“I had you vetted,” he said, unapologetic. “Before I made the offer.”
“You mean before you decided to buy me like a pet?”
His gaze didn’t flinch. “No. Before I offered you a deal that could save your father’s life.”
The silence between them stretched until it hurt.
“Why me?” she finally whispered.
He studied her. “You have no ties. No complications. No scandals. You’re quiet. Smart. And you’re desperate.”
“Why do you need a wife?” she asked. “You’re rich. You could marry a supermodel in a second.”
His jaw tightened. “There are inheritance clauses. A legal requirement for stability before full transfer of control. My father put them in place before he died.”
“And this—” she gestured vaguely “—is your solution? A marriage with an expiration date?”
“Yes.”
“No love. No real relationship.”
“None.”
Lily crossed her arms. “And if I say no?”
“You won’t,” he said with quiet certainty. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
She wanted to slap him.
But she also wanted to cry.
Because deep down, he was right.
---
The contract was four pages long. Every word felt like a nail in her freedom, yet a stitch in her father’s future. She didn’t sign it that day. She took it home, reread it a hundred times, called the number he gave her for legal confirmation, and cried into her pillow while her father slept.
She didn’t sleep that night.
By morning, she knew what she had to do.
She returned to the tower with trembling hands and a voice she barely recognized as her own. Alexander waited behind the same desk, cold and unreadable.
She placed the signed contract in front of him.
“You have yourself a wife,” she said.
He didn’t smile.
He simply nodded. “The wedding will be next Friday. It will be private. Legal. Efficient.”
She swallowed. “Do I tell my father?”
“That’s up to you. But our marriage will appear real in public. You’ll move in this weekend.”
Lily stared at the man who would become her husband.
And wondered what kind of soul signs away her heart for money.
She was about to find out.
- Writer
