The Billionaire's Bargain

CHAPTER 3

Chloe had moved to the bartender's stool. The alcohol buzzed through her veins, dulling her senses but doing little to mute the ache in her heart. Her brown curls stuck to her damp forehead, and her brown eyes, usually lively with curiosity, now brimmed with unshed tears. The dim lighting of the bar cast long shadows over her tired features, highlighting the weariness etched into her expression.

A few minutes ago, she was convinced that she'd finally forgotten her problems, even if it was very temporary.

Her last $100 had vanished into the endless stream of cheap shots, but they hadn’t dulled the weight of her burdens. She still had no job. Her mother still needed $12,000 for her surgery. And tuition fees? She didn’t even want to think about that.

The bartender looked at her sympathetically, but Chloe waved off his silent offer of another drink. She knew better than to overstay her welcome without the money to cover it.

Stumbling off her stool, she steadied herself on wobbling legs and made her way toward the door. Her plan, if it could even be called that, was simple: walk back to Ria’s apartment. It didn’t matter that the streets were unsafe or that her vision blurred with every step. She had no money for a cab, and the world wasn’t about to cut her a break tonight.

The cool night air hit her like a slap as she stepped outside, making her shiver in her thin white shirt. The black sneakers she had chosen as an act of rebellion against her circumstances now pinched her feet cruelly. Her head throbbed with each shaky step, but she pressed on, muttering encouragement to herself under her breath.

She barely noticed the sleek black sports car parked near the curb or the two men walking toward the bar’s entrance as she stumbled along, colliding into them at once.

“Watch where you’re going!”

The voice was sharp, clipped, and angry, cutting through the haze of Chloe’s thoughts. She looked up just in time to see who she had bumped into—a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a sharp, clean-shaven jawline. He was dressed in a dark tailored suit that screamed money and power. Beside him, a blond man with a roguish grin was trying to steady her.

Chloe blinked, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. Then, she felt the sharp sting of her mistake. She’d stepped on the man’s polished leather shoe, and judging by his expression, he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Do you have eyes?” the man snapped, glaring down at her as if she were something he could scrape off the bottom of his shoe.

“Or do you just stumble through life without a care in the world?”

His words struck a nerve. The exhaustion, the frustration, and the despair of the past few weeks bubbled to the surface, and Chloe, drunk and broken, couldn’t hold back.

“Go f**k yourself!” she shot back, her voice trembling with fury.

“I have more on my mind than your stupid shoes, you arrogant bastard!”

The blond man chuckled, though he quickly stifled it when the blue-eyed man shot him a warning glare.

Chloe wasn’t done. She pointed a shaky finger at the man, swaying slightly as she ranted.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like? To be stuck in a city where no one will give you a job that pays enough to survive? To have bills piling up and no way to pay them? To be twenty years old and already feel like your life is over?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of something in them—pity, maybe, or curiosity. “You’re drunk,” he said, his voice softer now but still firm.

“No s**t, Sherlock,” Chloe spat.

“But I’m not just drunk—I’m desperate. My mom needs surgery, my tuition fees are overdue, and I’m stuck bunking with my best friend because ‘Chloe's a nice girl even if she can’t afford her own place’. So excuse me if I’m not in the mood to care about your overpriced shoes or your entitled attitude!”

The blond man, still holding her upright, glanced at his friend.

“She’s got spirit. I like her.”

“Not helping, Oscar,” the blue-eyed man muttered, his tone clipped.

Chloe tried to push herself away from Oscar, but her legs gave out, and she stumbled again. The blue-eyed man caught her this time, his strong hands gripping her arms to steady her.

“Let me go,” she mumbled, though her body betrayed her, leaning into him for support.

He sighed, his expression unreadable.

“What if I told you I could fix all of that?”

Chloe blinked up at him, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean exactly what I said,” he replied, his voice steady and sure.

“I can pay for your mother’s surgery, cover your tuition fees, and make sure you never have to worry about money again.”

Chloe laughed bitterly.

“Right. And in exchange, what? My soul?”

He didn’t smile. “Your hand in marriage.”

The words hung in the air, absurd and impossible. Chloe stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was joking, but his expression remained serious.

“You’re insane,” she said finally.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“But I’m also a billionaire. And I need a wife—fast.”

Chloe scoffed, pulling away from him despite her unsteady footing.

“Even if you were a billionaire, I wouldn’t marry you. You’re arrogant, rude, and—”

“—a stranger,” he finished for her. “Yes, I know. But think about it, Chloe. You need money, and I need a wife. This arrangement could solve both our problems.”

She froze, her breath hitching. “How do you know my name?”

“I overheard you,” he said simply.

“Back when you were ranting about your life. You don’t exactly keep your voice down.”

Chloe felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, but she quickly shoved it aside.

“Even so, this is ridiculous. You can’t just ask a random girl to marry you.”

She felt her thoughts beginning to get disjointed even as she spoke.

“Why not?” he challenged.

“You have nothing to lose, and I have everything to gain. Think about it—two years of pretending to be my wife, and then you walk away with enough money to start over. No strings attached.”

She shook her head, laughing humorlessly. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he said again, his voice dropping to a softer, more persuasive tone.

“But you’re desperate. And desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Chloe stared at him, her mouth open. The alcohol blurred her thoughts, making it hard to focus, but his words stuck. Could she really do this? Could she marry a stranger just to escape her misery?

Before she could answer, her knees buckled, and she slumped against him. As her vision blurred and her eyelids grew heavy, she managed to whisper,

“Yes, Mr. Stranger. I’ll marry you and have you pay my bills.”