TRAPPED IN A MARRIAGE WITH THE BILLIONAIRE

Was there any point in living an honest life? I stared at the hospital bill in my hands, the paper trembling or maybe that was just me. All my life, I had tried to do things right. Kept my head down. I worked hard. Stayed clean. I had watched people lie, cheat, and cut corners, and I had told myself it would be different for me. That doing things the right way would eventually mean something. But standing in that hospital corridor at twenty-five, broke and alone, I was starting to think I had been wrong about that. My last job had been a nightmare long hours, a boss who made my skin crawl, and a paycheck that barely covered Ivy's medications. I held on for as long as I could. And then I couldn't anymore. Now I had nothing. No income. No safety net. No one to call. Where was I supposed to get this kind of money? Ivy was all I had. She had been all I had since the day she was born, when I was twenty and terrified and more alone than I had ever been in my life. My grandmother had held my hand through it, through the pregnancy, through the sleepless nights, through every hard season that followed. She had raised me after my parents died, loved me like I was her own, and when I lost her three years ago, something in me had quietly shattered. But I didn't stop. I couldn't because Ivy needed me to keep going. She was five years old, and she had leukemia. Those words still hit me the same way they did the first time the doctor said them, like something cold and heavy dropping straight into my chest. My baby. My five-year-old, who liked to sing off-key and refused to eat her vegetables, still reached for my hand whenever she was scared. She had leukemia, and every single day was a fight I couldn't afford to lose Every kobo I had ever earned had gone into her treatment, chemotherapy sessions, hospital stays, medications that cost more than my rent, tests that led to more tests. I had worked double shifts, skipped meals, and worn the same two pairs of shoes for two years. We had been through so much together, Ivy and I. And now, after everything, the doctors were telling me she needed a bone marrow transplant. A sob escaped before I could stop it. "Miss Ann?" The doctor's voice cut through the noise in my head. "Ivy's transplant can't wait any longer. We need to move forward now.” "Panic climbed up my throat. I nodded, or I think I did and then I was walking, then running, out of the hospital without a clear thought in my head. I didn't see the woman until I walked straight into her. She was well-dressed and composed, a leather file bag at her side. I stumbled back and opened my mouth immediately. "I'm so sorry—" "There you are," she said quietly. I blinked. "I'm sorry?" "Miss Ann Nickolas." She said my name like she'd been looking for me. I stood still. "How do you know my name?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't apologize for it. I glanced around instinctively, a habit I couldn't explain then back at her. There was no mistake. She was looking directly at me. She smiled, unhurried. "Relax. Let's talk." Every instinct I had told me to walk away. But curiosity, and something heavier than curiosity kept my feet planted. I followed her. We crossed the street to a small café opposite the hospital. The smell of coffee hit me at the door, and somewhere behind us, someone laughed softly. None of it really registered. My mind was still back in that corridor, staring at the bill. I sat across from her and didn't waste time. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?" She exhaled lightly, as if the question had been expected. "Relax, Ann. I'm not here to cause you any trouble." I studied her in silence. She was beautiful quietly so, the kind that didn't need to announce itself. Her perfume was subtle but expensive. Everything about her said money and restraint. She didn't look threatening. But I didn't lower my guard. "I'm still waiting," I said. Something shifted in her expression, as she'd just remembered something she'd meant to say earlier. "How is Ivy doing?" My hands were still on my bag. She knew my daughter's name. "Who are you?" My voice was low this time, controlled. "What do you want with my child and me?" Even as I asked, my mind was already working, pulling threads together. Could she be connected to Ivy's father? The thought rose, and I pushed it back down just as fast. He didn't even know Ivy existed. What happened between us had been a mistake, one night, years ago, that I had spent a long time trying to forget. It didn't make sense. None of this made sense. "I'm here to help you," she said. I looked at her. "Help me with what?" "With the surgery fee." She held my gaze steadily. "All of it. And the rest of your debts too, if it comes to that." The words landed, and for a moment, I just sat there. Who is this woman? "Why?" I finally asked. It was the only word I could manage, because underneath it was everything else, why me, why now, what does this cost, what are you not saying? I didn't care who sent her or why. All I could hear was the doctor's voice, and all I could see was Ivy's face. "Because I was asked to," she said. "Asked by who?" She didn't answer. Instead, she reached into the file bag and placed a brown envelope on the table, sliding it toward me without a word. I looked at it. Then at her. She nodded toward the envelope. "Take a look, Miss Ann," she said calmly. I hesitated, my eyes fixed on it as my mind raced. That alone made me more uneasy, not less. For a few seconds, I didn't touch it. "Why me?" I asked. My voice came out quieter than I expected. She shifted in her seat. "Why you?” She said it back like she hadn’t heard me properly. She nodded towards the envelope without saying a word. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. Then I slid my finger under the seal. It was too light for cash. That alone made something tighten in my chest With a bit of forced boldness, I opened it. The moment I looked inside, my breath caught. Inside was not money. It was a photograph. And beneath it, a document.