One-Year Contract with the Cold Billionaire

The hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and old newspapers, mixed with the faint, metallic scent of worry that seemed to cling to every wall. I sat on the edge of a hard plastic chair, my elbows resting on my knees, staring at the floor tiles that had seen so many people come and go with hopes and fears written all over their faces. In my hands, I held a folded piece of paper — the latest medical bill. When I had first seen the number, my heart had dropped into my stomach. Now, after staring at it for what felt like hours, the number still looked impossible. I had sold everything I owned. I had called every relative and every friend I could think of. I had taken extra shifts until my legs ached and my eyes burned from exhaustion. But it was nowhere near enough. My little brother Dimas needed surgery, and without it, his future was nothing more than a question mark. I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights flickering on one by one. The sky was turning a deep, bruised purple, and somewhere far away, a siren wailed. I felt small. Powerless. Like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, watching the only person I had left in the world slowly slipping away. Dimas was asleep in the room down the hall. He was only eighteen, and he had already been through more than most people went through in a lifetime. Whenever I visited him, he would force a smile and tell me not to worry, that he was fine, that he would be out and running around in no time. It broke my heart every single time. I would sit there holding his hand, nodding and smiling back, while inside I was screaming because I didn’t know how to save him. That night, I walked home slowly, my feet heavy, my mind even heavier. Our small apartment felt quieter than usual — too quiet without Dimas’s laughter or the sound of him typing away on his laptop. I made myself a cup of tea, but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. I sat at the kitchen table, the lamp casting soft shadows across the room, and let the tears finally fall. I didn’t know where else to turn. I didn’t have anyone else to ask. I felt completely alone. Then my phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from someone I had met only once before — an acquaintance from college who knew I was struggling. I almost didn’t open it. But something told me to read it. “I know this is out of the blue, and you don’t have to answer. But I heard about your brother. There might be someone who can help. His name is Arkan Vance. He’s looking for someone to marry him — just for one year. In exchange, he’ll take care of all your expenses. I know it sounds strange. But I also know how much you need this. Think about it.” I read it three times. Marry a stranger for money? It felt wrong. It felt like I was selling myself. But then I thought of Dimas — his pale face, the way his breathing sometimes grew shallow and labored in the middle of the night, the doctors saying time was running out. What was my pride compared to his life? The next morning, I stood in front of the tallest building in the city — glass and steel reaching high into the sky, gleaming coldly in the sunlight. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I took a deep breath, straightened my clothes, and walked inside. The reception area was silent and elegant. I gave my name, and minutes later, I was being escorted toward the elevator that would take me to the top floor. When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the entire city. And there he was. Arkan Vance. He was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing documents. He looked exactly like the rumors said — tall, sharp-featured, dressed in a tailored suit that seemed to emphasize just how out of my league he was. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even stand up. He simply looked at me, his dark eyes calm and unreadable, as if he were already calculating every risk. “Sit down,” he said. His voice was deep, steady, and completely without warmth. I sat on the edge of the leather chair opposite him, my hands folded tightly in my lap. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” He opened a drawer and slid a thick document across the desk toward me. “Let’s not pretend this is a social visit. You need help. I need a solution to a problem. This contract outlines exactly what is expected. You will marry me. You will live in my home. You will appear at public events as my wife. In return, all medical expenses for your brother will be covered immediately, and you will receive a substantial sum when the year is over.” He paused, leaning forward slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “But there are rules. You will not interfere in my business. You will not ask personal questions. You will not tell anyone the true nature of our arrangement. And above all else — do not fall in love. If you break that condition, everything ends. Immediately. Do we understand each other?” My throat felt dry. I looked down at the contract, then back at him. It was a transaction. Nothing more. But it was the only lifeline I had. “Yes,” I said quietly. “We understand each other.” I picked up the pen. My hand trembled slightly as I brought it to the paper. I signed my name. Arkan watched me do it, his expression softening for just a fraction — so quickly I might have imagined it. “Good,” he said, taking the document back. “You will move in tomorrow at noon. And Lina?” I paused at the door. “Remember what we agreed on. Keep your heart where it belongs — outside of this arrangement.” I nodded and walked out. But as the elevator carried me back down to the street, I already knew one thing for certain — keeping my heart safe might be the hardest thing I would ever have to do.