No Rules Only You

The Proposal That changed Everything

The rain had turned the city into a gray blur, hammering against windows, soaking streets, and washing the color out of everything. It hadn’t stopped for three days, and somehow, Sophia Bennett thought that was fitting. Her life felt like this endless storm—heavy, suffocating, and impossible to escape.

She sat hunched at her desk in the newsroom, staring at her laptop screen. The cursor blinked like a heartbeat against the empty page, taunting her. She was supposed to be writing an exposé on a crooked real estate developer, but the words wouldn’t come. Her brain wasn’t in it. How could it be, when her brother’s hospital bills were stacked in a drawer at home like silent death threats, when her mother called every evening with worry threading through her voice, when debt collectors sent letters that she pretended not to read?

At twenty-six, Sophia had thought she would be chasing truth, chasing stories that mattered, carving her name into headlines. Instead, she was chasing survival.

“Bennett!” Her editor’s raspy voice cut through the clacking keyboards and buzzing phones. “That piece on Harper Development better be on my desk tomorrow morning. Don’t tell me you’re stuck again.”

Sophia forced her lips into a thin smile and nodded. “It’ll be ready.”

The editor grunted and moved on, muttering about deadlines. Around her, the newsroom buzzed with chaos—the smell of stale coffee, the shuffle of papers, the clicking of pens—but Sophia felt detached, as though she were underwater, the sounds muffled, the lights dim.

When the office finally emptied and silence settled, she lingered, typing half-sentences, deleting them, trying again. It was almost midnight when she packed up her laptop. The rain was still falling in sheets when her phone buzzed.

She glanced down, expecting it to be her mother, or maybe the hospital. Instead, the name on the screen made her throat tighten.

Ethan Carter.

Her fingers hovered. She had met him only twice—both times in passing, when he had visited the newsroom after acquiring their parent company. Both times, she had kept her distance. Everyone did. Ethan Carter wasn’t just rich. He was the billionaire. The kind who bought companies the way other men bought suits, the kind who reduced rivals to rubble with a single phone call. He was ruthless, untouchable, and devastatingly composed. People didn’t say no to him.

So why was he calling her?

Her hand trembled as she answered. “Hello?”

“Miss Bennett,” came the voice—deep, rich, and velvety, like dark wine poured into crystal. It slid down her spine, dangerous and smooth. “We need to talk.”

Sophia blinked. “Mr. Carter? I—why are you calling me?”

“Because I have a proposition,” he said, calm and controlled, as though this were a business meeting instead of an absurd midnight call. “One that could solve all your… financial problems.”

Her stomach dropped. He knew. Of course he knew. Ethan Carter didn’t make a move without knowing every detail. He probably knew the exact figure of her brother’s medical bills, the date their mortgage payments had lapsed, the contents of her bank account.

“What kind of proposition?” she whispered.

There was a pause, long enough for her to hear the rain drumming harder against the windows. She could picture him, perfectly still behind his sleek glass desk in the Carter Global tower, his sharp suit impeccable, his stormy gray eyes unreadable.

“Marriage,” he said simply.

Sophia’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“Fake marriage,” he clarified, his tone clipped, businesslike. “You’ll play the role of my devoted wife for one year. In exchange, I’ll take care of your family’s debts. Your brother’s treatment, your mortgage, everything. One year. Then you’ll walk away richer, free, and with your family secure.”

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles went white. “Are you insane?”

“Am I?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous. “Think about it. Your brother gets the best care money can buy. Your mother sleeps at night without fearing eviction. And you—” his tone dipped lower, intimate and taunting “—you get me. At least on paper.”

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. This couldn’t be real. It sounded like a line from one of those melodramatic dramas her best friend liked to binge-watch. Except Ethan Carter wasn’t an actor, and this wasn’t fiction.

She forced a shaky laugh. “Why me?”

“Because you’re stubborn. Smart. Independent. The kind of woman who won’t confuse a contract with a love story. Which makes you perfect.” His chuckle was dry, humorless. “The last thing I need is a woman catching feelings.”

Sophia’s breath caught. He’d read her too easily, dissected her in a single sentence. She hated it, hated him for knowing exactly how to corner her.

“And what do you get out of this?” she asked.

Another pause, softer this time. “I don’t do love, Miss Bennett. But the board is pressuring me to appear… stable. Respectable. A wife changes perception. You’re my solution.”

Her pulse was a mess of dread and disbelief. “You want me to pretend to be your wife for a year, just to fix your reputation?”

“Precisely.”

Sophia let out a hollow laugh, but it cracked under the weight of her fear. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Practical,” he corrected. “You need me. I need you. We sign the contract, we both win.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t answer now,” he interrupted smoothly. “My driver will pick you up tomorrow at eight. We’ll sign the contract over dinner.”

And then, before she could respond, the line went dead.

Sophia lowered the phone slowly, staring at it as though it might explain the madness she’d just heard. Marriage. Fake marriage. To Ethan Carter.

It was lunacy. It was manipulative. It was a lifeline.

Her brother’s pale face flashed in her mind, hooked up to machines he needed to survive. Her mother’s worn hands clutching bills she couldn’t pay. The mortgage notice in bold red letters.

Sophia closed her eyes, her chest aching.

She walked out into the rain without opening her umbrella. The cold drops soaked her hair, plastered her blouse to her skin, but she didn’t care. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one inside her.

A fake marriage. A ruthless billionaire. One year.

She

whispered the question she didn’t want to face:

What happens when the rules break?