The Contracted Substitute

Chapter 2

-MIA-

"I'm sorry. I don’t understand."

I blinked at the fancy lawyer sitting across from me in the diner booth. Next to him sat the handsome stranger I’d met yesterday in the hospital garden, Asher Holbrook.

Not long after I returned from the hospital, a call came through from someone named Dylan, Asher’s assistant. He said Mr. Holbrook had a business offer for me and arranged this meeting just before my shift at the diner.

"As you can see in this contract, Miss Walker, the offer is straightforward." The fancy lawyer, whose name I’d already forgotten, gestured to the thick stack of papers with his even fancier pen. "Mr. Holbrook is prepared to assume all your current debts and pay you two hundred thousand dollars upon completion of the agreement."

Asher didn’t say a word. He just watched me with those cold blue eyes, arms crossed in front of him, unmoving like a statue carved from marble. With his perfectly symmetrical features and tailored Italian suit, he looked absurdly out of place in the greasy diner. Like an orchid blooming in a pile of manure.

"Within a year, right?" I asked, repeating what he’d told me earlier after I finished reading the papers.

"Correct. All you have to do is impersonate his late girlfriend," the lawyer said, as if that wasn’t the most insane thing I’d ever heard.

"Sorry, Mr... Yellowstone? What exactly do you mean by impersonate?"

"Briarstone," he corrected smoothly. "You’ll need to emulate Mr. Holbrook’s ex in every way. Her style, her speech, her mannerisms. Her preferences, routines, social circles. And during the term of the contract, you’ll be living in his penthouse in the city, and he‘ll cover all your expenses."

I stared at him, mouth slightly open, brain short-circuiting.

This wasn’t a job offer. It was a performance. A possession. A resurrection.

"I don't know where you people came from, but you’ve got the wrong idea about me if you think I’d ever consider something like that. You know nothing about me," I snapped, my shock curdling into irritation.

Asher uncrossed his hands and leaned forward. It was the first time he’d moved since the bell above the diner door had announced his arrival.

"Oh, but I know you, Mia," he said, my name rolling off his tongue like velvet dragged across gravel—half caress, half wound. "Your father died when you were six. Your mother raised you and your brother alone, in a two-bedroom apartment above a Chinese restaurant. You barely scraped through high school before stepping in at this diner when she got sick. You have no close friends, no extended family. Aside from your brother, your only companion is the neighbor’s dog you walk every evening because she’s too old to do it herself."

My mouth went dry. A knot of unease twisted in my stomach. Beneath the table, my fingers clenched the polyester of my skirt.

"Your brother got into UCLA, but you can’t afford the tuition. He applied for a scholarship, and it was denied." His voice dropped, low before he delivered the final punch. "And your mother’s condition has worsened. She needs urgent surgery. Fifty thousand dollars by the end of the week. You’re forty-nine thousand five hundred short. Did I get that right?"

A bead of sweat slid down my spine.

My hands trembled as I nudged the stack of papers closer. My tongue flicked out to wet my lips, dry as sandpaper, as my eyes scanned the dense black letters.

"Do I... Do I have to... Will we need to be... intimate?"

The word tasted bitter coming out.

Asher’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice was calm, almost bored.

"No. Physical contact will be kept to a bare minimum."

Just like that. No hesitation. No emotion.

I felt a little relieved. But just barely. The whole proposal was beyond insane.

The guy was clearly rich. And handsome. No—scratch that. Sharp jawline, long straight nose, firm lips, and piercing blue eyes framed by lashes too thick to be fair. Dark hair, tall, broad, built like a swimmer. Asher Holbrook was the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on.

Which only made the whole arrangement more bizarre. He could have almost any woman he wanted.

Someone with class. Old money. Not a nobody from the wrong side of the tracks.

He blinked slowly, exhaled, then answered. "Isn't it obvious? You look just like Linda."

Ah. The deceased had a name. And the way he said it—with reverence, like a prayer—stirred something in my chest.

He was still in love with her. Which was... sad.

I didn’t speak for several minutes. My eyes bounced between the man marked from heartbreak and the contract that felt like a trap wrapped in golden foil. Then Asher broke the silence.

"It was my therapist’s idea. Sort of. He suggested I use a decoy to help me move on from Linda. Of course, he wasn’t thinking about an actual person when he said that, but I refined the concept." His expression shifted to a half-scowl, half-smug grin. "You’ll be perfect for the role."

"Like a voodoo doll. A pricey one," I muttered, grimacing. No one bothered to disagree.

I raised my arms to the table, elbows sticking to the greasy surface. A migraine was forming behind my eyes, and I massaged my temples with trembling fingertips.

He was throwing me a lifeline. A chance to save my mother’s life. To give my brother a shot at something better. There wasn’t a better deal out there.

All I had to do was perform. For a whole year. Then I could go back to my old life.

And it would be just that—an act. I’d be an actress, stepping into the impossible role of a woman no one could truly replicate.

Besides, I’d be helping this rich, strange man grieve. Nothing more than that.

Even as every instinct screamed at me to bolt in the opposite direction, I said, "Okay. I’m in. What do I have to do?"

Mr. Briarstone didn’t even look surprised as he handed me his sleek, overpriced pen. He knew the deal was sealed the moment he walked into this place and smelled the food fried in old oil.

"Sign all the marked spaces, please. I'll call the hospital and inform them to go ahead with your mother's surgery."

I hovered, one hand on the contract, the other inching toward the pen. "How about my brother’s tuition?"

"The Dean’s an old friend of my family," Asher said smoothly. "I’ve already spoken to him. He is waiting for my call. I'll cover your brother’s fees and arrange housing for him, too." His mouth twitched into something that barely qualified as a smile. "Someone will even walk your neighbor’s dog every day while you’re gone."

That was it. Everything was set in motion. All I had to do was step in and play my part.

With shaking fingers, I took the pen, forcing my signature to stay steady.

In that moment, I hadn’t just sold my dignity. I’d signed away my soul.