Chapter 3
1429 Words
Amelia pov
I didn’t cry when I packed my bags.
What was the point? Tears wouldn’t pay the rent. Wouldn’t buy Mom’s medicine. Wouldn’t erase the sting of being fired like a criminal.
I stuffed the bare essentials into one suitcase. The silence in the room felt like goodbye.
At exactly 8 a.m., a black SUV pulled up in front of my apartment.
The driver didn’t ask questions. He just opened the door and nodded. I climbed in without a word.
New York blurred past the windows cold, expensive, and indifferent.
I clenched my fists in my lap the entire ride.
What was I walking into?
Money didn’t make a man safe.
Adrian Smith… was anything but ordinary.
When we pulled up to the building, I had to crane my neck to see the top. The penthouse. His world.
The doorman already knew my name. So did the elevator operator.
By the time the doors opened to the top floor, my pulse was hammering.
The penthouse wasn’t just rich. It was untouchable.
Everything gleamed glass, marble, steel. There were floor-to-ceiling windows that made the whole city look like it bowed at his feet.
And standing in the middle of it was Adrian Smith.
He turned the moment I stepped in, dressed in a crisp black suit like he owned the universe. Maybe he did.
“You’re early,” he said simply.
I shrugged, though my chest felt tight. “Didn’t think I had the right to be late.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded toward a small table by the window.
“Sit.”
I obeyed, unsure whether I was a guest or an employee or something in between.
On the table sat a black folder.
He tapped it. “This is the contract.”
I stared at it but didn’t touch it.
“You’ll read everything before signing. You’re free to ask questions, but let me lay out the basics first.”
I nodded slowly. He took a breath, then began.
“You’ll be my wife for the next year. Publicly. Legally. In front of my family, my friends, and the media.”
My throat tightened.
Wife?
He continued. “You’ll move in here. Attend events with me. Speak when necessary. Smile when told. And most importantly… carry my child.”
I flinched.
He noticed, of course. “That was part of the deal, Amelia.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “It’s just…" hearing it out loud feels different.”
He didn’t apologize.
“There will be no physical intimacy between us,” he added firmly. “You’ll undergo IVF—in vitro fertilization. That is the only process for conception.”
I blinked, trying to read his face. His tone left no room for misunderstanding. It wasn’t just about boundaries it was about control.
No touch. No mistakes. No blurred lines.
“After the year is over,” he said, “you’ll receive thirty million dollars. The child will remain with me. You’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement. And you’ll disappear.”
The word landed like a brick in my chest.
Disappear.
“Why me?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Out of all the women in this city you chose me.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer immediately.
Then finally: “Because you don’t belong in my world. You’re temporary. That makes you... convenient.”
He looked away for a second, then said quietly but firmly, “And you won’t be given the opportunity to betray me.”
I froze at that.
So he’d been hurt before not by me, but by someone else.
Now, trust didn’t come easily. Maybe not at all.
He pushed the folder toward me. “Read it. Take the guest room for now.”
I blinked. “We’re not signing today?”
“I’m not rushing you,” he said coldly. “Read. Understand. Then we proceed.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat and stood, grabbing the folder with trembling fingers.
One year.
One child.
Thirty million.
Then disappear.
Easy.
Right?
But as I walked toward the guest room, I felt it deep in my bones,this was the beginning of something irreversible.
And I wasn’t sure I’d come out the same person on the other side.
I closed the door to the guest room quietly behind me.
The moment I was alone, the silence hit me harder than anything Adrian had said. Not just silence emptiness. The kind that wraps itself around your bones and makes you forget what comfort ever felt like.
The room was pristine. Immaculate. Like no one had ever lived in it. Not a wrinkle on the sheets, not a misplaced item on the marble dresser. There was a designer suitcase rack, a closet with a few unused hangers, and thick curtains that blocked out most of the morning light.
I placed my own suitcase small and worn—on the edge of the bed and sat beside it. The mattress dipped slightly under my weight, too soft for someone used to sleeping on a pull-out cot in my mom’s hospital room.
A laugh escaped me, bitter and dry.
How did I go from nearly begging my landlord for one more week… to this?
Thirty million dollars. One year. One child.
That was the deal. No love, no affection. No blurred lines.
I lay back slowly on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. My fingers curled around the contract folder, still clutched in my hand.
I didn’t open it.
Instead, I thought of Mom. Her sunken cheeks. The way she squeezed my hand even when the pain was too much to speak.
And Dad… if he even deserved that title.
He’d walked out when I was sixteen. Left my mother with hospital bills, with shame, with a daughter to raise and no help. I used to think he would come back. That one day he’d walk in the door and say he was sorry.
He never did.
That was the day I stopped believing in fairy tales. That’s the day I decided love wasn’t real it was just something people said before they vanished.
I turned on my side, hugging the contract to my chest like it could anchor me.
This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even close.
It was a transaction.
And still, it felt like the most intimate thing I’d ever agreed to.
There was a knock at the door. I shot up.
“Miss Taylor,” came a deep male voice it wasn’t Adrian.
“Yes?” I called, heart racing.
“The master instructed me to bring you something to eat. May I?”
“Sure.”
The door cracked open, revealing a tall man in a charcoal suit, carrying a silver tray. He looked like the kind of person who didn’t blink unless he was given permission.
“I’m Thomas,” he said simply. “Mr. Smith’s assistant.”
I nodded, unsure if I was supposed to shake his hand or salute him.
He placed the tray on the glass desk near the window. “Breakfast. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Before I could reply, he was gone.
I walked over slowly. The tray held a delicate porcelain plate with scrambled eggs, toast, avocado slices arranged like flower petals, and a steaming cup of tea.
I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but my stomach churned.
Still, I took a bite. Then another.
Somehow, eating made everything feel more real. More permanent.
I pulled the contract closer, flipping it open and skimming the first few lines. It was written in clean legalese. Cold. Precise. Like him.
My eyes scanned the clauses about IVF, public appearances, the NDA. My throat tightened again at the word “termination clause.” It stated in crisp font that if I backed out before the year was up, I’d receive nothing.
No partial payment. No protection.
Just gone.
I closed the folder.
I didn’t have the luxury of fear.
I’d already stepped into Adrian Smith’s world. The only way out… was forward.
After eating, I changed into something more comfortable, sweatpants, and a loose shirt and climbed into the bed, curling on my side.
I set the contract on the nightstand and turned off the lamp.
The sheets smelled like linen and nothing else. Clean. Lifeless.
I stared at the wall for a long time, my thoughts loud in the silence.
I wasn’t sure what kind of woman I’d be when this was over.
But one thing was certain:
There was no turning back now.
- Writer
