Aisha didn't sleep.
She sat on the edge of her narrow bed, staring at the contract she had signed. Her signature felt like a bruise on the page — too real, too permanent.
I just married a billionaire stranger.
Her hands shook every time she looked at the bold letters:
SPOUSE AGREEMENT — VALID FOR ONE YEAR
One year.
One year of… what exactly?
Before she could think more, her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number: Your belongings will be collected at 8 a.m. Be ready.
Aisha's heart jumped.
He already knows where I live?
She shouldn't have been surprised. A man like Adrian Black didn't ask; he already knew.
She glanced around her tiny room. Peeling paint, broken window latch, a single suitcase. She could pack everything she owned in five minutes.
But the idea of leaving it — leaving her old life — felt unreal.
8:00 a.m. Exactly
A sharp knock.
Aisha opened the door to find a man in a black suit, expressionless.
"Mrs. Black?"
She froze. "I—I'm not used to that name."
"It is legally yours now," the man replied. "Mr. Black is waiting."
She swallowed hard and stepped outside, her suitcase rolling behind her.
The building's neighbors peeked through partially opened doors, gossip already swirling.
A black luxury car waited outside. So did Adrian.
He stood beside it with the same cold aura, the same unreadable eyes.
"You're late," he said.
"It's 8 sharp," she replied softly.
"I arrived at 7:50. You are late to me."
Aisha blinked. Did he really expect her to adjust to his definition of time? But she swallowed her retort. She wasn't in a position to argue.
He opened the back door for her — not out of courtesy, but control.
"Get in."
She did.
Inside the Car
Silence swallowed them.
Adrian sat beside her, scrolling through a file like she wasn't there.
Finally, he spoke.
"There are conditions you must follow to remain in this marriage."
Aisha straightened instinctively. "Conditions?"
He didn't look up. "Rule number one: You are not allowed to ask about my past."
Her stomach tightened. She had expected rules but not… that.
"Rule number two," he continued, "You cannot communicate with the media or speak to anyone about our arrangement."
Reasonable. Sort of.
"Rule number three: You are not allowed to enter my office without my permission."
Okay… strange, but fine.
"Rule number four," he said, finally turning to look at her, "You must live with me. Full-time."
Her breath caught. "Live with you… in your house?"
"In my penthouse," he corrected. "You will also appear with me publicly when required."
Appear publicly?
As his wife?
This was spiraling into something bigger than she imagined.
"And rule number five," Adrian said, voice low, firm, and utterly unshakeable,
"If anyone asks, our marriage is real."
Aisha blinked. "But it isn't."
"It is," he said, leaning closer. "Legally and socially. The truth is irrelevant."
Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. "So I have to lie?"
"For survival," he said simply.
"For whose survival?" she whispered.
His eyes darkened — cold storm clouds hiding lightning.
"Both."
They arrived at his penthouse
The elevator doors opened to a sweeping, glass-walled penthouse that overlooked the entire city. It was too bright, too expensive, too silent — nothing like her world.
Aisha stood there awkwardly, suitcase in hand.
Adrian watched her like he was trying to determine where she fit… or if she fit at all.
"This is your home now," he said.
"My… home," she repeated in disbelief.
He walked past her, removing his coat. "You will stay in the guest room next to mine. Don't enter my bedroom."
Aisha nodded quickly.
"And don't go to the west wing," he added.
"The… west wing?" she echoed.
His jaw tightened. "Just don't."
Every rule he gave her felt like stepping into quicksand — one wrong move and she'd sink.
Just as she began to calm down—
Aisha's stomach growled.
Loudly.
Embarrassingly.
Adrian paused mid-step and turned.
Aisha's face burned. "I—I didn't eat dinner or breakfast…"
He stared for a long second, then exhaled sharply.
"Come with me."
He walked into the kitchen. Aisha followed, unsure.
To her shock, Adrian rolled up his sleeves, opened the fridge, and pulled out ingredients.
"You cook?" she blurted.
He gave her a cold look. "I don't. But you'll faint on my floor if I don't."
Her lips parted slightly.
He was… cooking for her?
Adrian noticed her staring.
"Don't misunderstand," he said. "A weak wife is an inconvenience."
He placed a plate of warm food in front of her.
It was the first real meal she'd had in days.
Aisha ate quietly, her heart confused — terrified of him, grateful to him, and trapped with him.
When she finished, he spoke again, his voice softer but still unreadable.
"Aisha."
She looked up.
He held her gaze for the first time without coldness.
"There is one final rule."
She stiffened. "What is it?"
Adrian leaned in, eyes shadowed with something dark and unspoken.
"Never go near the locked room. Ever."
A chill ran down her spine.
"What's… inside it?" she whispered.
Adrian straightened, voice firm.
"Your life will be easier if you never find out."
Aisha clasped her hands tightly under the table.
She had signed a contract.
But she hadn't realized…
She had married a man with secrets big enough to bury them both.