Emma didn't go home.
She couldn't. Not yet. The tablet felt like it was burning a hole through her cheap purse, and the words on that contract kept scrolling through her mind like a stock ticker she couldn't shut off.
Instead, she found herself on a bench in Central Park, watching joggers and tourists and people whose biggest decision today was probably what to have for lunch. Normal people. People who weren't considering marrying a billionaire stranger for money.
The tablet's screen lit up when she touched it. Alexander Sterling had sent her the password before she'd even left the building. Another show of control, she thought. Or trust. She wasn't sure which was more unsettling.
She opened the contract.
MARRIAGE AGREEMENT BETWEEN ALEXANDER JAMES STERLING AND EMMA CATHERINE LAURENT
Even seeing her full name there made it real in a way the phone call hadn't. This wasn't some fever dream brought on by exhaustion and desperation. This was actual legal documentation, probably drafted by lawyers who charged more per hour than she made in a week.
She started reading.
ARTICLE I: TERM AND TERMINATION
The marriage shall commence upon legal registration and continue for a period of twelve (12) months, after which both parties agree to pursue amicable divorce proceedings...
Twelve months. One year of her life. It seemed like nothing and everything all at once.
ARTICLE II: FINANCIAL CONSIDERATION
Upon successful completion of the twelve-month term, Emma Catherine Laurent shall receive:
Two million dollars ($2,000,000) USD, paid in fullRetroactive coverage of all outstanding medical expenses for Rose Laurent (grandmother)Full settlement of all student loan debtA housing allowance of ten thousand dollars ($10,000) per month for six months post-divorce
Emma's vision blurred. She had to read it three times before the numbers stopped swimming.
Two million dollars.
Her grandmother's medical bills—gone. The crushing weight of student loans that followed her like a shadow—gone. Six months of housing allowance that would give her time to rebuild her career, start her own firm maybe, actually pursue the kind of architecture that mattered.
It was enough money to buy back her life.
Her phone rang, startling her so badly she nearly dropped the tablet. Maya's face flashed on the screen—a photo from last year, before everything got so heavy, both of them laughing at some bar neither of them could afford.
Emma answered. "Hey."
"Don't you 'hey' me, Emma Laurent. What opportunity? Did you get an interview? Because I know five firms hiring right now and I was literally about to send you the links—"
"It's not an interview." Emma rubbed her free hand over her face. "It's... I need to tell you something insane, and I need you to not interrupt until I'm done. Can you do that?"
Silence. Then: "You're freaking me out."
"Yeah, well, join the club." Emma took a breath and told her everything. The coffee shop collision, the phone call, the penthouse meeting, the contract currently glowing on her lap like some kind of cursed artifact.
When she finished, the silence on the other end stretched so long Emma checked to make sure the call hadn't dropped.
"Maya?"
"I'm processing." More silence. "Okay, I've processed. Emma, this is completely insane."
"I know."
"Like, potentially dangerous insane. You don't know this man. He could be a serial killer."
"Serial killers usually don't offer two million dollars and legally binding contracts."
"You don't know that! Maybe that's exactly what rich serial killers do!" Maya's voice pitched higher. "I'm Googling him right now. Alexander Sterling, right? CEO of Sterling Industries?"
"He asked me not to Google him—"
"Well, I didn't make him any promises." The sound of rapid typing. "Oh my God, Em. Oh my God."
"What?"
"He's on the Forbes list. Like, top fifty. His company is worth billions with a B. He's—holy shit, he's gorgeous. Why didn't you mention he's gorgeous?"
Emma thought of those cold gray eyes, that rigid control. "It wasn't relevant."
"Everything about this is relevant! Wait, there's more. Oh, this is juicy. Five years ago, he was engaged to some socialite named Victoria Ashford. She left him at the altar—like literally, the wedding was happening, and she ran off with his business rival." Maya whistled low. "Tabloids called it the wedding disaster of the decade."
Something twisted in Emma's chest. She thought of how he'd described his past relationship—"ended publicly and badly." That was one hell of an understatement.
"There's barely anything about him after that," Maya continued. "No dating rumors, no public relationships. Just work, work, and more work. He's like a robot."
"He's not a robot." Emma surprised herself by defending him. "He's just... controlled."
"Controlled enough to propose a contract marriage to a stranger?"
"When you say it like that—"
"Emma, listen to me." Maya's voice gentled. "I love you. You're my best friend. And I know you're drowning right now. I know Grandma Rose's bills are crushing you, and I know you're running yourself into the ground trying to keep up. But this? This is not the answer."
"Two million dollars, Maya."
"I don't care if it's ten million. You can't sell yourself—"
"I'm not selling myself." Emma's grip tightened on the phone. "I'm making a business decision. One year of my life in exchange for financial security. For Grandma Rose's health. For a future that doesn't involve working myself to death and still failing."
"What about love? What about meeting someone real, building something that matters?"
Emma laughed, sharp and bitter. "Love doesn't pay medical bills. Love doesn't keep the lights on. I tried the traditional route, Maya. I got a degree, worked hard, played by the rules. And where did it get me? Fired for being too ethical and drowning in debt I'll never escape."
"So you're just going to give up? Marry some emotionally unavailable billionaire and play house for a year?"
"He doesn't want to play house. That's the point." Emma scrolled through the contract to the section she'd been both dreading and relieved to see. "Separate bedrooms, separate lives. In public, we're married. In private, we're strangers who happen to share an address."
"That sounds incredibly depressing."
"That sounds safe." Emma closed her eyes. "Maya, I'm so tired. I'm so tired of fighting and failing and watching Grandma Rose pretend she's not in pain because she doesn't want me to worry. This is a way out. A clean way out. One year, and then I get my life back. Except this time, I'll actually have a life to get back to."
Maya was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thick. "If you do this—if you really do this—I'm reading that entire contract. Every single word. And if there's anything sketchy, anything that puts you in danger, you walk away. Deal?"
Relief flooded through Emma. "Deal."
"Send it to me. Now. I'll have my cousin look at it too—the one in law school."
"Maya—"
"Don't argue with me. You get to make insane decisions, and I get to try to keep you alive through them. That's how this friendship works."
Emma smiled for the first time in what felt like days. "I love you."
"Yeah, yeah. Send the contract. And Emma? For what it's worth... I get it. I wish you didn't have to do this, but I get it."
After they hung up, Emma sent the file to Maya and then just sat there, watching the city move around her. A street performer played violin nearby, the case open for tips. A couple walked past, holding hands, laughing at something on one of their phones. A mother pushed a stroller, talking to the baby in that silly voice people used with children.
Normal lives. Simple lives.
Emma pulled up her recent calls and stared at Alexander Sterling's number.
Twenty-four hours, he'd said. But she didn't need twenty-four hours. She'd known her answer the moment she saw her grandmother's medical bills on the contract. The moment she calculated how many years it would take her to pay off her debt working normal jobs—if she even found one after being fired.
She'd known her answer when she looked into his cold gray eyes and saw the same exhaustion she felt, just wrapped in expensive suits and penthouse apartments instead of three jobs and a studio apartment with a possessed radiator.
But she made herself wait. Made herself read through the entire contract one more time, this time really paying attention.
ARTICLE III: COHABITATION REQUIREMENTS
Emma Catherine Laurent agrees to:
Reside full-time at the primary residence (Sterling Penthouse, Manhattan)Maintain the appearance of a committed marital relationship in all public settingsAttend designated social and business events as requestedParticipate in family gatherings and obligations
Alexander James Sterling agrees to:
Provide a private bedroom suite with attached bathroomRespect the physical and emotional boundaries established by both partiesProvide advance notice (minimum 48 hours) for all required public appearancesCover all reasonable personal expenses during the marriage term
ARTICLE IV: INTIMATE RELATIONS
Emma's breath caught. Here it was, the section she'd been most nervous about.
Both parties acknowledge that this is a marriage of convenience and not a romantic partnership. Physical intimacy is not required or expected. Both parties agree to maintain appropriate boundaries and mutual respect. Any deviation from this arrangement must be mutually agreed upon by both parties.
She read it three times. No expectations. No obligations. Just a business arrangement with clear boundaries.
It should have been comforting.
So why did it feel vaguely sad?
ARTICLE V: CONFIDENTIALITY AND LOYALTY
Both parties agree to:
Maintain absolute discretion regarding the contractual nature of the marriageRefrain from romantic or sexual relationships with third parties during the marriage termPresent a united front in all public mattersProtect each other's reputation and privacy
Violation of these terms will result in immediate termination of the agreement and forfeiture of all financial considerations.
That last line made Emma's stomach clench. Two million dollars, contingent on her ability to lie convincingly for a year. To pretend to love a man who'd made it abundantly clear he had no interest in actually being loved.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, but she knew who it was.
Have you made your decision?
Emma stared at the words. Her finger hovered over the keyboard.
This was it. The moment where she either stepped off the cliff or backed away to safety. Except there was no safety anymore, was there? Just different kinds of drowning.
She typed: I have questions first.
The response came immediately: Call me.
Emma's heart hammered as she dialed. He answered on the first ring.
"Miss Laurent."
"The contract says I have to attend family gatherings." She didn't bother with pleasantries. "What does that mean exactly? How much family are we talking about?"
"My parents, my younger sister. Occasional extended family events, but those are rare." A pause. "They don't know this is an arrangement. As far as they're concerned, we met, fell in love, and decided to marry quickly."
"And they'll believe that? That you, Mr. Emotionally Unavailable, suddenly fell head over heels?"
She could hear the almost-smile in his voice. "My mother has been trying to set me up for years. She'll be thrilled enough not to ask too many questions."
"What about your friends?"
"I don't have friends, Miss Laurent. I have business associates and people who want things from me."
The loneliness in that statement hit her harder than it should have. "That's depressing."
"That's honest." His tone shifted, became more businesslike. "Any other questions?"
"The loyalty clause. No relationships with other people during the marriage. But you get to go back to your life after. What if I meet someone during this year? What if—"
"Then you wait." His voice was steel. "I'm paying you two million dollars, Miss Laurent. I think I'm entitled to twelve months of fidelity, even if it's purely contractual."
"Right. Of course." Emma felt her cheeks heat, grateful he couldn't see her. "And the public appearances—how often are we talking?"
"Weekly, at minimum. Charity galas, business dinners, the occasional society event. My assistant will coordinate with your schedule."
"I don't have a schedule anymore. I got fired, remember?"
"You'll have a schedule. My wife can't be working three jobs. It would raise questions." Before she could protest, he continued, "You'll be provided with an allowance for personal expenses. Consider it part of your compensation."
"I don't want to be a kept woman—"
"You'll be a kept wife. There's a difference." Was that amusement in his voice? "Miss Laurent, if you're going to do this, you need to commit fully. Half measures won't work. My world will eat you alive if you show weakness."
"Your world sounds delightful."
"It's not. But it's very, very lucrative." A pause. "Have I answered your questions?"
Emma looked around the park one more time. At the real world, the normal world, the world where she was drowning and nobody was throwing her a lifeline.
"One more question."
"Yes?"
"Why are you really doing this? And don't give me the line about the merger. There has to be another way."
Silence. Long enough that she thought he might not answer.
"Because five years ago, I believed in love. I believed in building something real with someone. And when she left me at the altar for my biggest competitor, it made me a laughingstock. Weak. Emotional. Unreliable." His voice was quiet, controlled, but she could hear the razor wire underneath. "I rebuilt myself after that. Became someone who doesn't need anyone, doesn't want anyone. But the perception remained—that I'm unstable. Damaged goods. This marriage fixes that perception without the risk of actual emotional investment."
"So you're using me to prove you're not broken."
"I'm using you to prove I'm in control. There's a difference."
Emma's throat tightened. She understood control. Understood the desperate need to feel like you had power over at least one thing in your life when everything else was chaos.
"Okay," she said softly.
"Okay?"
"My answer is yes. I'll marry you, Mr. Sterling."
The silence that followed felt weighted, significant. Like the universe itself was holding its breath.
"Alexander," he said finally. "If we're going to be married, you should probably call me Alexander."
"Alexander," she tested the name. "And you should call me Emma."
"Emma." The way he said it, careful and precise, made something flutter in her chest. "My lawyer will contact you tomorrow to sign the paperwork. We'll obtain the marriage license this week and have a small ceremony this Friday."
"This Friday? That's four days away!"
"The merger finalizes in three weeks. We need to be established as a married couple by then." His tone softened slightly. "Unless you need more time—"
"No." Emma cut him off. "No, I just... I need to tell my grandmother. She's going to have questions."
"Tell her we met and fell in love quickly. Tell her I'm—" He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "Tell her I'm someone who makes you happy."
The irony of that statement wasn't lost on Emma. "Lying to my grandmother. Great start to a marriage."
"It's a kindness. She doesn't need to know the details. Just that you're taken care of."
He was right. Grandma Rose would be thrilled to see Emma settled, even if the settlement came with an expiration date.
"Okay," Emma said again. "Friday. Small ceremony. And then I move into the penthouse?"
"Saturday. I'll have movers pack up your apartment Friday afternoon while we're at the courthouse."
Of course he'd already thought of everything. "Efficient."
"I find it saves time." A pause. "Emma?"
"Yes?"
"I know this isn't conventional. I know it's not what you dreamed of when you were a little girl thinking about your wedding day. But I promise you—I will honor the terms of this contract. You'll be safe, provided for, and respected. That's more than many real marriages can claim."
It was a strange kind of comfort, but Emma found herself believing him. He was clearly a man who valued control, order, structure. He wouldn't jeopardize a multi-million dollar arrangement over petty cruelty.
"I'll see you Friday then," she said.
"Friday. And Emma? Welcome to the family."
He hung up before she could respond.
Emma sat on that bench for another hour, the tablet growing warm in her lap, and tried to process what she'd just agreed to. In four days, she'd be Mrs. Alexander Sterling. In four days, her entire life would change.
She thought about calling Maya back, but she wasn't ready for the interrogation yet. Instead, she pulled up her banking app and looked at her account balance.
Fourteen dollars and thirty-seven cents.
In one year, that number would have six more zeros attached to it.
All she had to do was play pretend. Smile for cameras. Attend parties with a man whose eyes were colder than winter.
Easy.
Her phone buzzed with a calendar notification Alexander's assistant must have already set up: Marriage Ceremony - Friday, 2:00 PM, City Hall
Emma laughed—slightly hysterical, slightly desperate, entirely overwhelmed.
She was getting married in four days to a man who didn't believe in love.
What could possibly go wrong?