Chapter 5
Soft beeping. A scent of sterile cleanliness. Dim lights filtering through sheer curtains. Amelia stirred, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. Her body felt heavy, as if lead had been poured into her veins. Her head throbbed, her lips were parched, and her entire body ached with the weight of the world she carried.
She winced, trying to sit up, when a gentle but firm hand pressed her shoulder back against the mattress.
"You're safe. Just rest," came a voice—low, composed, and unmistakably male.
Her eyes opened wider, blinking into focus. The room wasn't familiar. It wasn't a hospital, not exactly. The polished floors, the expensive monitors, the custom-designed IV stand—it was too… luxurious. She was in a private clinic, but inside someone's house.
"Where… where am I?" she croaked, her throat dry.
"In my home. I had my physician tend to you after I found you collapsed outside the emergency wing," the man said. He stood tall, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his arms folded. Sharp jawline, sleek dark hair, and a cold calmness in his eyes. There was wealth in the way he moved, in the silence he commanded.
"Why?" she whispered, blinking away confusion. "Why would you help me?"
There was a pause. "Because I could."
The room went quiet again except for the rhythm of the machines and the low hum of her own panic. Amelia clutched the blanket tightly, her chest rising with each shallow breath. She had no idea who this man was. Or what he wanted.
"You said you found me at the hospital… then you know about my brother?" Her voice cracked.
He gave a single nod. "The doctors were talking about him while you were unconscious. Rian, right? Severe internal damage. Immediate surgery needed. I had my assistant collect all the details."
A shiver ran down her spine. "You… you went through my life?"
"I prefer to call it 'gathering necessary information.'"
She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
He finally walked over to a cabinet, picked up a thick white envelope, and placed it on the table beside her. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"My name is Adrian Blackwood. My family owns Blackwood Enterprises. But that's not what's important. What matters is that I'm offering you something."
Amelia sat up, her body trembling from fatigue, anger, and sheer disbelief.
"And what exactly are you offering?"
His lips curled faintly, almost like a smirk, but not quite. "A deal. I pay for your brother's surgery. All of it. The doctors said he needs it within hours. Otherwise, the risk of complications multiplies."
Her breath hitched. She already knew that. The doctor at the hospital had told her just before everything faded into black. The number he'd whispered—$2,500—might as well have been a million.
"And in return?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"I want you to marry me. A contract marriage. For one year," Adrian said, straight and emotionless. "You'll live with me, act the part, attend events. In exchange, I'll cover your brother's surgery and medical needs—and I'll provide for your family during the duration of our agreement."
Amelia stared at him like he'd slapped her. Her chest tightened painfully.
"Why me?" she choked out. "I'm no one. Just a poor girl struggling to survive."
He looked away briefly, then locked eyes with her. "Let's just say I need someone… invisible. No connections. No strings. And someone desperate enough not to ask too many questions."
Tears welled in her eyes. The insult, though calmly delivered, struck deeply. Yet he was right.
She was desperate.
"I'm not some object you can just buy," she whispered, trying to sound braver than she felt.
"You're right," he replied. "Which is why I'm giving you a choice. You don't have to agree. I'll give you time. But I suggest you decide quickly."
He walked to the door, paused, then said without turning, "You'll find clothes in the closet. My driver will take you to the hospital if you want to check on your brother. Let them know the bill will be handled."
Then he left.
Amelia sat in stunned silence, the weight of the envelope on the table beside her feeling like a mountain. She wanted to scream, cry, hit something. Instead, she clutched the blanket tighter and pressed her face into her palms.
⸻
The hospital hallway smelled like disinfectant and despair. Amelia's sneakers squeaked against the tiles as she hurried toward the room where Rian was kept. The staff now smiled at her, acknowledging her with polite nods. The surgery had been scheduled. The money had gone through.
But there was one thing left.
The doctor pulled her aside gently. "Miss, just to let you know, the operation is being prepared as we speak. But your brother's condition is critical. Time was truly running out."
She gave a numb nod. "I understand."
As she stared at her younger brother through the glass window, tubes running in and out of his frail body, she felt her resolve harden.
There was no other way.
She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned away from the sight.
⸻
Adrian sat in his home office, the fire casting dancing shadows across his sharp features. He didn't flinch when the door opened without a knock. Amelia stepped in, her eyes rimmed red, her shoulders trembling but firm.
"I'll do it," she said.
He looked up. No smile. No victory gleam. Just a slow nod.
"I'll have the contract drawn up."