The hospital smelled like antiseptic and sadness.
Brooklyn James stood at the front desk, hands trembling as she stared at the latest bill for her mother's treatment. Her vision blurred slightly from exhaustion, but the number remained the same.
$7,240.00. Due immediately.
Her mother had Stage 2 lung cancer. The treatments were aggressive, and the costs even more so. Brooklyn had already maxed out her student loan, sold her dad's old truck, and worked three jobs between classes. And yet, here she was — broke, helpless, and completely out of options.
"I'm sorry," the nurse said gently, avoiding her eyes. "But if the payment isn't made today, we'll have to postpone her next round."
Postpone. The word sounded harmless. Like pressing pause. But for her mom, it could mean the difference between fighting and… giving up.
Brooklyn nodded quickly, eyes burning. "I'll figure something out."
Outside, the California sky had turned gray. It began to drizzle as she walked away from the hospital entrance. She didn't even pull up her hood. Her thoughts were heavier than the rain.
She crossed the street toward a quiet café she often passed but never entered — the kind that smelled like espresso and overpriced pastries. Today, she didn't care. She just needed a place to sit. To think.
The door chimed as she stepped inside, the warm air and soft jazz music instantly wrapping around her like a blanket. She was so distracted she didn't notice the man walking past the counter.
They collided — hard.
"Oh!" she gasped, stumbling backward.
His coffee cup hit the ground with a splatter. The rich, bitter smell filled the air as the drink soaked into the man's expensive shoes and the hem of his navy slacks.
"I'm so sorry!" Brooklyn crouched down immediately, grabbing napkins from the counter nearby. "I wasn't watching where—"
"It's fine," the man said in a cool, even tone. "Forget it."
She looked up.
Tall. Sharp jaw. Black hair slicked back with purpose. Dressed in a suit that screamed money. His ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on her.
He didn't look angry — just... curious.
Brooklyn straightened slowly, her cheeks burning. "I'll pay for your coffee."
He raised an eyebrow. "Can you afford to?"
The question wasn't rude. Just brutally honest.
She looked away, pressing her lips together. "I was just trying to help."
His eyes flicked over her damp hoodie, frizzy hair, and tired face. "You look like someone who needs help more than I do."
Her head snapped up. "Excuse me?"
"I'm not insulting you," he said casually. "Just stating a fact."
He turned and walked toward the far corner of the café. Brooklyn watched as he sat at a table near the window, then — to her surprise — motioned for her to follow.
She hesitated, then slowly walked over.
"What?" she asked warily.
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
"Why?"
"Because I have a proposition for you."
She blinked. "Okay… Now I know this is weird."
The man let out a small, humorless chuckle. "My name's Damien Carter."
The name hit her like a jolt. Damien Carter. Billionaire tech mogul. CEO of Carter Industries. The man behind half the software running through Silicon Valley. She had seen his face on magazine covers and Forbes lists. He was rich, powerful, and completely out of her league — and now he was offering her a seat like they were old friends.
"And what exactly do you want from me, Mr. Carter?" she asked cautiously.
He leaned forward, folding his hands. "I need a wife."
Brooklyn blinked. Once. Twice.
"...what?"
"You heard me. I need to get married. Immediately."
Her heart pounded. "Why would you—?"
"My father passed recently," he interrupted. "His will states that if I want to remain CEO of Carter Industries, I must be married by the end of this quarter."
Brooklyn stared at him like he had grown horns.
"I don't want a real relationship," he continued. "I just need someone to play the part. Public appearances. Events. A few photos for the press. After a year, we divorce quietly, you walk away with a check."
"A check?" she repeated, still trying to catch up.
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
Her breath hitched.
"You'll get the first hundred upfront. The rest after the year ends. It's more than enough to take care of your mom... and finish school."
Brooklyn looked away. Her hands were cold, her mind spinning. This had to be a joke. Or a trap. People like Damien Carter didn't walk into cafés and pick random girls to marry.
"Why me?"
"You're discreet. Smart. Desperate, but not reckless." He looked her dead in the eye. "And I don't believe you'll fall in love."
She scoffed. "Wow. That's... rude."
"It's reality."
Brooklyn wanted to laugh, cry, and scream all at once. She didn't know this man. But she knew pain. She knew how it felt to watch her mother suffer. And she knew this offer — crazy as it sounded — could change everything.
Still, her voice trembled. "You don't even know my name."
"I'll learn it."
She swallowed hard.
"You have twenty-four hours," Damien said, standing. "If you're interested, meet me at the rooftop bar of the Rosemont Hotel tomorrow at 7 p.m."
He buttoned his suit jacket with quiet grace, nodded once, and walked out of the café — leaving Brooklyn in stunned silence, staring out into the rain.
Was this fate?
Or the biggest mistake of her life?