The rain poured relentlessly on the glass windows of the hospital corridor, the gray skies outside mirroring Hana Ardelia's thoughts. She sat motionless on the hard bench, her fingers clutched tightly around a crumpled medical bill. Her mother was getting worse, and the surgery needed to save her life was more than Hana could ever afford as a waitress at a small coffee shop.
The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to her clothes. Her once bright brown eyes were now dull with exhaustion, and her long black hair hung limp, plastered to her cheeks with the humidity. She'd been living off instant noodles for days, skipping shifts to stay by her mother's side.
"Miss Ardelia?"
Hana looked up, startled, to find a woman in a black pantsuit standing before her. She held a thin folder in her manicured hands and looked entirely out of place in the overworked, underfunded hospital.
"Yes?"
"I'm Clara. I represent Mr. Leonard Hartanto. He would like to offer you a proposal."
Hana blinked. "A proposal?"
Clara handed over the folder. Inside, a thick contract. Hana skimmed the first few lines and froze.
Marriage agreement.
A business contract. Three years. No romantic obligation. In return, her mother's full hospital and treatment expenses would be covered, plus a monthly allowance enough to live like a queen.
"What... is this?" she whispered.
Clara remained calm. "Mr. Hartanto is looking for a legal wife. A wife in name only. You fit the profile."
"Why me?"
"You have no background, no scandal, and most importantly, you need this."
Hana swallowed hard. Her pride screamed at her to tear the paper in half. But her mother's pale face flashed before her eyes, her breathing shallow, her grip on Hana's hand weakening with each passing day.
"I want to meet him," she said.
Leonard Hartanto was every bit the enigma his reputation claimed. The office was cold, both in design and atmosphere, with large glass walls, metal shelves, and an overwhelming sense of perfection. He stood by the window in a tailored black suit, his expression unreadable.
"You're late," he said without turning.
Hana stood tall, refusing to let his tone shake her. "I came straight from the hospital."
He finally turned, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. Sharp cheekbones, emotionless gaze, but something flickered when his eyes rested on the worn-out shoes she still wore.
"You've read the contract?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"I agree."
He raised a brow. "So easily?"
"You're offering me a lifeline. I'd be stupid to say no."
He studied her for a moment longer before walking over to his desk. "Then let's get this over with. We marry at City Hall this Friday. You will move into my residence that night. Publicly, we will appear to be a couple. Privately, you stay out of my way."
"Understood."
He paused, clearly thrown off by her lack of emotion.
"No questions?"
"Only one. Will you keep your word about paying for my mother's treatment?"
He met her gaze for the first time. "Absolutely. I'm a man of my word."
She nodded. That was all she needed.
Friday came faster than she expected. Hana stood in front of the mirror in a simple white dress borrowed from Clara. No wedding gown. No ceremony. Just a signature, a photo, and a cold congratulations from a government officer.
Leonard didn't even look at her as he signed the document. His phone buzzed halfway through and he answered without apology.
By the time the papers were stamped, Hana wasn't sure if she felt married or sold.
They exited City Hall into the rain. Leonard's black car waited by the curb, driver holding the door. Hana slipped inside, damp and quiet. Leonard followed, barely sparing her a glance.
"Home," he instructed.
The house no, mansion was intimidating. White walls, spotless marble floors, and silence that rang louder than any traffic horn. A maid led Hana to her room. Not their room. Her room. On the other side of the hall.
A single bed. Empty wardrobe. No personal touch.
She sat on the edge, feeling the weight of a choice made under desperation.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom: The nurse said my surgery is tomorrow! Hana… I can't believe this is really happening. Thank you, my daughter. I'm so proud of you.
Her eyes welled up. She pressed the phone to her chest.
At least someone was happy.
The next morning, she stepped into the dining room to find Leonard reading the paper. Not even a glance as she sat.
"Morning," she offered.
"Hmm."
Clara entered with a tray. "Mr. Hartanto has a meeting at 9. You'll be attending charity functions in his place next week."
"What?"
Leonard finally spoke. "You're my wife. Appearances matter."
"But I don't know how to "
"Learn."
She clenched her fists under the table. This wasn't a rescue. It was another kind of prison.
And yet, her mother was alive.
So she nodded. "Fine."
The days blurred. Hana learned to walk in heels, memorized names of socialites, smiled when needed. Leonard remained distant, their conversations limited to schedules, events, and reminders to act "appropriate."
But sometimes just sometimes she'd catch him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. There was something unreadable in his eyes.
She didn't ask.
Until one night, he knocked on her door.
"I need you to attend a gala with me."
"I thought Clara would go."
"My father will be there. He needs to believe this marriage is real."
Hana stared. "Then let's make it look real."
She didn't know why she said it. Maybe because part of her w
as tired of pretending.
And in that moment, Leonard looked at her differently.
As if maybe... just maybe… she wasn't invisible after all.