I was elbow-deep in a dumpster behind Luigi's Pizza, fishing for expired bread, when I heard my boyfriend's moans coming from a BMW parked twenty feet away.
The sound hit me like a slap to the face. I knew that voice. I knew those stupid little gasps Marcus made when he was getting off. What I didn't know was why he was making them in someone else's car when he was supposed to be at work.
My stomach dropped as I pulled my hands out of the trash, a moldy dinner roll still clutched in my fingers. The BMW was rocking back and forth like a boat in a storm. The windows were fogged up, but I could still make out two shapes moving inside.
No. Please, God, no.
I dropped the bread and walked toward the car on shaking legs. Each step felt like walking through quicksand. Part of me wanted to turn around and pretend I never saw anything. The other part - the stupid, masochistic part - needed to know for sure.
As I got closer, I could hear a woman's voice mixing with Marcus's. A familiar voice that made my blood turn to ice.
"Oh God, Marcus, you're so much better than her!"
Lisa. My roommate. My so-called best friend.
I pressed my face against the passenger window. The fog cleared just enough for me to see Lisa's blonde hair bouncing up and down as she rode my boyfriend like a carnival attraction. Marcus had his hands on her waist, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
They looked happy. Really fucking happy.
I stumbled backward, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might explode. Three years. Three years I'd been with Marcus. I'd given him everything - my virginity, my trust, my pathetic savings account. I'd even been stupid enough to think we'd get married after I graduated next month.
Apparently, he had other plans.
The car door suddenly swung open, and Lisa tumbled out, pulling her shirt down. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair was a mess, and she had the biggest smile on her face until she saw me standing there.
"Emma!" she gasped, like she was surprised to see me in the alley behind the restaurant where I worked. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here," I said quietly. "Remember? The job I got because you said we needed help with rent?"
Marcus climbed out of the driver's side, not even bothering to look embarrassed. He was tall, blonde, and conventionally handsome in that boring way that had fooled me for three years. His family owned half the banks in Chicago, which made him a catch according to every girl at Northwestern University.
Right now, he just looked like an asshole.
"Emma," he said, straightening his tie. "We need to talk."
"About what?" I asked, even though I knew the answer would destroy me.
"About us," he said. "This isn't working anymore."
I stared at him. "You're breaking up with me?"
"Come on, babe," Lisa said, stepping closer to Marcus and taking his arm. "You had to see this coming. I mean, look at yourself."
I looked down at my stained apron, my cheap jeans with holes in the knees, my worn-out sneakers that I'd had since high school. My red hair was falling out of its messy ponytail, and I probably smelled like pizza grease and desperation. Then I looked at Lisa in her designer dress and perfect makeup, hanging off the arm of my now-ex boyfriend.
"You're right," I said softly. "I should have seen it coming."
Marcus actually had the nerve to look relieved. "I'm glad you're taking this well. I was worried you'd make a scene."
"Oh, I'm not done yet," I said, my voice getting stronger. "How long?"
"What?" Lisa asked.
"How long have you been fucking behind my back?"
Lisa giggled. Actually giggled. "Since New Year's Eve. Remember when you got food poisoning and couldn't come to my party? Well, Marcus came anyway, and one thing led to another..."
Six months. They'd been laughing at me for six fucking months.
"And the best part?" Marcus said, warming to the topic like he was proud of himself. "She's pregnant."
The world tilted sideways. I grabbed onto a trash can to keep from falling over.
"Pregnant?" I whispered.
"Three months," Lisa said, patting her flat stomach. "We're thinking of a spring wedding. Small ceremony, nothing fancy. You understand."
I understood perfectly. I understood that I'd wasted three years of my life on a man who'd never loved me. I understood that my best friend had been plotting to steal my boyfriend from the moment I introduced them. And I understood that I was standing in an alley behind a pizza joint, having my heart ripped out while smelling like garbage.
"Emma, are you okay?" Lisa asked, with fake concern in her voice. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lied. "Congratulations. I hope you're very happy together."
"We will be," Marcus said. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here. For your trouble."
He held the money out to me like I was a homeless person asking for spare change.
"Keep it," I said. "You're going to need it for diapers."
I turned around and walked away, my head held high and my heart in pieces. Behind me, I could hear Lisa laughing.
"Did you see her face?" she said to Marcus. "She actually thought she had a chance with you. A girl who digs through trash for food thinking she could marry into the Sterling banking family. How pathetic is that?"
I kept walking until I couldn't hear them anymore. Then I kept walking until I reached my beat-up Honda Civic. Then I sat in the driver's seat and cried until I couldn't breathe.
My phone buzzed with a text message. I wiped my eyes and looked at the screen, hoping it might be Marcus saying he'd made a mistake. That he loved me. That he wanted to work things out.
It wasn't Marcus.
It was Northwestern General Hospital.
"URGENT: Please contact Patient Services immediately regarding David Sterling's account. Payment required within 24 hours to continue treatment."
My blood went cold. I called the hospital with shaking fingers.
"Patient Services, this is Janet."
"Hi, this is Emma Sterling. I got a message about my father?"
"Oh yes, Miss Sterling. I'm glad you called. Your father's insurance has maxed out, and his account is severely delinquent. We need payment of $500,000 within 24 hours, or we'll have to transfer him to a county facility."
Five hundred thousand dollars. I had exactly $847 in my checking account.
"But he needs the surgery," I said desperately. "The doctors said without it, he'll die."
"I understand this is difficult," Janet said in a tone that suggested she'd had this conversation a thousand times. "But hospital policy is very clear. Without payment or insurance coverage, we can't continue treatment."
"There has to be something—"
"I'm sorry, Miss Sterling. Twenty-four hours."
She hung up.
I sat in my car, staring at my phone. My father was dying. The surgery that could save him cost half a million dollars. I had less than a thousand.
Marcus's words echoed in my head: "A girl who digs through trash for food thinking she could marry into the Sterling banking family."
He was right. I was nobody. A broke art student from the wrong side of Chicago who'd been stupid enough to think love mattered more than money. My father had worked three jobs his whole life just to keep food on the table and send me to college. Now he was lying in a hospital bed, dying, because we didn't have enough money to save him.
But maybe there was a way.
I'd heard stories from other girls at school. Rich men who were lonely, who'd pay good money for the right kind of companionship. Sugar daddies, they called them. It wasn't exactly prostitution, more like an arrangement. A business transaction.
I'd always judged those girls before. Called them gold diggers and worse. Now I was about to become one of them.
I drove home to the crappy apartment I'd shared with Lisa, praying she wasn't there. The place was empty, thank God. I went to my closet and pulled out the only nice dress I owned - a simple black cocktail dress my father had bought me for my 21st birthday. It was the most expensive thing I'd ever owned at $200, and he'd saved for months to afford it.
I put it on, did my makeup to cover the dark circles under my green eyes, and tried to tame my long red hair into something that looked intentional rather than like I'd been crying in a car for an hour. In the mirror, I looked pale and fragile, like I was going to a funeral. Which, in a way, I was. I was burying the old Emma Sterling - the girl who believed in true love and happy endings.
The new Emma Sterling was about to do whatever it took to save her father's life.
I looked up "upscale bars Chicago" on my phone and found what I was looking for. The Diamond Club. Exclusive, expensive, and according to the reviews, "where Chicago's elite come to play."
Perfect.
I grabbed my purse, checked my reflection one more time, and headed for the door. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely turn the key in the ignition, but I managed to start the car and drive toward downtown.
The Diamond Club was everything I'd expected and more. Marble floors that reflected the crystal chandeliers above, casting rainbow prisms across walls lined with expensive art. The air smelled like leather, aged whiskey, and money. Men in thousand-dollar suits sipped drinks that probably cost more than my rent, while women who looked like they'd stepped off magazine covers laughed at their jokes. Soft jazz played in the background, mixing with the quiet murmur of power deals being made in dark corners. The bouncer looked me up and down when I approached the door.
"You on the list?" he asked.
"No, but—"
"Then you can't come in."
I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of my father from his hospital bed. "My dad is dying," I said quietly. "I need to save him, and this is the only way I know how. Please."
The bouncer studied my face for a long moment. Then he stepped aside.
"One drink," he said. "That's all I can give you."
"Thank you."
I walked into the club on unsteady legs. The music was soft, the lighting was dim, and everywhere I looked, I saw beautiful women talking to powerful-looking men. They all looked so confident, so comfortable in this world of money and luxury.
I felt like a fraud in my $200 dress.
I made my way to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic I couldn't afford. The bartender was gorgeous in that way that told me she probably made more in tips than I made in a month.
"First time?" she asked as she slid the drink across the marble bar top.
"Is it that obvious?"
She smiled kindly. "Honey, you look like you're about to throw up. Whatever brought you here, it must be pretty serious."
I took a sip of my drink and nearly choked. It was stronger than anything I'd ever tasted.
"My father's dying," I said quietly. "I need money for his surgery."
The bartender nodded like she'd heard this story before. "How much?"
"Five hundred thousand."
She whistled low. "That's a lot of money, sweetheart. You sure you're ready for what that kind of number requires?"
Before I could answer, I felt a presence behind me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill ran down my spine. I turned around slowly.
The most beautiful man I'd ever seen was standing there, watching me with dark eyes that seemed to see right through me. He was tall, probably six foot two, with black hair that was perfectly styled and a face that belonged on magazine covers. His suit probably cost more than my car.
But it was his eyes that caught my attention. They were so dark they were almost black, and they held secrets I couldn't begin to imagine.
"You look lost," he said, and his voice was like warm honey poured over broken glass.
"I'm not lost," I said, trying to sound confident. "I know exactly where I am."
He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made women do stupid things.
"Do you? Because you look like a lamb who's wandered into a den of wolves."
"Maybe I'm not as innocent as I look."
"Maybe," he said, moving closer. "But I doubt it."
He extended a hand to me. "Alexander Thorne."
I took his hand, and the moment our skin touched, I felt a jolt of electricity that nearly knocked me off the bar stool.
"Emma Sterling," I managed to say.
"Emma Sterling," he repeated, like he was tasting my name. "What brings you to the Diamond Club, Emma Sterling?"
I looked into those dark eyes and made a decision that would change my life forever.
"I'm looking for someone who can help me," I said.
"Help you with what?"
"I need money. A lot of money. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get it."
Alexander's smile widened, and for just a moment, I could have sworn I saw something predatory flash across his face.
"Whatever it takes?" he asked softly.
"Whatever it takes."
He moved closer, so close I could smell his cologne - expensive and intoxicating.
"I think we should talk," he said. "Privately."
I looked around the club, at all the beautiful people living their beautiful lives, and thought about my father lying alone in a hospital bed. I thought about Marcus and Lisa laughing at me in that alley. I thought about having nothing and being nothing and watching the only person I'd ever loved die because I couldn't save him.
"Yes," I said, finishing my drink in one gulp. "Let's talk."
Alexander placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward a private booth in the corner of the club. As we walked, I noticed something strange. Every person we passed - waitresses, other patrons, even the security guards - not only stepped out of his way like he was royalty, but their eyes dropped to the ground as if they couldn't bear to look directly at him. A few people actually seemed to shiver when he passed.
Or like they were afraid of him.
I slid into the booth across from him, and he signaled the waitress with a subtle gesture. She appeared instantly with two glasses of what looked like very expensive whiskey.
"To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.
"To desperate times," I countered.
We drank, and the whiskey burned all the way down.
"Tell me about your father," he said.
So I did. I told him about the cancer, about the surgery he needed, about the hospital's ultimatum. I told him about Marcus and Lisa, about my job at the pizza place, about being broke and alone and completely out of options.
He listened without interrupting, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
"Five hundred thousand dollars," he said when I finished.
"Yes."
"That's a significant amount of money."
"I know."
"What are you willing to do for it?"
The question hung in the air between us like a loaded gun.
"I told you," I said quietly. "Whatever it takes."
He leaned back in his seat, studying me with those unsettling eyes.
"I have a proposition for you, Emma Sterling," he said finally. "A business arrangement, if you will."
"What kind of arrangement?"
"Marriage."
I nearly choked on my whiskey. "Excuse me?"
"I need a wife," he said with quiet authority, like he was used to having his every word obeyed. "Nothing romantic, you understand. Just a legal arrangement. One year. At the end of that year, you'll receive ten million dollars."
Ten million dollars. Not five hundred thousand. Ten million.
"Why would you need a wife?" I asked suspiciously.
"Let's just say there are certain business advantages to being married," he said. "And certain social expectations I need to fulfill."
"And you're willing to pay ten million dollars for a fake wife?"
"I'm willing to pay ten million dollars for the right fake wife," he corrected. "Someone who needs the money badly enough to honor our agreement. Someone who won't develop inconvenient emotional attachments."
I stared at him across the table. Ten million dollars would save my father's life and set us both up for the rest of our lives. It would be enough to pay off my student loans, buy a house, maybe even start the art gallery I'd always dreamed of.
All I had to do was marry a stranger for one year.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"There's always a catch, isn't there?" he said with another one of those dangerous smiles. "The catch is that during that year, you'll live with me. You'll accompany me to social events as my wife. And you'll do whatever I ask of you, no questions asked."
"Whatever you ask?"
"Within reason," he said. "I'm not a monster, Emma. I won't ask you to do anything that will truly harm you."
I thought about my father in his hospital bed. I thought about having to tell him I couldn't afford to save him. I thought about watching him die because I was too broke and too proud to do what needed to be done.
"I need the money upfront," I said. "For my father's surgery."
"Of course." He pulled out his phone and his fingers moved across the screen so fast they were almost a blur. Within seconds, he was putting it away. "It's done," he said. "Your father's surgery is paid for, along with any additional treatment he might need."
I stared at him. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
My phone buzzed almost instantly. I looked at it and saw a text from the hospital: "Mr. Sterling's account has been paid in full. Surgery scheduled for tomorrow at 8 AM."
"How did you—" I started to ask.
"I told you," Alexander said. "I'm a businessman. I solve problems quickly and efficiently."
I looked at this man who had just saved my father's life with a few taps on his phone. He was either an angel or the devil himself.
"So," he said, leaning forward. "Do we have a deal, Mrs. Thorne?"
I thought about everything that had led me to this moment. The betrayal, the desperation, the moment I'd decided to sacrifice my pride to save my father's life. I thought about the alternative - going back to my empty apartment, watching my father die, and spending the rest of my life wondering what if.
"We have a deal," I said, and extended my hand across the table.
He took it, and once again, I felt that strange jolt of electricity. This time it was stronger, almost painful, and for a split second I could have sworn I saw something flash in his eyes - something that wasn't quite human.
A chill ran down my spine, but it was too late to take it back.
"Excellent," he said. "We'll be married tomorrow afternoon. After your father's surgery, of course."
"Tomorrow?" I squeaked.
"I don't believe in wasting time," he said, standing up from the booth. "I'll have my assistant send you the details."
He started to walk away, then turned back. When he looked at me this time, his dark eyes seemed to hold depths I couldn't fathom.
"Oh, and Emma?"
"Yes?"
"Don't disappoint me." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something underneath it that made every instinct I had scream danger. "I'm not a forgiving man when it comes to broken promises."
There was something in his voice when he said it that made my blood run cold. But it was too late to back out now. I'd made my deal with the devil, and tomorrow I would become Mrs. Alexander Thorne.
I just hoped I would survive the year.
End of Chapter 1