SEBASTIAN'S POV
She's going to say yes.
I can see it in the way she holds herself—that careful, guarded posture of someone who's been hit too many times to trust easily, but who's desperate enough to take a risk anyway. Daisy Matty is exactly what I need: forgettable, isolated, and hungry for a way out.
I should feel good about this. Satisfied that my plan is falling into place.
Instead, I feel like I just kicked a stray dog and offered it food afterward.
"Boss?" My driver, Marcus, glances at me in the rearview mirror as we pull away from the diner. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," I say curtly. "Take me back to the office."
He nods and merges into traffic while I pull out my phone and call James, my lawyer.
He answers on the second ring. "Tell me you didn't do something stupid."
"Good afternoon to you too."
"Sebastian." James's voice carries that particular tone he uses when he thinks I'm about to make his life difficult. "Did you approach her without the contract ready?"
"I approached her with an offer. Now I need you to formalize it."
"This is a terrible idea."
"Your opinion is noted."
"I'm serious." I can hear him typing in the background. "Marriage fraud is illegal. If anyone finds out this is fake—"
"It's not fraud if we're legally married," I interrupt. "And no one is going to find out because there's nothing to find out. We fulfill the terms of my father's will, the marriage gets annulled, everyone moves on."
"Except the girl you're paying to pretend to be your wife."
"She's not a girl. She's twenty-three."
"She's twelve years younger than you and works at a diner, Sebastian. This has 'disaster' written all over it."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building behind my eyes. James has been my lawyer for eight years, and he's never been afraid to tell me when he thinks I'm wrong. It's one of the reasons I keep him around, even when it's inconvenient.
"Just draft the contract," I say. "Standard terms. Three hundred thousand, half up front. Six months minimum, annulment after I inherit. She gets a monthly allowance for expenses, use of one of the guest rooms, and a car if she needs it."
"You're being awfully generous."
"I'm being fair."
"Fair would be telling her why you really need her."
My jaw tightens. "Send me the contract by three o'clock."
I hang up before he can argue further.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of meetings and conference calls. I'm supposed to be focused on the quarterly projections for Kindre Industries, but my mind keeps wandering back to the diner. To Daisy, with her too-bright green eyes and her worn coat and the way she looked at me like she couldn't decide if I was offering salvation or damnation.
Both, probably.
My phone buzzes around four-thirty. A text from an unknown number.
*I read the contract. I have questions.*
I save her number and reply immediately.
*Call me.*
Three dots appear, then disappear. Then appear again.
Finally, my phone rings.
"Sebastian Kindre," I answer.
"It's Daisy." Her voice is quiet, uncertain. "Is now a good time?"
"Yes." I stand and walk to the windows of my office, looking out over the city. From the forty-second floor, everything looks small and orderly. Manageable. "What are your questions?"
"Clause seven," she says. "It says I have to attend all required social functions and maintain appropriate behavior at all times. What does 'appropriate' mean?"
"It means you act like my wife. You're polite, you're engaged, you don't cause scenes or embarrass me in front of business associates."
"And if I do?"
"Then you're in breach of contract and you don't get the second half of your payment."
Silence on the other end. Then: "That seems harsh."
"It's standard." I turn away from the window. "Daisy, I need you to understand something. This arrangement only works if we both hold up our end. I'm paying you a significant amount of money to play a role. If you can't do that, then we both lose."
"What do you lose?"
The question catches me off guard. No one ever asks what I have at stake. They assume that because I have money, I have nothing to lose.
"Everything," I say finally. "If I don't inherit my father's company, my uncle takes over. He'll sell it off piece by piece, fire half the staff, and tank what's left. Three thousand people will lose their jobs. That's what I'm trying to prevent."
Another pause. "So this is about more than just you."
"Yes."
"Okay." She takes a breath. "Clause twelve says I can't discuss the terms of our arrangement with anyone. Ever. Even after it ends."
"Correct."
"Why?"
"Because if word gets out that our marriage is a business transaction, it invalidates the terms of my father's will. Which means I don't inherit, which means we're back to square one."
"So I'm supposed to lie to everyone."
"You're supposed to keep a confidence. There's a difference."
"Is there?" The question is sharp, and I realize I've underestimated her. She's smarter than I gave her credit for. More observant.
"You're not lying," I say carefully. "You're simply not disclosing private information about a contractual agreement. People do it every day."
"People aren't pretending to be married."
"No, but they sign NDAs. They keep trade secrets. They maintain professional boundaries. This is no different."
I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line, can picture her sitting in that terrible apartment, trying to decide if she can live with what I'm asking her to do.
"What happens if I back out?" she asks. "After I sign. After I take the first payment. What if I change my mind?"
"Then you return the money and we part ways. But, Daisy?" I soften my voice slightly. "If you're going to back out, do it now. Once we start this, there's no going back. Not for either of us."
"I'm not going to back out."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because I need to know what I'm getting into." Her voice is stronger now, steadier. "I've spent my whole life letting other people make decisions for me. I'm not doing that anymore. So if I'm going to agree to this, I need to know all the rules. All the consequences. Everything."
Something shifts in my chest. Respect, maybe. Or recognition. She's not the helpless victim I assumed she was. She's a survivor.
"Fair enough," I say. "What else do you want to know?"
"The annulment. How does that work?"
"After six months, we file the paperwork. It's a simple process. We claim the marriage was entered into under false pretenses or that we're incompatible. The court grants the annulment, and legally, it's like the marriage never happened."
"And no one will know it was fake?"
"No one except you, me, and my lawyer."
"What about your uncle? Won't he be suspicious?"
"Probably. But suspicion isn't proof. As long as we follow the contract and maintain the illusion, he can't do anything about it."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay. I'll do it."
Relief floods through me, unexpected and unwelcome. "You're sure?"
"No," she admits. "But I'm doing it anyway."
"I'll have Marcus pick you up tomorrow at nine. Bring whatever you need. You'll be moving into my house."
"Tomorrow?" Her voice spikes. "That's—that's really soon."
"The sooner we start, the sooner it's over." I pause. "Unless you need more time?"
"No. No, tomorrow is fine. I just—" She trails off. "Where do you live?"
"North Harbor. I'll text you the address."
"That's—" She stops. "That's the expensive part of town."
"Yes."
"I've never been there."
"You will be now." I check my watch. "Get some rest, Daisy. Tomorrow your life changes."
"I know," she says softly. "That's what I'm afraid of."
She hangs up before I can respond.
I should feel triumphant. I should feel like I've won.
Instead, I stand in my office long after the sun sets, staring at the city lights and wondering what the hell I'm doing.
Daisy Matty is not what I expected. She's sharper than her circumstances suggest, more guarded. And there was something in her voice when she said she was afraid—something that made me want to tell her she didn't have to do this.
But I need her.
And she needs the money.
That's all this is. A transaction. A means to an end.
I repeat that to myself as I finally leave the office and head home to the empty house in North Harbor. The house that, as of tomorrow, won't be empty anymore.
Six months.
I can handle anything for six months.
Even the guilt that's starting to creep in around the edges of this plan.
I push it aside and focus on what matters: the company, the inheritance, the three thousand jobs depending on me to hold it all together.
Daisy Matty is just a piece of the puzzle.
Nothing more.
I almost believe it.