The next twenty-four hours feel like someone pressed pause on my life and somehow I'm still breathing through the stillness. I don't go anywhere. I barely eat. I sit on the edge of my bed with my knees drawn up and my thoughts scattered everywhere. Every time I try to think clearly, Asher's offer loops in my mind again with terrifying clarity.
Ten thousand dollars.
My family's security.
A chance out of the drowning.
And in exchange, I would give six months of my life pretending to be married to a man who barely blinked the entire time he spoke.
Mom notices something is wrong, of course. She's still fragile, still trying to survive her own version of this grief, but she's always been the kind of person who senses storms even before they form.
That evening she finds me sitting at the dining table, staring at numbers on a notepad that won't stop shifting every time I blink.
"Elara," she says softly, touching my shoulder, "you're scaring me. Talk to me."
I look at her, at the exhaustion in her eyes, at the lines grief carved on her face in just one week, and I want to tell her everything. But the words taste unreal in my mouth. How do I explain that someone like Asher Sterling wants me to pretend I belong beside him?
"I'm just thinking about jobs," I say, which isn't even a lie.
She gives me a tired smile. "You'll find one. You always do."
I nod even though I don't believe it. The last week made me realize how unprepared I am for adulthood. Losing a parent doesn't just break your heart-it throws you straight into the deep end without warning.
Mom presses a kiss to my forehead before returning to the living room, where she's been sorting my father's belongings slowly, piece by piece. I watch her shoulders tremble and look away before she notices.
I wish I could save all of us.
Maybe this is the only way.
But the idea of stepping into Asher's world feels overwhelming. I can't tell what's more frightening-saying no or saying yes.
When morning comes, I haven't slept at all.
At nine a.m., Nova barges into my room with the subtlety of a marching band. "Tell me you said yes."
"I said nothing," I mumble, rubbing my temples.
"Elara!" she groans dramatically. "Do you understand how life-changing this is? Do you understand that you could get your family out of this nightmare in one month, forget six?"
"That's not the point," I snap, louder than I intend. "Nova, he's not normal."
She pauses. "No billionaires are normal. You want normal? Date a barista."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what? Is he rude? Dangerous? Creepy?"
I shake my head. "No. God, no. He's just... intense. Cold. He looks at you like he's measuring your entire existence in five seconds. And he barely moves. It's like he's in a permanent board meeting."
Nova snorts. "Okay, maybe he's a little emotionally constipated, but he's not asking you to love him. He's asking you to pretend you tolerate him long enough for his grandmother to believe it."
I drop my face into my hands. "This is insane."
"Everything is insane when you're broke," she says gently, sitting beside me. "But this insane thing might save you."
I don't answer. I don't trust myself to.
The day drags on painfully. Every hour feels like a countdown. By evening, I feel the decision clawing at my throat. There's no universe where my father would have wanted this for me. But there's also no universe where he would have wanted us drowning financially after everything he worked for.
I wait until almost nine p.m.
Twenty-four hours on the dot.
My phone vibrates in my hand as I finally dial the number on the card Asher gave me. My fingers tremble so hard I almost drop it.
He answers on the first ring.
"Ms. Wynn."
His voice is exactly as I remember it-smooth, low, composed, like he never raises it for anything.
I swallow harshly. "I thought about it."
"And?"
My heart thunders once, twice, before I force the word out.
"Yes."
He doesn't react with surprise or relief. Just a calm exhale, like he already expected this outcome.
"Good. We'll meet tomorrow at nine. Same suite. Bring an ID and whatever documents you have. The contract will be ready."
My pulse spikes. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes. My grandmother requested lunch this weekend. We need everything finalized before then."
I grip the edge of my comforter. "Okay."
There's a small beat of silence. Then, in a softer but still unreadable tone, he says,
"You made the right choice."
"I hope so," I whisper.
"You did," he says simply. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Wynn."
He hangs up without a goodbye.
I stare at my phone screen long after the call ends, feeling the decision settle on my shoulders like a weight I chose but don't yet understand.
"I'm going to regret this," I whisper into the empty room.
But deep down, something tells me this is the first step into a life I never expected-whether it turns into salvation or disaster.
The morning air feels heavier than usual when I step outside. Not colder, just... weighted, like the world knows I made a choice yesterday that I can't undo. Nova insisted on coming with me, but I refused. I need to do this alone, even if my nerves are threatening to crawl out of my skin.
I arrive at the Sterling building ten minutes early, and it's as intimidating as ever-glass walls glowing softly, polished floors so clean they look like mirrors. Everything in this place screams money and control, two things I have absolutely none of.
The receptionist greets me with a polite, practiced smile. "Good morning, Ms. Wynn. Mr. Sterling is expecting you. Forty-second floor."
Of course he is.
The elevator ride is painfully smooth. Too smooth. The kind that leaves you alone with every thought you tried to bury. I straighten my blouse twice, then stop because I'm making it obvious I'm nervous. Not that it matters. Anyone who steps into Asher Sterling's orbit probably feels exactly like this.
When the doors slide open, the hallway is the same quiet, immaculate stretch I walked through two days ago. My heartbeat speeds up with every step. I stop in front of suite 4201 and take a steadying breath.
Before I can knock, the door opens from inside.
Asher stands there in another perfectly tailored suit, dark grey this time, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the expensive watch hugging his wrist. His expression remains unreadable-calm, composed, like he's been waiting without actually waiting.
"Ms. Wynn," he says, stepping back slightly. "Come in."
I walk inside, and the familiar minimalistic suite feels different today-like a stage set for a performance I'm about to take part in. A folder rests on the coffee table. A pen lies beside it. A subtle, cold seriousness fills the room.
Asher closes the door behind me. "Did you bring your documents?"
I nod and hand him the small folder I brought. His fingers brush mine for half a second-cool, steady, impersonal. He glances through everything with efficient movements, then sets it all aside.
"You're punctual," he says.
"I was too nervous to be late."
A faint flicker crosses his eyes. Amusement? Maybe. Hard to tell. His face returns to its neutral setting almost instantly.
"As long as you can maintain that punctuality," he replies, "we'll have no issues."
That tiny, vague comment somehow makes my nerves worse.
He gestures toward the sofa. "Sit."
I do, and he takes the seat opposite me-not beside me, not too close. Just across, like this is still a business meeting. He opens the thick folder on the table and slides the front pages toward me.
"This is the agreement," he says. "Read everything carefully. Ask questions if you need to."
My fingers hover over the contract for a long moment before I finally force myself to read. It's detailed, extremely so. Rules, expectations, boundaries, compensations-everything spelled out like I'm being hired for a job at a multinational firm rather than a pretend marriage.
Six months.
Public events, dinners, family gatherings.
Shared residence-my stomach flips at that part.
Weekly allowances.
A nondisclosure clause.
A termination clause.
No romantic expectations.
My eyes stick on that line longer than I intend.
"It's to avoid misunderstandings," he says quietly, noticing where I'm stuck. "Our arrangement is purely strategic."
"I didn't think you wanted anything else," I answer, but my voice sounds smaller than I intended.
His gaze holds mine for a few seconds, unreadable again, before he nods once.
"Good."
I continue reading, trying not to let my hands shake. When I reach the compensation section, my breath catches. Ten thousand a month. Plus housing, transport, and any public image expenses I might need.
It's life-saving.
And terrifying.
When I finally finish, Asher watches me with a calm patience that somehow makes me even more aware of myself.
"Any questions?" he asks.
"A few," I admit. "Your grandmother... she really wants you married?"
"She wants stability," he says, leaning back slightly. "She's been ill recently, and my personal life is one of her biggest worries. I don't have the time for a real relationship. A temporary solution is cleaner."
Cleaner.
The word hits strangely.
"And when it ends?" I ask. "What happens?"
His jaw tightens just slightly. "When the six months are over, we part ways. You'll receive the final payment, and everything goes back to normal."
Normal.
As if anything about this is normal.
He slides the pen toward me. "Do you want to do this, Ms. Wynn?"
The question echoes in the quiet room.
Do I?
I think of mom sorting dad's belongings, wiping her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking.
My brother closing himself off in his room.
Bills piling up like threats.
The aching weight of reality pressing down on all of us.
I meet Asher's gaze.
"Yes," I say, steady this time. "I want to do it."
His expression doesn't soften, but something shifts-like approval, or maybe just relief hidden beneath layers he never shows.
"Then sign," he says gently.
I take the pen.
And with a slow exhale, I sign my name.
"Elara Wynn."
When I lift my head, Asher closes the folder with a quiet finality.
"Welcome to the arrangement," he says.
And just like that, my life takes a turn I can't rewind.