Ivy Carter had always believed disasters announced themselves.
A loud argument.
A slammed door.
A phone call in the middle of the night.
But the night her life broke apart, it arrived quietly—disguised as an ordinary evening.
Her mother was standing in the kitchen, humming softly as she rinsed a glass under the tap. The overhead light flickered once, casting strange shadows across the worn countertops. Ivy was at the small dining table nearby, sorting unpaid bills into neat piles as if order alone could solve them.
"Mum, you should sit," Ivy said gently, glancing up. "You've been on your feet all day."
"I'm fine," her mother replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let me finish this."
The glass slipped.
It shattered against the tiles, the sound sharp and violent in the quiet apartment. Ivy barely had time to register it before her mother collapsed, her body crumpling as if her bones had suddenly forgotten how to hold her upright.
"Mum!" Ivy was on the floor in seconds, her knees hitting hard. She caught her mother's shoulders, her hands trembling. "Mum, look at me. Please—please look at me."
Her mother's lips parted, but no words came out. Her skin felt cold. Too cold.
Ivy's heart slammed painfully against her ribs as panic surged through her veins. She fumbled for her phone with shaking fingers, barely able to dial before tears blurred her vision.
The ambulance came with blaring sirens and flashing lights, but even as paramedics lifted her mother onto the stretcher, Ivy felt helpless. Useless. Like she was watching someone else's life unravel.
At the hospital, time stretched into something thick and unbearable.
Doctors spoke in controlled, distant voices. Machines beeped steadily. Ivy sat alone in a plastic chair, her hands clasped together so tightly her fingers ached. When the doctor finally approached her, his expression was professional—but heavy.
"Your mother has been ignoring symptoms for a long time," he said. "Her condition is serious."
"How serious?" Ivy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"She needs surgery. Soon."
Soon.
That single word crushed the air from her lungs.
"How soon?" she pressed.
"Within days," he replied gently. "Delaying it would be dangerous."
Ivy nodded numbly, her mind racing ahead to the question she was afraid to ask.
"And… the cost?"
The doctor hesitated, just long enough to answer her without speaking.
He told her the figure anyway.
Ivy didn't remember standing up. She only remembered the sensation of the floor tilting beneath her feet.
By morning, Ivy was sitting in the hospital corridor, staring at her phone like it might magically change its mind.
Unpaid bills.
Loan rejections.
Overdue notices stamped in red.
She scrolled through her bank account and felt a hollow laugh escape her chest. Two jobs. Endless shifts. Sleepless nights. And still—nothing to show for it.
Her father's debts had followed them like a curse long after he disappeared. Her brother was halfway through university, his future balanced on hope and student loans. And now this.
Ivy pressed her forehead against the cool wall, fighting tears.
She had done everything right.
Why wasn't it enough?
Her phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar.
"Ivy Carter?" a male voice asked when she answered.
"Yes?"
"My employer would like to meet you."
Her brows furrowed. "Who is this?"
"That isn't important."
"Yes, it is."
There was a pause—brief, calculated.
"You know of him," the voice continued smoothly. "Alexander Crowe."
Ivy stiffened.
Alexander Crowe wasn't just a name. He was a presence. A man whose companies controlled half the skyline she saw from her bus window every morning. A billionaire CEO who never gave interviews, never attended social events unless it benefited him.
"I think you've made a mistake," Ivy said carefully.
"I haven't," the man replied. "You have something he wants."
Her stomach dropped. "I don't have anything."
"Everyone does," he said. "Be ready in an hour."
The call ended.
Ivy stared at her phone, her pulse roaring in her ears.
She should ignore it.
She knew she should.
But when she looked through the glass wall at her mother lying unconscious in a hospital bed, wires and tubes attached to her fragile body, Ivy realized something terrifying.
She had no room for pride.
Crowe International Tower rose into the sky like a monument to power.
Glass. Steel. Control.
Ivy felt painfully out of place as she stepped inside, her shoes clicking too loudly against the polished floor. She clutched her worn handbag like a shield, resisting the urge to turn around and run.
The receptionist smiled politely and gestured toward a private elevator.
No questions. No hesitation.
The ride to the top floor was silent.
When the doors opened, Ivy was led to a single door at the end of a long corridor.
"Go in," the assistant said.
Ivy inhaled sharply and obeyed.
The office was vast and quiet, bathed in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city like it belonged to him. At the center stood a man facing away from her, his posture relaxed, confident, unshaken.
He turned.
Alexander Crowe was colder than she expected.
Not cruel. Not arrogant.
Controlled.
His gaze swept over her once, sharp and assessing, stripping her down to facts and probabilities. No warmth. No curiosity.
Just calculation.
"Sit," he said.
The word settled heavily between them.
Ivy sat.
"You're wondering why you're here," Alexander said calmly.
"Yes," she replied, gripping her hands together.
"You need money."
Her jaw tightened. "I didn't come here to be insulted."
"This isn't an insult," he said. "It's reality."
He slid a folder across the desk.
"A contract."
Her heart skipped. "For what?"
"For marriage."
The word hit her like a slap.
She stared at him. "That's not funny."
"I don't joke."
"I won't do it," she said immediately, pushing the folder back.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. "You will."
The certainty in his voice made her skin prickle.
"You don't get to decide that," she snapped.
"No," he agreed. "Circumstances do."
She stood abruptly. "This is insane."
"Your mother doesn't have much time," Alexander said evenly.
The words sliced straight through her defenses.
Ivy froze.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
"A public wife," he replied. "Twelve months. Appearances only. No emotional expectations."
"And after?" she demanded.
"You walk away."
He slid another document toward her.
"Surgery covered. Debts erased. Your brother's education funded."
Her vision blurred as she stared at the numbers.
It was everything.
And it was poison.
"You planned this," she said.
"Yes."
Her chest tightened. "Why me?"
"You're unattached. Desperate. And strong enough not to break," he said simply. "I don't need love. I need stability."
Her hands trembled as she opened the folder.
The contract was thorough. Cold. Legal language wrapping around her life like chains disguised as sentences.
If she signed, her freedom would be gone.
If she didn't—
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she reached for the pen.
The sound of it scratching against paper echoed too loudly in the room.
Alexander closed the folder.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Crowe," he said.
The name didn't feel real.
As Ivy stood, he spoke once more.
"You belong to this arrangement now," he said. "And I don't release what's bound to me easily."
A chill ran through her.
She walked out knowing one truth with terrifying clarity:
The contract hadn't saved her life.
It had claimed it.