« Pretend to be my wife, » murmured the billionaire doctor — but his one condition left her speechless.
He stood up and walked to the window, turning his back on her.
« One condition, » he said, his voice sharp as a blade.
« You must never, under any circumstances, fall in love with me. »
She almost laughed, it all seemed so absurd.
— Is that your situation? Is that what worries you?
He turned away. Like stone.
— That’s my only condition. This is a business transaction. I don’t want any complications.
Her mind drifted back to the monitor’s steady beep, to her mother breathing shallowly, dependent on expensive care. To her own hands—tough, damaged by supermarket trays and boxes.
Fall in love? Impossible. She’d be as cold as a contract. She could do it.
« Yes, » she said. « I accept. »
He handed her a card.
« My lawyer will contact you tomorrow. We’ll expedite the process. Wedding in a week. »
« One week?! » she exclaimed. « But… I don’t even know you. »
« You don’t need to know me, » he replied. « You just need to marry me. »
When he left the room, the air seemed to tighten.
Emily remained seated, the heavy card in her hand:
Henry Montgomery, MD, Neurosurgery.
A man whose corridors she had only ever passed through had just bought her silence with a contract.
She should have felt grateful. Instead,
she felt empty—as if she had just stepped into the void.
The penthouse smelled of wealth.
Everything was white, gray, and glass—a cold, impersonal luxury.
Emily set down her two suitcases and felt out of place, tiny in this stark world.
Henry came in, still in his surgical scrubs. He had operated on his mother six days earlier, and the good news was that she was recovering better than expected.
« Your room is at the end of the hall, » he said curtly.
« We will lead separate lives. We will appear together in public, have dinner together as a family once a month. I will provide the clothes and an allowance. »
« At the end of the year, if you keep to the agreement, you will receive one hundred thousand dollars. »
She read the file: twenty pages of legal jargon.
— You want me to be loyal to you? she asked, surprised by the word she had just used.
« We maintain a public fiction, » he corrected.
« Fidelity is part of the image. »
« And you? » she asked. « Will you be faithful? »
He looked at her with the face of someone who had long practiced showing nothing.
— I have no interest in romantic relationships.
— So, tomorrow, I sign a paper, I stand by your side, and we lie.
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