ALMS TO LOVE CHAPTER 2

At the Orchid Room, Grand Aurelio

The room was so white it hurt the eyes. Too many roses. Too much glass. Charles sat alone at a long marble table like he’d summoned her to a royal execution.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking up.

“I have a life,” she replied, dumping her tote bag onto the chair. “You should try having one sometime.”

He glanced at her. “And here I thought you'd thank me for the offer.”

“What offer?”

He slid a single-page document across the table. “A contract. A marriage contract. Three months. Public appearances. A believable love story. Compensation—sixty million dollars.”

She stared at it like it had horns. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke about money.”

“Or marriage, apparently.”

He folded his hands. “This is about legacy. My grandmother has made her terms clear. I need a wife.”

“And I need a new liver after this conversation.”

“Fiona.” He said her name like a negotiation. “I’ve done my research. Your daughter needs treatment. Expensive treatment. I can help.”

“You did research?” she hissed. “On my child?”

“She’s adopted. You’ve filed three applications to private hospitals. All denied. You're on a teacher’s salary. You’re desperate.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a weakness,” she snapped.

“It’s not,” he said calmly. “It’s leverage.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then she stood up. “You are psychotic.”

He stood up too. “But honest. Think about it, Fiona. Three months. No strings. You save your daughter, I save my inheritance. We both walk away.”

“You make it sound like a business merger.”

“It is.”

“And what do I tell my daughter? ‘Sorry baby, Mommy’s faking love with a rich sociopath so we can afford your chemo’?”

“She’ll be alive to hear it.”

Silence.

The words hit harder than she expected.

Fiona sank back into the chair, trembling.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

He nodded. “You will. But you'll thank me first.”

Meanwhile...

In a lush villa surrounded by orchids and bodyguards, Madam Jamaica Billion sat on a velvet chaise lounge, sipping buko juice with one hand and scrolling through Tiktok with the other.

“Oh look,” she murmured to her personal butler, Donato. “That K-pop boy just winked at me.”

“Madam, that is a prerecorded video.”

“Lies.”

Donato cleared his throat. “Charles has sent a message. He says: ‘I’ve found her.’”

Jamaica perked up. “Praise the saints and the South Korean skincare gods. Finally.”

She stood up, still in silk pajamas, and struck a pose. “Donato, prepare the engagement ring. And the wedding doves.”

“...Wedding doves, ma’am?”

“Yes. And make sure they’re trained, I don’t want a repeat of the last time. One of them pooped on the priest.”

Donato grimaced. “Understood.”

“Oh, and Donato?” she added, winking. “Tell my lawyer to review the prenup. I may be pushing eighty, but I still smell scandal coming from ten kilometers away. I need to know if this girl’s gonna be a blessing... or a season finale.”

Back at the Orchid Room

Fiona stared at the paper.

Then at Charles.

“You really don’t believe in love, do you?”

He gave a small, humorless smile. “I believe in timing. And contracts.”

She took a shaky breath. “I want everything in writing. My daughter’s medical fund. No sleeping arrangements unless I initiate it. No control over my life post-contract. And I want a clause that protects me if this blows up in the media.”

His brow arched. “You’re negotiating?”

“I’m surviving.”

Charles nodded once. “Done.”

She stood up. “Give me 24 hours.”

“Why?”

“I have to ask my daughter’s permission.”

He blinked. That, he didn’t expect.

As she walked out, he felt it—the rare flicker of admiration.

She wasn’t a woman who could be bought.

She was a woman who chose.

And that, he realized, was the most dangerous kind of woman of all.

Fiona grabbed her bag, eyes glassy but determined, and stormed out of the Orchid Room.

Once she reached the elevator, her hands shook as she pulled out her phone.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

A small, sleepy voice answered—soft as cotton but with that familiar spark.

“Liza Liana,” Fiona breathed. “Baby, how are you feeling?”

“Hmm… sleepy. The nurse gave me the super yucky soup again. I pretended to eat it but I fed it to Mr. Floppy.” Her voice brightened a bit. “He’s a brave bunny now. He eats everything.”

Fiona’s throat tightened. She could hear the IV machine in the background, the soft beeping tempo that reminded her of time slipping away.

“Did you take your medicine, sweetheart?”

“I tried,” Liza mumbled, a bit guilty. “But I almost barfed again.”

“Oh, darling…” Fiona sat down on a marble bench in the hotel lobby, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye before it could fall.

Liza suddenly perked up. “Mommy, why are you crying?”

“I’m not. I just... missed you.”

“You just saw me this morning!” the girl giggled weakly. “You're such a crybaby, Mama.”

Fiona laughed softly. “Maybe I am.”

A pause.

Then Liza asked, “Are you still at that big party with Tita Valeria? With all the sparkly people?”

“I was. But I met someone… important.”

“Like a doctor?”

Fiona hesitated. “No. Someone who might help us. Help you.”

Silence.

Then a very serious, very small voice asked, “Is he scary?”

Fiona blinked. “What?”

“The man. The important one. Is he nice-scary? Or scary-scary?”

Fiona thought about Charles’s cold eyes, the steel in his voice. Then she thought of the contract. The offer. The sixty million pesos.

“He’s… complicated,” she whispered.

“But he said he can help you,” she added gently. “He said he could give us the money. For your treatments.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence again. Then—

“Do you have to marry him or something?”

Fiona froze.

“…What?”

“You always said in movies, rich people do fake weddings,” Liza said cheerfully, as if reciting a cartoon plot. “Is it like that? Like pretend? For money?”

Fiona exhaled, stunned. “You’ve been watching too much Drama Wars with the nurses.”

“I like it. But they always end up falling in love,” Liza said, yawning.

Fiona’s heart cracked down the middle.

“…Would it be okay?” she asked quietly. “If I pretended—for a while? If it meant we could keep fighting this together?”

Liza was quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly: “Will he make you sad, Mommy?”

Fiona shut her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Then say yes. But if he makes you cry too much… I’ll bite him.”

A watery laugh escaped Fiona. “You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m a dragon bunny princess,” Liza yawned. “And I say yes. You can marry the scary man. For now.”