Billionaire's Dead Wife Returns As His Contract Bride

CAIN

"Um, no,” she whispered, her voice soft, a little musical, and so painfully familiar to him. "I'm Nora." She extended a wet hand toward him. "Nora Delaney. I'm here for the interview."

Cain looked at her hand, at her face, then at her hand again. How could this be!? He saw the flames eat her with his own eyes. Held the urn that contained her ashes. And yet here she stood, looking at him with those hazel eyes that still haunt his dreams every night.

"Nora?" Cain repeated the name like it was the wrong answer, furrowing his brows tight. "Is that what you were told to say?"

Nora blinked and took a nervous step back, her hand tightening around her umbrella.

"I... I don't understand," she stammered, her voice trembling. “I’m here for a contract job your agency  listed."

Cain stepped in closer, invading her personal space and towering over her.  ‎"Is this a joke?" His voice cracked. He glanced around the room as if expecting to find hidden cameras. "Who sent you? Was it Lydia? How much did it cost to make you look like a dead woman?"

"I don't know what you’re talking about," Nora’s voice trembled. She took another step back, accidentally bumping into the door. "Please, you're scaring me."

"Stop… acting," Cain gritted through his teeth and grabbed her wrist.

Her skin was warm. Fever warm. And the sensation of her pulse beneath his thumb made his chest tighten till he couldn't pull in another breath. 

He wasn't hallucinating her. Ghosts, after all, don't have a heartbeat.

"Mr. Ashford, let go of me!” Nora gasped, pulling her hand away. “I think there's been a mistake. I should leave."

He stared at her face under the light of the chandelier. There had to be a scar. A sign of surgery. Contact lenses. A mask. Anything!

"You're hurting me!" Nora cried.

Then Cain stared into her eyes, and something inside him broke. Her eyes were wide again, tears prickling at the corners. The same expression Vivienne held last time he saw her screaming from a burning balcony.

Suddenly, the smell of smoke filled his nostrils and he could feel the heat of the burning again.

He let go of her hand sharply and Nora stumbled back, rubbing her wrist before turning back to him. She looked at the door, then back at him, then back at the door once more.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I really thought... I really thought I needed this job. But I can't do this."

She turned to leave.

"Wait."

The word escaped his lips almost involuntarily. He didn't want to stop her. He wanted to banish this ghost from his sight. But the ache in his chest was stronger than his logic. He couldn't just let her walk out that door. Not with that face he couldn't.

"Sit down," Cain said, his voice rough. "And let's have that job interview."

He watched her hand hover over the door handle. She looked down at her worn shoes, then at the storm raging outside. And whatever fear he stirred in her, it wasn’t stronger than her need for this job.

Slowly, she turned back, crossed into the room and took a seat at the table, careful not to touch anything, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Cain took the seat opposite her, watching her and drinking her in.

Up close, the illusion held steady. But soon, cracks began to show. Not in her face. Her face was a perfect, agonizing mirror of the woman he once loved. But when it came to the way she occupied the space. Vivienne had owned every room she entered. She sprawled, laughed, and took up air. 

This woman looked like she was trying her best to disappear. She hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller.

"Drink," Cain said firmly, pointing to the glass of water on the table.

"I'm not thirsty," Nora flinched.

"I didn't ask if you were thirsty. I told you to drink." Cain picked up his own glass of whiskey and swirled it in his hand. "It calms the nerves. And you don't really look calm."

She hesitated first then reached for her drink. Her trembling hands rippled the liquid as she brought it to her lips and took a small sip.

‎Cain forced himself back into his chair. He folded his hands on the table, fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles went white. ‎

"Let’s see how well you’ve memorized your script," Cain muttered to himself. 

He didn't look at her resume. Didn't care about her work history or typing speed. All he needed to know was who,or what she was.

‎"Where did you grow up?" he said, his voice cold and clipped. 

‎"Chicago," Nora answered softly, setting the glass down with trembling hands. "The south side."

"And your parents?"

"Both my parents are deceased."

‎Too convenient, Cain thought darkly, and clasped his hands in front of his face. 

“Have you ever been here before? California, that is.”

“No.”

Cain let her answer sink in for a moment before he continued, his eyes never leaving her face.

"What was the name of your high school?"

Nora blinked at him. "Lincoln Park High. Chicago."

"And your childhood pet?" Cain pressed, leaning closer. "Every little girl had a pet. What was yours?"

"I... I didn't have one," she stammered, shrinking back against her chair.

Cain narrowed his eyes and watched her pupils, looking for any flicker of deception, but all he saw was fear and confusion. She wasn't cracking. If Lydia had coached her, she had done a terrifyingly perfect job.

"Who was your first kiss?"

"Mr. Ashford, I don't see how this is rele—"

"Answer the question!"

"I– I don't remember" her cheeks flushed red. “And even if I could, I wouldn't tell."

Cain clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He was getting nowhere with this. Every answer she gave felt genuine or designed to prevent verification. And yet, she sat there wearing a dead woman’s face. The disconnection between his logic and his eyes was driving him to the brink of madness. He needed her to slip up. He needed her to say something that proved she was a fraud.

He decided to switch tactics. He was going to ask something a scriptwriter wouldn't think to include.

"You look like my late wife," Cain dropped the words the way one would speak about the weather.

He watched her with the intensity of a predator, cataloging every micro-expression. Waiting for her to flinch. To feign surprise. To reveal the crack in her performance. 

‎Nora went completely still and her face drained of what little color it had. Then she finally looked up and met his eyes for the first time since sitting down, and all he could see was genuine shock, and something that looked awfully close to horror.

‎"Oh my God," she breathed. "Is that why... I didn't know. I'm so sorry." ‎Her hand went to her mouth, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry.

‎Either she was the best actress Cain had ever seen, or she truly had no idea. ‎He couldn't decide which possibility terrified him more.

"Don't be." Cain took a sip of whisky, the burn of the alcohol grounding him. "She's gone.” He paused before he continued. “And that brings us to you. Your job is to solve that problem."

“Excuse me?” Nora gasped.

"The contract job,” Cain said, shifting his weight on his seat. "The contract lasts one year," He continued, listing the terms. "You will live as my wife for a year, attending all public functions. Publicly, we're a devoted couple. Privately, we're strangers.

Separate bedrooms. No intimacy or emotional involvement. You stay out of my personal affairs, and I stay out of yours. At year's end, we divorce, and you receive a large compensation."

Nora glanced at Cain. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "Your agency told me this was an interview for an executive support position. With an unconventional scope, yes, but..." She shook her head. "They didn't say anything about pretending to be someone's wife." ‎

“They weren't supposed to tell candidates the specifics beforehand,” Cain muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Discretion was part of the arrangement.” 

‎"I came here because I need the bonus they mentioned. But this? This is insane. This isn't a job,it's... I don't even know what this is." ‎She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "This feels wrong. I should go."

Cain watched as Nora stood, and reached for her umbrella.

Let her go, he thought, his jaw tightening. If she wasn't Vivienne, she was nothing to him. He could always hire another candidate for the job. He had no use for a stranger wearing a dead woman's face, nor did he have the patience to entertain a cheap counterfeit.

He stared at the empty glass in front of him, fully intending to let her disappear back into the rain. But then, the silence of the room grew loud, filling his mind with questions he would never get an answer to if he let her walk out now.

"Two million dollars."

Nora froze halfway out of her chair. 

"What?" she breathed, her hand gripping the side of the table.

"Two million dollars," Cain repeated, leaning back until the leather chair creaked. "That’s the bonus you came here for, isn't it? Deposited into any account of your choosing upon successful completion of the contract.

Cain pulled a thick envelope from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it to her side of the table. "The terms are in there," he said and leaned back. "Two million dollars just to wear a ring and smile when I tell you to. Everything else stays the same."

Nora turned fully to face him. Her face was pale, water dripping off her coat onto the floor. And he could see the conflict warring behind her eyes.

‎"I... I can't." Nora's voice shook. She looked at the envelope, then back at his face, at the intensity burning in his eyes that bordered on obsession. "This isn't right. Whatever this is, whatever you're really asking me to do... I don't want to be part of it." ‎She pushed herself out of her seat and grabbed her broken umbrella with trembling hands.

‎"Five million dollars." 

Cain's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Walk out that door, and the offer dies with it. You'll never see me or this money again." 

‎He was lying. He knew it even before the words left his mouth. He wouldn't let this die. He couldn't. Not after seeing her face.

‎Nora hesitated. ‎He watched her internal war play out across her features, pride versus desperation, dignity versus everything else. She looked at the storm raging outside through the rain-streaked windows. Looked at the envelope on the table. Then looked back at him. ‎

Then, in a sudden, frantic movement, she snatched the envelope up and clutched it to her chest like a shield.

‎"I need to think about it," she whispered, and then ran, actually ran for the exit, her broken umbrella forgotten on the floor. ‎

The door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the room, and Cain sat alone in the suffocating silence she left behind. The fireplace crackled. Rain hammered against the windows.

He stared at the door she'd disappeared through, then at the empty chair where a ghost had been sitting. ‎And one question clawed at his chest... ‎

Would she return to sign the contract? ‎Or had he just watched the ghost of his wife vanish into the rain for good?