Chapter 2

NORA

The light was too bright. Everything felt foggy. My body ached, and my chest felt hollow—like someone had scooped everything inside me out and left only the pain behind.

“She’s awake,” the nurse called, stepping back slightly as a tall woman in a tailored beige coat strode into the room.

“Thank God,” the woman breathed, her eyes scanning my face. “We were worried.”

I blinked, trying to focus. Her presence was calming in an unfamiliar way. She didn’t look like a nurse. Her clothes screamed class, her heels clicked with purpose, and her hair was pulled into a sleek bun that hadn’t dared to move an inch.

“Who…?” My voice was hoarse, my throat raw like I hadn’t used it in days.

“My name is Ivory,” she said gently, stepping closer to adjust the thin blanket around me. “I’m the assistant to the man who found you unconscious. He brought you here.”

I sat up slowly. Pain flared through my side, and a nauseating ache throbbed deep in my abdomen. I winced.

“I want to go home,” I muttered, then stopped myself.

Home.

There was no home. No Thomas. No nursery. No baby.

Just rain. Blood. And that slamming door.

Ivory’s expression softened. “Do you have someone you’d like us to call?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

She nodded once, like she’d expected that. “Okay. Then you’ll come with us. Mr. Wilson won’t mind. He told me to inform him the moment you woke up.”

“Mr. Wilson?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled her phone from her pocket and stepped into the hallway. I could hear the murmured conversation, low and professional. Then she returned, all business again.

“He’s on his way.”

Something in the finality of her voice told me I wouldn’t be arguing.

By the time the sleek black car pulled up outside the hospital’s private exit, I was dressed in fresh clothes Ivory had somehow arranged—simple, clean, and unfamiliar. Just like everything else now.

The man who stepped out of the backseat was tall, commanding. His presence didn’t fill the space—it owned it. Dark eyes, sharper than they had any right to be. Expensive watch. Straight posture. An unsettling calm.

Kian Wilson.

I’d heard the name before. The billionaire man who owned the largest fashion company I had been dreaming of working in. Ruthless investor. Quiet, private, and devastatingly powerful. And for some unfathomable reason, he had saved me.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at me. Not with pity. Not with curiosity.

Like he already knew enough.

I sat stiffly in the car as we drove through the city, watching the buildings blur past. The silence didn’t feel awkward—it felt deliberate.

Finally, I broke it. “You didn’t have to help me.”

He glanced at me, one brow raised. “I don’t do things out of pity, Nora.”

The way he said my name made me freeze. “How do you know my name?”

“Ivory found your ID in your purse.”

Of course.

We drove for a while longer before arriving at a towering glass mansion just outside the city. Modern, cold, pristine. A perfect reflection of the man who owned it.

Kian led me inside without a word. I followed numbly, the ache inside me louder than anything else.

We walked into his living room—if you could even call something that luxurious just a room—and he motioned toward the couch.

I sat. He stood, watching me for a beat too long before he finally spoke again.

“You’re married,” he said simply.

I blinked, confused.

Then I looked down at my hand.

The ring.

The damn ring was still on my finger.

Without thinking, I slid it off and tossed it into the nearest bin beside his desk. The sound of metal hitting the bottom echoed louder than it should have.

Kian smiled—just barely. “Interesting.”

“I’m not married anymore,” I whispered.

He nodded and reached for a drawer. Pulled out a single sheet of paper and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

My hands trembled slightly as I unfolded the paper. The bold title made my heart stutter.

Marriage Contract.

My eyes scanned quickly.

Terms. Conditions. Duration.

One year.

Marriage. Child. Divorce.

“You’re joking,” I said, looking up at him.

“I don’t joke, why would I joke with something that serious?” he replied evenly. “It’s a proposal.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Have you… been waiting for me?”

His head tilted slightly. “No. I’ve had this for a while. I’ve just been waiting for the right woman.”

“This is insane,” I muttered.

“I prefer the word ‘unconventional,’” he said with maddening calm.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, holding the paper up. “You want me to marry you, live with you, give you a child… and then disappear after a year?”

“Yes.”

“What do I get in return?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Security. A new life—away from whatever it is you’re running from. And, if you carry and deliver a healthy child, I’ll transfer fifty million dollars to an account in your name and then you leave.”

I nearly choked. “Fifty million?”

He nodded once.

“What if I refuse this proposal right now?”

“Then Ivory will make arrangements for you to stay at a hotel until you figure things out. I won’t force you, Nora.”

I stared down at the contract again.

One year.

A child.

Freedom.

My heart still ached from what I’d lost. The idea of carrying another child—it made something inside me recoil. But the reality was…I had nothing. No job. No home. No one.

“Why do you want a child?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He paused for the first time. A flicker of something—pain?—flashed in his gaze. But it disappeared too quickly.

“I don’t want a wife. I don’t want love. I just want an heir,” he said flatly.

“You could have anyone.”

“But they’d want more than I’m willing to give,” he replied.

“And you think I won’t?” I whispered.

“I think you’ve already lost too much to ask for anything.”

His words landed like a punch. Because they were true.

I stood, walking slowly toward the glass wall overlooking the city.

“What if I say yes,” I said quietly. “And I can’t get pregnant?”

“Then we try,” he said, as if it were simple.

“And if I miscarry again?”

He didn’t answer.

Silence.

The only honest kind there was.

When I finally turned back, his eyes were still on me.

There was no seduction.

Just a deal.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“You have twenty-four hours,” he replied. “Ivory will show you to your room.”

I stared at the crisp contract in my hands, my fingers brushing over the thick, expensive paper. It didn’t feel like a proposal. It felt like a transaction.

A brutal, calculated one.

Still, I heard my own voice before I had time to think twice. “Okay.”

Kian’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Okay?”

I nodded once, the movement slow but steady. “If it’s your sperm, it’ll be easier. Less… clinical. I don’t want needles or cold exam rooms or doctors looking at me like I’m just a womb.”

His jaw flexed.

“We are having sex, lots of them, everyday” he said, no hesitation, no shame. Just a fact.