Chapter 6

❤️Sophie❤️

I have exactly forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours to find a man whose name I don't know.

Forty-eight hours before my father throws me out of his house if I can't find the so-called man.

My life has officially become a disaster.

“I still think we should go back to the club.”

Sandy folds her legs beneath her on the bed as she watches me pace across her bedroom for what has to be the hundredth time today.

“We already did.”

“We need to do it again.”

“We've been there three times, and he wasn’t there.”

I stop pacing and drag both hands through my hair.

“He could have been working another shift.”

“He wasn't a bartender. He was a customer,” I say, feeling utterly stupid.

Sandy sighs. “Exactly, customers don't disappear forever.”

“I actually asked the bartender the first time we went.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he doesn't know him. The security too, they said they can't share the CCTV footage.”

I groan loudly before throwing myself face-first onto Sandy’s bed. “This is hopeless.” The mattress bounces beneath me.

“I don't even know his damn name.”

Sandy remains silent. After a few seconds, she says carefully, “What if….”

I turn my head. “What?”

“What if you stop looking for him?”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? “What do you mean stop looking?”

“I mean you don't actually need him.”

Shit, my best friend has lost her mind. “I don't need him?” I exclaim. “I just told you my parents gave me forty-eight hours to find him, or I'm no longer their child, and you're telling me I should stop looking?”

She continues, “What I mean is, you don't actually need the man from the club, you just need a man.”

I blink. “I don't like the look on your face.”

She grins. “I have an idea.”

“Your ideas usually end with someone crying.”

She ignores me. “Your father doesn't know who the father is. He only wants to meet the man.”

“Yes. So?” my brow rises, almost touching my forehead.

She clasps her hands together excitedly. “So we hire a man.”

I nearly choke on my own saliva. “Hire someone?”

“Exactly.”

“To do what?”

“Pretend.”

She has indeed lost her mind. I stare at her with my jaw on the floor. “You can't be serious.”

“No, hear me out. You need a fake boyfriend.”

“What I need is the actual father.”

“You can't find him.”

Unfortunately, yes. “I know.”

“So we improvise.”

My shoulders sag. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s simple.”

I hate this. I hate it a lot. This is my life we’re talking about, not some joke. How am I supposed to let another man pretend to be the father of my child? That’s ridiculous.

“We are talking about marriage, Sandy. This is not Hollywood; it’s reality.”

“A fake marriage.”

“My father wants a real wedding, a loud one.”

She points at me. “So give him one. You said he only demanded that you bring the man home. He never said it has to be the biological father.”

“That’s because he assumes it is.”

“Exactly.”

My pulse quickens. It sounds completely stupid, yet…

“What if the fake boyfriend changes his mind?”

“We pay him.”

I think for a moment. “Okay, but what if he runs away?”

“We sign a contract.”

“He might eventually tell people. Look, I don't want this. It’s too risky,” but deep down, I know there are no other options.

“We can make him sign a confidentiality agreement.”

I blink. “You really have thought this through.”

“For the last hour.”

A groan escapes my throat. “This is insane. The worst idea you’ve ever come up with.”

“It also might be the one to save your life.”

I fall silent because she's right. I have no other choice. If I truly want to avoid embarrassing my parents and the entire family, I need to do this.

Unless, magically, I find the stranger before tomorrow night.

Which is likely impossible.

Sandy snaps her fingers. “I know how to go about it. We can post an advertisement online.”

“No sane person will answer.”

“We are offering money, like two million dollars. Someone will definitely accept that kind of payment.”

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Two million dollars!”

“Yes, so you said your trust fund becomes available at twenty-five, so we can pay five hundred thousand now and promise to pay the rest later. It will be in the agreement.”

I stare. “You are planning my financial ruin.”

“I'm planning your survival.”

Before I can argue, she grabs the laptop from the table and begins typing. “What should it say?”

“I can't believe we are doing this.”

She starts typing without answering.

SEEKING CONFIDENTIAL MARRIAGE ARRANGEMENT

Single male.

Age: twenty-three to twenty-five.

Must be willing to enter a legal two-year marriage.

Compensation: two million dollars.

Strict confidentiality required.

Serious applicant only.

I read it twice, okay maybe three times, and I still refuse to believe my life has to come to this.

“Nobody is going to believe this.”

The advertisement disappears into the screen, and she smiles proudly. “There, now we wait.”

Thirty minutes later, nothing. One hour later, nothing.

Two hours pass, still nothing.

I slump further into the couch. “I told you this is ridiculous. No one will believe such a thing.”

Sandy refreshes the page again. “I still have hope.”

“You are delusional,” I murmur, feeling hopeless.

My phone buzzes, and both of us freeze. I grab it so fast I almost drop it.

Spam.

A groan escapes before I can stop it.

Another hour passes, the sun begins to set beyond the windows. Still, there is nothing.

I bury my face in my hands. “It’s over. One way or another, by this time tomorrow, I will be homeless.”

My child will grow up without a home. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe one stupid reckless night is enough to destroy a whole life.

Sandy doesn't answer. Instead, she refreshes the page again, then gasps. “Sophie.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“I think someone replied.”

Every muscle in my body goes stiff. “What?”

She turns the laptop toward me. One applicant. No name, no picture, only a username.

Shadow_23

Beneath it are six simple words: I’m interested, when do we meet?