CHAPTER THREE: THE PRICE OF DESPERATION

 

Next Day. 

My mother's hospital called while I was cleaning a table.

I almost let it ring. My hands were wet, and I had a tray balanced against my hip. But then I saw the hospital's number, and my heart started pounding.

I grabbed my phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Nicole Brown? We're calling about your mother."

I put the tray down so quickly that the glasses rattled. "Yes. What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"Your mother's condition has become more serious. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

My stomach dropped.

"But the donor…," I swallowed. "You told me there was a possibility of a donor. What happened?"

There was a pause.

"The donor will no longer be available. I'm sorry, Nicole. The medical team will explain the situation when you arrive."

For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except the noise of the bar around me.

No longer available?

I'd been holding on to that possibility for weeks. Every time I checked my bank account and found another reason to panic, I'd reminded myself that we might still have a chance. Every time Mom told me she was feeling better, I'd let myself believe things would work out.

Now what?

"Isn't there someone else?" I asked. "Another donor? Another option? Please, there has to be something."

"We'll discuss the available options when you get here."

The call ended, leaving me staring at my phone.

"Nicole?" Jenna appeared beside me. "What's happened?"

I shook my head, but tears were already burning behind my eyes.

"It's my mom. I need to go."

"Go. I'll tell the manager."

I barely heard her. I grabbed my bag and hurried outside, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

My mother couldn't die.

She couldn't. Not after everything we'd survived together. Not when I was still trying to figure out how to give her a better life.

I took the first cab I could find.

***

At the hospital, the doctor explained that my mother's condition remained critical. The donor we had been counting on was no longer an option, and there was no guarantee another suitable donor would become available in time.

I listened. I asked questions. I begged for alternatives.

The answers were careful, professional, and painfully uncertain.

When I finally left the doctor's office, my legs felt weak.

I sat beside Mom's bed and held her hand. She was awake, but she looked so tired that I struggled to keep my face calm.

"Hey, sweetheart," she whispered. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

I forced a smile. "Maybe because you keep scaring me."

She squeezed my fingers. "I'm still here."

"I know."

"Then stop looking at me like that."

I laughed, but it came out shaky.

Mom didn't need to know how frightened I was. She'd spent too much of her life worrying about me already.

We talked about ordinary things until she grew tired. I told her about work, complained about a rude customer, and listened as she reminded me to eat properly.

I didn't tell her about Ryan.

I couldn't.

When I finally stepped into the hallway, I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app.

The balance stared back at me.

There wasn't enough money. There wouldn't be enough money by tomorrow, either.

I could ask Jenna and Marcus for help, but they had their own bills. I couldn't expect them to produce hundreds of thousands of dollars. I could work extra shifts, sell what little I owned, and borrow until every person I knew was tired of hearing from me.

And even then, I might still lose Mom.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Ryan's offer came back to me with cruel clarity.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

One year of marriage.

No romance. No expectations.

The thought made me feel sick.

I didn't love Ryan. I barely knew him. He'd looked at my life, guessed how badly I needed money, and decided I was a practical solution to his inheritance problem.

I hated that he'd been right about one thing.

Money could change everything for me right now.

But if I accepted, I'd be tying myself to a man who treated marriage like a business deal. I'd be expected to stand beside him, smile at his family, and pretend to be a wife while knowing that the whole arrangement had an expiration date.

What would happen when the year ended?

Would I walk away with the money and whatever dignity I had left?

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

Pride wouldn't pay for Mom's treatment. Anger wouldn't make another donor appear. And refusing Ryan wouldn't magically give me another choice.

I hated him a little for putting me in this position.

I hated myself even more for considering it.

But I couldn't afford to make this decision about my pride.

I had to think about Mom.

I remembered the business card I'd found tucked beneath my phone after leaving his room that morning, his name.. Ryan Morgan.. and the number printed beneath it suddenly becoming my only way to reach him.

By the time I left the hospital, I'd made up my mind.

I was going to find him.

***

Third Person POV

Ryan Morgan was reviewing a business proposal when his assistant informed him that Nicole Brown was waiting outside his office.

He looked up.

"Nicole Brown?"

"Yes, sir."

He glanced at the time. He hadn't expected to hear from her again, much less so soon.

"Send her in."

Nicole entered a moment later. She looked exhausted, and there was a tension in her face that hadn't been there when she'd rejected him.

Ryan closed the file.

"Nicole? Did you perhaps…” he paused, then continued, “Changed your mind?"

She sat opposite him, placing her bag on the floor. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say.

"My mother is seriously ill," she finally said. "The donor we were counting on won't be available."

Ryan's expression changed slightly.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't help me pay for her treatment."

"No, it doesn't."

She looked at him, apparently surprised that he hadn't argued.

"I need to know if your offer still stands," she continued. "The five hundred thousand dollars. The marriage contract. All of it."

"It does."

"Then I need you to explain the terms again. Clearly. I want to know exactly what I'm agreeing to."

Ryan studied her. He understood that her circumstances had changed, and he suspected they were the reason she'd returned. Still, he couldn't deny that her decision solved a problem he had little time left to fix.

"One year," he said. "You'll be my wife in public and fulfill the expectations that come with that position. My grandfather must believe the marriage is genuine. The payment will be five hundred thousand dollars, as agreed."

"And in private?"

"We maintain separate lives. There will be no expectation of romantic involvement."

I looked down at my hands.

"Will I have to attend family events?"

"Yes."

"Live with you?"

"Yes."

"Answer personal questions about our relationship?"

"Probably."

I let out a slow breath. "So I get to pretend to be happily married to a man who thinks I'm a convenient solution."

Ryan's jaw tightened. "You knew this was an arrangement when you came here."

"I know. I'm making sure I understand what it means."

He slid a contract across the table.

"Everything is written here. You can read it before signing."

I opened the document. The words blurred for a moment, and I had to blink hard before I could focus.

My mother was lying in a hospital bed. I didn't know how much time we had, and I couldn't stand the thought of losing her because I was too proud to accept help.

"I'll do it," I whispered.

Ryan's shoulders eased, though his expression remained composed.

"Good. Then we'll arrange the next steps."

"Don't misunderstand me," I said, lifting my eyes to his. "I'm doing this for my mother. Not because I like you, and certainly not because I want to marry you."

"Understood."

He pushed a pen toward me.

"Once you sign this, Nicole, you're agreeing to be my wife for one year. No complications. No expectations."

I stared at the contract.

Then I thought of Mom, of the donor who wouldn't come, and of the future I was terrified I might never get to share with her.

I reached for the pen.

My phone rang.

The hospital's number flashed across the screen.

My hand froze above the contract.

"Please," I whispered, suddenly terrified of what I was about to hear.