THE BILLIONAIRE'S CONTRACT

The hospital bill in my hands shook.

$47,382.

Past due.

My little brother's surgery was scheduled for Friday. And if I didn’t pay by then, they’d cancel it.

I pressed the paper to my forehead and closed my eyes. Mom was crying in the kitchen. Again. Dad lost his job 3 months ago. And I? I was a waitress making $12 an hour.

There was no way.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Miss Ali Carter?" A cold, deep voice. "This is Mr. Damian Cole’s assistant. He would like to meet you. Tonight. 8PM. The Cole Tower Penthouse."

I frowned. "You have the wrong person."

"We don’t make mistakes, Miss Carter. A car will pick you up at 7:30. Don’t be late."

Click.

Damian Cole. The name hit like ice.

32 years old. CEO of Cole Enterprises. Net worth $8.2 Billion.

The most ruthless man in New York. And also... my ex-boss’s son. The man who fired me last week for being "5 minutes late" because my brother was in the ER.

Why did he want me?

I should have thrown the phone away. I should have blocked the number.

But I didn’t. Because $47,382 was sitting on my table. And Friday was 3 days away.

---

At 7:30 sharp, a black Bentley stopped in front of my tiny apartment. The paint was peeling. The door squeaked.

The driver didn’t speak. He just opened the door and waited.

I wore my only decent dress. Black. $20 from a thrift store. It felt like rags next to what I knew was waiting for me.

40 minutes later, the car pulled up to Cole Tower.

It touched the clouds. Glass and steel and money.

The driver swiped a keycard and the elevator went straight to the top. Floor 89.

The doors opened and my breath left me.

The entire city was below me. Lights like stars.

And in the middle of the penthouse, in front of a fireplace that cost more than my yearly rent, stood him.

Damian Cole.

Tall. Dark hair. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Eyes that looked through me like I was glass too. Breakable. Useless.

He wore a $5000 suit without trying. A watch that cost more than my car.

"Miss Carter." His voice was as cold as I remembered. Deeper now. "Sit."

I didn’t. I stood with my back straight. "What do you want?"

He didn’t answer right away. He walked to the bar, poured whiskey, didn’t offer me any.

Then he slid a folder across the marble table.

Inside was a contract. Thick. Legal. And a check.

$5,000,000.00

The zeros blurred.

My throat went dry. "What is this?"

"Marry me," he said. No hello. No please. "For one year."

I actually laughed. It came out broken. "Is this a joke? You fired me."

"No." He leaned back against the counter. Arms crossed. "My board is forcing me to marry. To look 'stable' for investors. My ex cheated. It was in the news.

You are perfect. No family, no connections, no scandals. And you need money."

His eyes dropped to the hospital bill still crumpled in my hand.

"I did my research."

Shame burned my cheeks. "That’s illegal."

"That’s business." He tapped the contract with one finger. "Clause 1: You act as my wife for 1 year. Public events. Family dinners. Wear the ring. No dating others.

Clause 2: No falling in love.

Clause 3: No kissing unless for show.

In return, you get $5 million. $2.5 million now. $2.5 million after the divorce."

I stared at the paper. This was insane. This was selling myself.

But my brother was 9 years old. He had leukemia.

And I was the only one who could save him.

"What happens after 1 year?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"We divorce. Clean. You walk away rich. I go back to my life."

My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold the pen.

This was wrong. This was a deal with the devil.

But the devil was offering to save my family.

"Why me?" I asked again. Hoping for a different answer.

"Because you won’t ask questions." His eyes finally met mine. Dark. Empty. Cold. "And because you’re desperate. Do we have a deal, Miss Carter?"

The room was silent except for the city below.

I picked up the pen. My signature looked like a stranger’s. Shaky. Desperate.

Ali Carter.

"Good." He took the contract. "Wedding is Saturday. St. Regis. Small. Private. My lawyer will send details. Welcome to the contract, Mrs. Cole."

He walked away. Didn’t look back. Didn’t shake my hand.

The driver took me home in silence.

That night I sat on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

$5 million. 1 year. Be his fake wife.

I made a promise to myself as I fell asleep.

It was just money. It was just a year.

I would NOT fall for Damian Cole.

Rule #1.

And I was going to keep it.

END OF CHAPTER 1