Chapter 2. The price for Survival

Sleep did not come easily to Amelia that night.

The unfamiliar softness of the bed beneath her only reminded her that she did not belong here.

The Kingsley mansion was quiet—too quiet—nothing like the small apartment she used to share with the noise of the city outside her window.

As she lay staring at the ceiling, her thoughts drifted back to the night her life changed.

The night she met Ricardo Kingsley.

It had been a late shift at the bar.

Amelia still remembered how her feet ached from standing for hours, how the air smelled of alcohol and cigarette smoke, how her smile felt forced as she moved from table to table taking orders.

She had been working there for over a year.

Not because she loved it—but because she had no choice.

As an orphan, Amelia had learned early that no one would come to save her. Every bill, every meal, every school f*e rested on her shoulders alone. The bar job barely paid enough, but it kept her alive.

That night, she noticed him immediately.

Ricardo Kingsley sat alone in the VIP section, dressed in a dark suit that looked out of place in the dim bar. He didn’t drink excessively like the others. He didn’t laugh. He simply sat there, silent and distant, his presence commanding without effort.

When Amelia brought his drink, their eyes met briefly.

Cold. Sharp. Assessing.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice calm but authoritative.

She nodded and turned to leave—until he spoke again.

“Sit.”

Amelia froze.

“I’m working,” she said carefully.

“I’ll pay you for your time.”

That caught her attention.

Reluctantly, she sat across from him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

“You look tired,” he said.

She forced a polite smile. “It’s been a long day.”

He studied her for a moment before speaking again. “I need a wife.”

The words stunned her.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, certain she had misheard.

“A contract wife,” he clarified. “Someone to marry me in name only.”

Amelia laughed nervously. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“It isn’t.”

He told her everything—his grandfather’s pressure, the need for appearances, the lack of time or interest in love.

Then he named the amount he was willing to pay.

Amelia stopped breathing.

The number echoed in her head, drowning out every warning voice she had.

“That money,” he continued calmly, “would cover your education, housing, and living expenses. You would never need to work in a place like this again.”

Her heart raced.

It was absurd. Dangerous. Unreal.

But it was also salvation.

She thought of the overdue tuition notice in her bag.

The empty fridge at home.

The fear of what tomorrow would bring.

“I need time to think,” she had whispered.

“Take it,” Ricardo replied. “But understand this—there will be no love. No emotional attachment. You do your part, I do mine.”

That night, Amelia went home and cried.

By morning, she had already made her decision.

Amelia finally drifted into sleep just as dawn broke.

When she woke up, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. For a moment, she forgot where she was—until reality came crashing back.

She was Ricardo Kingsley’s wife.

She got dressed carefully, choosing a simple dress, not wanting to draw attention. As she walked downstairs, she could hear the faint clinking of dishes.

Breakfast.

The long dining table was already set, untouched food arranged neatly across it.

Amelia hesitated.

Should I eat first? she wondered.

It felt wrong.

No matter what this marriage was, it still felt proper to wait for her husband.

So she sat down quietly.

Minutes passed.

Then footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Ricardo appeared, fully dressed in a sharp gray suit, his tie perfectly in place. He looked every bit the powerful CEO he was.

Amelia stood immediately.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Ricardo glanced at her briefly.

“Hm.”

That was all.

He picked up his phone, checked the time, and turned

toward the door.

“You’re not having breakfast?” Amelia asked before she could stop herself.

“I have work,” he replied without slowing.

The door closed behind him.

Amelia remained standing, her greeting hanging uselessly in the air.

Slowly, she sat back down.

The food suddenly tasted bland.

She stared at the empty seat across from her and pressed her lips together.

This is what you agreed to, she reminded herself.

No love.

No expectations.

Just a marriage built on survival.

And yet, as the silence wrapped around her once more, Amelia couldn’t help but feel the first quiet ache settle deep in her heart.