The contract

 For a moment, I just stared at him, my mind racing. My chest felt tight, and my palms were cold against my skirt. Did I hear him right? I needed a job, not whatever this was. The air between us felt heavier, stretching each second too long.  

Then he spoke again, his voice calm, almost too calm.  

“A fake one,” he said, as if that explained everything. “It’s for a business merger. My parents insist I settle down before the deal goes through. They’re traditional, and my reputation isn’t great.”  

My mind went blank. “So you want me to... pretend to be your fiancée?”  

He nodded once. “In exchange, you’ll be paid well—enough to fix your financial problems.”  

My mouth went dry. “You think I’d just agree to something like that?”  

“You came here because you needed money,” he said evenly. 

“This is an easier job than most.”  

His bluntness stung. “That’s not fair.”  

He didn’t flinch. “Neither is life, Miss Rivers. I’m offering you security. In return, you’ll attend public events with me, meet my parents, and play the role convincingly. Nothing more.”  

“Nothing... more?” I asked quietly.  

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting slightly. “Unless you want it to be.”  

The silence thickened between us. My heart pounded in my chest like it was trying to escape.  

I looked down at my hands. “I don’t even know you.”  

“That’s the point,” he said. “You don’t have any history with me. No one will suspect a thing.”  

I hesitated. “And if I say no?”  

He shrugged lightly. “Then I’ll find someone else. But I think you’ll say yes.”  

I swallowed hard. “Why me?”  

He paused, speaking in a lower voice. “Because you don’t play games. You don’t even realize how beautiful you are that makes you believable.”  

My breath caught.  

He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Think about it. You have twenty-four hours. The offer is real. The contract will be ready tomorrow morning.”  

He turned toward the window and looked out at the skyline. “Goodnight, Miss Rivers.”  

I stood slowly, still dazed. “Goodnight... Mr. Thorne.”  

When I stepped into the elevator, my knees gave out a little. My mind was spinning so fast that I could barely breathe. 

A fake fiancée? For a billionaire? 

It sounded insane. Dangerous. Maybe even humiliating. 

But somewhere deep inside, a small, desperate voice whispered that this could change everything. 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Every time I closed my eyes, his face appeared: cold, unreadable, impossibly composed. I kept hearing his words: 

“I need a fiancée.” 

Who says things like that in real life? 

Zara thought it was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard. 

“You’re kidding,” she said when I told her everything. “A billionaire wants you to be his fake fiancée? Girl, that’s not a job; that’s a movie deal!” 

“It’s insane,” I said, pacing the room. “I can’t just pretend to marry someone. What if people find out?” 

Zara grinned, sipping her coffee. “Then they’ll find out you’re rich. Problem solved.” 

I glared at her. “Zara.” 

“Okay, okay.” She held up her hands. “But think about it. You said he’s offering money, right? Real money?” 

“Yes. But it’s wrong.” 

“Wrong is being broke and eating instant noodles three times a day,” she said flatly. “You’d be foolish not to at least consider it.” 

I sighed and rubbed my temples. “It just feels… dangerous.” 

Zara leaned forward. “Dangerous how?” 

I hesitated. “He’s not like other people. He’s too calm. Too in control. Like he’s always three steps ahead of everyone.” 

“Uh-huh,” she said with a teasing smile. “Translation: he’s hot, and you’re scared you’ll like him.” 

“Zara!” 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” 

I couldn’t. 

By the next morning, I still hadn’t made up my mind, but maybe deep down, I already had. 

At 10 a.m., a sleek black car appeared outside again. Same driver, same silence. 

This time, I didn’t argue. 

When we arrived at Thorne Enterprises, everything felt different. The guards at the entrance greeted me by name. The receptionist didn’t make me wait. It was as if the building already knew who I was. 

The elevator doors opened to the top floor, and there he was: Elias Thorne, seated behind his massive desk, wearing a black suit that made him look like he belonged to another world. 

He looked up as I entered. “You came.” 

I swallowed. “You said I had twenty-four hours.” 

“True,” he said, standing. “And you’re six hours early. That’s a good sign.” 

He motioned to the chair in front of him. On the desk lay a thick folder with my name printed neatly on the cover. 

My throat went dry. “That’s the contract?” 

“Yes.” 

I sat down slowly, my heart pounding. 

He leaned on the edge of the desk, too close, the faint scent of expensive cologne wrapping around me. “Everything is written clearly. Read it carefully before you sign.” 

I opened the folder and scanned the pages. 

It was all there: the duration of the arrangement, the conditions, and the payment. I’d receive a large upfront amount and a monthly allowance for the length of the agreement. In return, I’d act as his fiancée in public for six months, attend events, stay with him when necessary, and maintain the image of a loving couple. 

My stomach twisted at that line. 

“What does staying with you when necessary mean?” I asked quietly. 

He met my gaze without flinching. “Exactly what it says. There will be family visits, business trips, and functions. It would look suspicious if we weren’t living together at least part of the time.” 

“Living together?” I repeated, barely believing the words. 

“It’s temporary,” he said calmly. “There will be separate rooms, of course. Unless you prefer otherwise.” 

The way he said it — so casual, so confident — sent heat rushing to my face. 

“I prefer otherwise,” I said quickly, which only made him smirk. 

“Good,” he said, taking the contract back. “Then we understand each other.” 

He flipped to the final page and slid it toward me, along with a pen. “You have two choices, Miss Rivers. You can walk away, and I’ll forget this ever happened. Or you can sign, and your life will never be the same.”

I looked at the pen. My hands trembled.  

Six months. That’s all it was. Six months of pretending. Six months of acting like I belonged in his world.  

My rent was overdue. My bills piled up. My parents thought I had everything under control.  

I took the pen.  

“Where do I sign?”  

He watched silently as I wrote my name. When I handed it back, he took the paper and glanced at it briefly.

Elias leaned back in his chair, calm as ever, as if nothing that happened between us earlier even mattered anymore.

He picked up his phone, made a short call, and said only a few words.

“Yes. Make sure everything is ready. The balloons, the setup… and the ring box. We’re coming down now.”

He ended the call and stood up, sliding one hand into his pocket like a man in total control.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I blinked, confused. “Go? Go where?”

He looked straight at me, his tone flat but firm. “We need to do a fake proposal.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Now? You didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t have to,” he said simply. “My family believes I proposed to my girlfriend last week. My mother won’t stop asking for photos, so we’re doing it now.”

I frowned. “But I’m not even dressed for that kind of thing. Look at me, I’m just wearing a simple top and skirt! Can’t we do it later—”

He raised a hand slightly, cutting me off. “Clara, stop complaining. You look fine.”

“Fine?” I muttered. “I look like I came for an interview, not a proposal.”

His eyes softened, but his voice stayed steady. “You look beautiful. If I didn’t think so, I’d have sent my driver to take you to a boutique. Trust me — you’re perfect for what we need.”

Just then, my phone buzzed.

I looked down — a credit alert. $20,000.

For a moment, my whole body went still. I blinked hard, thinking it was a mistake. My chest rose and fell faster as I stared at the screen again, and it was still there.

“W–what’s this for?” I asked quietly, trying not to sound too shocked.

“For the impromptu proposal,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just sent me more money than I’d ever seen in my life.

I forced a calm voice. “Is that… for the whole six months?”

He gave a slight smirk. “No. Just for today. After we meet my parents tomorrow — and if you play your role well — I’ll pay you two months in advance.”

I froze. “Wait, we’re meeting your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes.” His tone was clipped. “They’re expecting to meet my fiancée. Which means we’ll need pictures and proof that the proposal already happened.”

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open. “This is too quick.”

“Welcome to my world,” he replied smoothly.

I looked at the phone again. The money sat there in my account like a dream. My heart was still beating fast, but something changed inside me.

That kind of money… It could solve half of my problems. It could buy peace, comfort — maybe even happiness.

The money just changed my mood. Completely.

Money is truly a mood changer.

I smiled faintly, trying to hide my excitement. “Alright then,” I said, forcing a calm tone. “Let’s go do this fake proposal.”

“Good girl,” he said simply and opened the door.

We took the elevator down in silence. My heart was pounding the whole time.

When the doors slid open, I stopped breathing for a moment.

The room before us was breathtaking.

It was one of the company’s private event halls, but it looked like a scene straight out of a fairytale.

Golden balloons floated near the ceiling, white rose petals covered the marble floor, and a giant banner behind a glowing heart-shaped arch read in bold gold letters:

WILL YOU MARRY ME?

“Oh my God…” I whispered under my breath. “This looks so real.”

Elias looked around, checking the setup, then turned to me. “That’s the point.”

Some of his staff stood at a distance with cameras, pretending to be paparazzi. The lights were bright, soft music played in the background — it was all perfect. Too perfect.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “This feels too real for a fake proposal,” I muttered.

He glanced at me, his voice low but commanding. “Smile, Clara. You’re supposed to look like a woman in love.”

I forced a smile, the kind you give when you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He took a small black box from his pocket and knelt down slowly, the lights catching his sharp features.

The crowd gasped.

“Clara Rivers,” he said, his voice smooth and deep, “will you marry me?”

The cameras clicked.

I looked down at him, his hand holding out the ring, his eyes fixed on mine — so calm, so confident, so dangerously convincing.

My lips parted as I whispered, “Yes.”

He slid the ring onto my finger, and the whole room erupted in fake cheers.

Flashes went off, and I smiled like I was the luckiest woman alive.

But deep down, I knew this wasn’t real.

And yet, as his hand lingered on mine, somethin

g in my chest didn’t seem to believe that anymore.

He leaned close, his voice barely a whisper.

“Remember, Clara… this is only the beginning.”

I swallowed hard, my smile frozen in place.

Because the way he said it — it didn’t sound fake at all.