The Billionaire's Sixty-Day Wife

Camila's POV

"I want you to be my wife for sixty days."

For a second, I honestly think I've misheard him.

Maybe the air conditioning in this ridiculously expensive conference room is too loud. Maybe exhaustion is finally catching up to me after three consecutive double shifts and months of surviving on caffeine and panic.

Because there's no way Alejandro Vega…….the billionaire CEO I've spent the last eleven months suing………is asking me to marry him.

I stare across the polished table, waiting for him to smile.

He doesn't. My disbelief slowly turns into irritation. "I'm sorry, what?"

His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "You heard me." Unfortunately, I did. The problem is that hearing it doesn't make it any less insane.

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. Not because anything is funny, but because sometimes your brain simply refuses to process reality.

"I'm here to discuss a settlement."

"This is a settlement."

"No," I correct, leaning back in my chair. "A settlement is money. This sounds like the beginning of a psychological evaluation."

For the briefest moment, I think I see amusement flicker in his eyes. It disappears so quickly I can't be sure.

Alejandro slides a thick folder across the table. The movement is effortless, and somehow irritating.

Everything about him is irritating.

His expensive suit, his perfect posture.

The fact that he looks completely unaffected while my entire life is balanced on the edge of a cliff.

"Read it."

I don't even glance at the folder. "I'm not marrying you."

"You haven't read it."

"I don't need to." My mother's condition is serious, my finances are a problem and my life is currently held together by caffeine, stubbornness, and denial.

None of that changes the fact that marrying Alejandro Vega is one of the worst ideas I've ever heard.

And considering I've once tried to remove a ceiling fan while standing on a rolling chair, that's saying something.

"Read page twelve," he says. I sigh before pulling the folder toward me, mostly because I want this meeting over with and partly because curiosity has always been one of my worst weaknesses. 

The contract is exactly what I'd expect from a billionaire, dense, complicated, and filled with enough legal language to make my head hurt after the first few pages.

I flip through the document anyway, scanning paragraph after paragraph until I reach page twelve. 

The moment my eyes land on the settlement amount, my breath catches. For a second, all I can do is stare at the number sitting there in black and white.

It's impossible.

Ridiculous. Completely life-changing. Slowly, I lift my eyes back to his. "Is this real?"

"Yes."

I look down again, then back up, then down again. Surely there's an extra zero somewhere or a typo or a hidden camera waiting to reveal that I've accidentally wandered into some bizarre reality show.

The number doesn't change.

Neither does my pulse.

Three times the amount awarded by the court.

Three times. Enough money to cover every treatment my mother needs. Enough to pay off every debt. Enough to breathe again.

For the first time in months, hope rises inside me. Dangerous hope. The kind that hurts if you let yourself believe in it.

I close the folder carefully and place it on the table. "What do you want?"

Because nobody hands over this kind of money without wanting something in return. Especially not billionaires. Especially not this billionaire.

Alejandro folds his hands together. "My grandfather is currently reviewing family assets connected to the estate."

I wait.

When he doesn't continue immediately, my patience begins evaporating.

"And?"

"And he believes I'm too isolated."

I blink. "That's your problem?"

"He believes I'm incapable of maintaining meaningful personal relationships."

I stare at him for several seconds, then another few, then another.

"Has it occurred to you that maybe he's right?"

His jaw tightens, only slightly but it's enough. A ridiculous amount of satisfaction rushes through me.

"My grandfather has made his expectations clear," he says evenly. "For the next sixty days, he expects to see evidence that I'm capable of building a stable future."

"And that requires a wife?"

"Apparently."

I shake my head. This conversation somehow becomes more absurd every minute.

"So hire an actress."

"I considered it."

"Then hire a better actress."

His eyes remain locked on mine. "I need someone he can't investigate."

The answer catches me off guard.

I frown. "What does that mean?"

"It means my grandfather already knows most of the women I've been associated with."

I hate the way that sentence sounds. Associated with, not dated, not loved. Like relationships are business transactions, maybe they are in his world.

"They won't work."

"And you think I will?"

"You're currently suing me."

The answer is so immediate that it actually makes sense which is annoying, very annoying because I don't want anything about this situation to make sense.

I push back from the table and stand. The movement feels necessary.

Sitting here any longer might convince me to seriously consider this madness and that's dangerous.

The settlement amount is still flashing through my head.

Three times the court award. Enough money to save my mother. Enough money to change everything but some deals cost too much.

Marrying Alejandro Vega feels like one of them. "I think we're done here." I grab my purse and turn toward the door.

"Your mother's condition worsened last night."

Every muscle in my body freezes. The room suddenly feels colder.

Slowly, I look back at him.

Alejandro hasn't moved, he remains seated exactly where he was, his expression unreadable.

A chill crawls down my spine. "How do you know that?"

"Because I asked." My fingers tighten around the strap of my purse. "You had no right."

"No," he says quietly. "I probably didn't."

The unexpected honesty catches me off guard. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

For the first time since this meeting began, he doesn't answer immediately.

His gaze holds mine for several seconds before drifting briefly toward the folder still sitting on the table.

When he looks back at me, something about his expression has changed. Not softer. Not warmer. Just……. less distant.

"Tell me something, Camila," he says, his voice lower than before. "If your mother only had sixty days left, how much would your pride be worth?"