The Billionaire’s dying wife: A one-month deal

The doctor's words echoed in Maya's head like a death knell.

"Six months. Perhaps less."

She sat in the sterile examination room, staring at the X-rays clipped to the lightbox. The dark masses on her lungs looked like storm clouds.

"Mrs. Blackwood, do you understand what I'm telling you?" Dr. Richardson's voice was gentle as he broke the news to her.

Maya nodded slowly, unable to speak. Her hands lay folded in her lap, perfectly still. Five years of marriage to Alexander Blackwood had taught her to mask every emotion, to become a statue when necessary.

"I'd like to start treatment immediately," the doctor continued. "Chemotherapy might buy us some time—"

"No."

The word surprised even her.

Dr. Richardson frowned. "Mrs. Blackwood, I understand this is overwhelming, but—"

"I need time to think." Maya stood, smoothing down her designer dress. It was cream-colored, elegant, and expensive. Everything Alexander's wife should be. "Thank you for your time, Doctor but that will be all."

She walked out before he could protest.

The autumn air hit her face as she stepped onto the Manhattan sidewalk. Around her, the city pulsed with life. People rushed past, absorbed in their phones, their coffee, their perfectly healthy lives.

Maya pulled her coat tighter and hailed a cab.

She distracted herself with the scenery and then music from her phone as they sped past the city.

The Blackwood mansion loomed before her thirty minutes later, all glass and steel and cold perfection. Just like the man who owned it.

She found Alexander in his study, as usual. He sat behind his mahogany desk, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he reviewed contracts. At thirty-two, he was devastatingly handsome. Sharp jawline, intense gray eyes, broad shoulders that filled out his tailored suits perfectly.

Maya had loved him since she was seventeen.

He'd never loved her back.

"You're home early." He didn't look up from his papers.

"I had a doctor's appointment."

"Mmm."

That was it. No questions. No concern. Just a noncommittal sound as usual that told her he wasn't really listening.

“Mum was looking for you, something about the florist. If I were you, I would get it sorted quickly before I do anything else.” 

“What?”

“How forgetful can you be? The flowers for the gala of course. You don't want what happened with Damien to repeat itself now, do you?”

She cringed as she remembered how Damien, his younger brother had screamed at her in front of guests for bringing him a brand of coffee he didn't like and how he had gone ahead to empty the hot coffee on her head.

“No, I don't. Sorry I forgot,” Maya said, briefly distracted with the way the afternoon light caught in his hair.

“It's alright, you can go now.”

"Alexander, I need to talk to you about something."

"Can it wait? I have a conference call in ten minutes."

It could. Everything could wait with Alexander. Their marriage had been one long waiting game. Waiting for him to forgive her for existing. Waiting for him to forget Isabelle. Waiting for a love that would never come.

"Of course," Maya said quietly.

She turned to leave.

"Maya."

Her heart jumped. He rarely said her name.

She looked back.

"My sister also wants you to organize the charity gala next month. She left a list of requirements in your room."

Not her room. Their room. Except Alexander never slept there.

"I'll take care of it," Maya said.

She always did.

In the five years since their wedding, Maya had transformed from the hopeful young bride into something else entirely. The Blackwood family's perfect servant. She organized their events, managed their household staff, sat through endless dinners where they discussed business she wasn't part of and made decisions she had no voice in.

And she did it all with a smile.

Because what else did she have?

Her parents were gone. The cancer that killed them had been swift and merciless, leaving her alone at twenty-two. The marriage to Alexander had been arranged by her father before his death, a merger of two powerful families. Her father had thought he was securing her future.

Instead, he'd locked her in a cage.

Maya climbed the stairs to the bedroom she occupied alone. It was beautiful, decorated in soft creams and golds, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. 

She had only known Alexander to like one person and that was Isabelle Chen.

Isabelle had been his college sweetheart, his first love, his everything. They'd been planning a future together when Maya's father and Alexander's father had announced the arranged marriage. Business before love. Duty before desire.

Alexander had honored the arrangement, but he'd never forgiven Maya for it. Thankfully, that was a long time ago and Isabelle was no longer in the picture.

She found the list from Alexander's sister on the nightstand. Three pages, single-spaced. Demands disguised as requests. Every detail specified, every instruction an opportunity for criticism.

Maya set it aside and lay down on the bed.

Six months.

Maybe less.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself, just for a moment, to imagine a different life. One where Alexander loved her. One where she mattered to someone. One where she wasn't so completely, devastatingly alone.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from Eleanor Blackwood, her mother-in-law: The florist needs to be confirmed by tomorrow. Don't disappoint me.

Maya didn't respond. She stared at the ceiling until the room grew dark.

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Alexander worked through the meal, his laptop open beside his plate. Across from him, Maya picked at her salmon, unable to eat.

"You're not hungry?" he asked absently.

"Not particularly."

"You've been looking pale lately. Are you sick?"

For a moment, Maya considered telling him. Just laying it all out. I'm dying, Alexander. I have six months to live, and I've spent five years trying to earn your love, and I'm so tired.

But she didn't.

"Just tired," she said instead.

He nodded and returned to his screen.

After dinner, Maya retreated to her room. She stood at the window, watching the city breathe below. Somewhere out there, people were falling in love. Getting engaged. Planning futures.

She was planning her exit.

Her phone rang. Unknown number.

“Hello? Is this Maya?”

“Yes it is. Who is speaking please?”

“It's Isabelle Chen, remember me?”