Chapter 3: The Hope

Savannah’s phone buzzed once.

Twice.

A third time.

Each vibration jolted through her like an alarm she couldn’t shut off. Her mind still reeled from Jackson Sterling’s impossible proposal, every word replaying in a loop she couldn’t silence. When the phone rang again, she snatched it up, breath uneven.

Unknown number.

Her stomach twisted. The bank? Had they changed their minds? Was it already too late?

“Hello?” Her voice came out thinner than she meant.

“Ms. Montgomery?” A man’s tone, cool, corporate, practiced. “Victor Harris, Sterling Enterprises. I’m calling regarding an urgent matter.”

Her heart stopped. Sterling Enterprises. Jackson’s empire. “I don’t understand. What matter?”

“Your financial situation,” he said. “Mr. Sterling asked me to reach out. There may be a solution.”

Savannah stiffened. “I already told him I’m not interested.”

“I don’t think you’ve decided yet.” His voice lowered, silk over steel. “Mr. Sterling has… updated terms.”

She pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “I don’t want another deal.”

A pause. The kind of pause that told her he was smiling. “Miss Montgomery, Jackson Sterling doesn’t make offers twice. He makes decisions. You have seven days left before foreclosure. I suggest you spend them wisely.”

Her throat went dry. “You can’t threaten me.”

“I’m not threatening,” Victor said, almost amused. “I’m informing you. People who work with Mr. Sterling tend to keep their homes. People who don’t…” He let the sentence fade, heavy with implication. “He’s a reasonable man. Don’t waste his patience.”

The line clicked dead.

Savannah lowered the phone slowly, her pulse hammering so loud it drowned out thought. Bills covered the counter like storm debris, unpaid, unending. Her father’s prescriptions, the hospital balance, the utilities notice. Everything closing in.

Always find a way, Savannah. Her father’s voice echoed in her memory.

Her way had just knocked on the door wearing a thousand-dollar suit.

She gripped the countertop until her knuckles whitened. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t marry him.” But even as she said it, the truth pressed harder. You can’t afford not to.

A sharp knock shattered the silence.

Her head snapped up. One knock. Two. Firm, confident.

“Savannah,” a man’s voice called through the door. “It’s me. Jackson.”

Her pulse spiked. Already?

She hesitated, heart pounding against her ribs. She could pretend she wasn’t home. He’d leave. He had to.

Another knock. “Open the door,” Jackson said, voice deep, composed. “We need to talk.”

She inhaled shakily and turned the handle.

He stood framed in the doorway, rain still clinging to his dark hair, his black suit crisp despite the weather. The power in his stance filled the tiny space before he even stepped inside.

“Jackson,” she breathed, forcing her voice steady. “What are you doing here?”

He crossed the threshold as if invited. “Following up.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I prefer face-to-face conversations when money, and lives, are involved.” His gaze swept over her modest living room, the stack of envelopes, the stress in every corner. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“Maybe because I keep getting surprise visits from billionaires,” she shot back.

A flicker of amusement curved his mouth, gone before it softened him. “Then let’s stop wasting time.”

He pulled a slim folder from his coat and set it on the table between them. “The terms.”

Savannah stared at it as though it might explode. “You’re serious.”

“Always.”

“Why me?” The question slipped out raw. “You could pick anyone.”

He met her eyes. “Because you need saving and I need a wife. It’s efficient.”

Her laugh came out broken. “You make it sound like hiring a maid.”

“It’s a contract, Savannah. Not a fairytale.” His tone sharpened, but his eyes didn’t waver. “You marry me for one year. In return, your debts disappear, your father’s care is covered, and you keep this house.”

“And in return you get what?” she demanded. “A convenient signature?”

“Control,” he said simply. “Over my company. Over my father’s board. The marriage clause is the only thing standing between me and losing everything I built.”

“So we’re both drowning,” she murmured.

“Exactly. I’m just offering you a life raft.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Take it.”

Savannah stepped back, breath catching. “And if I refuse?”

His expression didn’t change, but his silence spoke louder than any threat. She pictured the empty rooms, the hospital calling for payment, her father’s weak smile. She felt her resolve tremble.

“I need time.”

“You have six days left,” Jackson said. “Don’t waste them pretending you still have choices.”

He turned for the door, his movements precise, final. The air shifted when he stopped on the threshold.

“Why me, really?” she asked again, voice almost a whisper.

Jackson looked over his shoulder. “Because when I look at you, I see someone who fights even when she’s losing. I respect that.”

A pause.

“But don’t mistake respect for mercy.”

The door shut behind him, leaving the echo of his words humming through the house like a storm warning. Savannah sank onto the couch, staring at the contract lying under the soft lamplight.

Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, her phone buzzed again, a single message from an unknown number.

From: Jackson Sterling

You’ll call me when you’re ready. Don’t wait until it’s too late.

Savannah exhaled, half-laugh, half-sob. “What have you done to me, Jackson Sterling?”

She didn’t have the answer. Only the ticking clock counting down six short days to a decision that could save her life, or shatter it completely.