The High Price of Loyalty

POV: Adrian

I walked out of the courthouse, the knowledge of the immense check Amelia had offered feeling like a lead weight. Enough to save Martha. The cold wind whipped against my face, but I barely noticed. I felt the chill deep in my bones—the chill of selling my name.

"Adrian."

I ignored Amelia's voice. I needed space. I needed to breathe. I needed to verify the terms of this damn transaction, especially the one that mattered most.

She caught up to me by the exit. "Stop. We need to finalize the paperwork. The lawyers are waiting."

"The lawyers can wait," I snapped, turning to face her. My pride was a raw wound. "I need confirmation of the expense. Before I sign anything else, I need Dr. Chen to confirm the full cost of the procedure and the scheduling."

Amelia's eyes narrowed. "You doubt my liquidity?"

"I doubt your word, Ms. Hayes. This is Martha's life. This is not a negotiation."

She stared at me, the sharp-edged anger in her gaze softening slightly as she acknowledged the depth of my concern. "Fine. Get in the car."

I slid into the passenger seat, my focus already on the hospital. I will not let her die. Not for pride, not for money, not for anything. The promise I had made to myself years ago is to protect Martha and that was about to cost me everything else.

We drove straight to the hospital. Amelia’s car smelled of antiseptic, clean and subtle, expensive perfume, a scent I knew didn't belong in the sterile, anxious halls of the medical center.

Amelia marched into the hospital like the CEO she was, cutting through the red tape instantly. She pulled Dr. Chen aside, her voice a low command. She didn't plead, she just dictated.

Dr. Chen emerged moments later, rubbing his temples. "Adrian," he said, his voice grave-faced. "The cost of the emergency surgery and the necessary aftercare is immense—just over five hundred thousand dollars. We need confirmation of funds by tomorrow morning to schedule the procedure."

Tomorrow morning. The deadline was immediate, non-negotiable.

I looked at the doctor, then back at Amelia, who stood by the wall, watching me with that cold, assessing gaze. The cost was real. The deadline was immediate.

"You hear the terms, Ms. Hayes," I said, meeting her eyes. "Half a million dollars. Do you have the resources to cover this, or was this a bluff?"

Amelia reached into her clutch and pulled out the legal contract and the pen. "My resources are boundless, Adrian. But my payment is contingent on your signature. Sign this contract, and Julius Anderson, my lawyer, will wire the funds instantly. Martha's life is literally dependent on you marrying me."

The power imbalance was absolute. I had to commit to the lie before a single dollar moved.

"You are relentless," I admitted, my voice strained. "You found my weakness and you leveraged it without mercy. You did your homework."

"I found the leverage required to achieve my goal," she countered, her eyes colder than the glass she stood beside. "It's efficient, Adrian. Nothing personal. Lucia's life depends on this transaction. I need a husband who will be completely beholden to me."

"Beholden," I repeated, the word a bitter taste. "You want a slave with a title."

"I want stability for a judge. I want obedience from my staff. Call it what you like. Do you accept the terms of surrender?"

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, picturing Martha's kind, worn face. This is for her.

"I accept your payment," I said. "My name is yours. Now, tell me the full extent of this 'employment' beyond the custody hearing."

We walked down a deserted corridor toward the exit, the contract burning a hole in my hand. The terms were a litany of humiliation, but I needed to know every painful clause.

"What do you expect in return beyond the court appearances?" I asked, my voice flat.

She tapped her pen against the legal folder she carried. "You'll move into the penthouse tonight. You will accompany me to all public events like charity galas, board dinners, investor presentations. You must look besotted. You will sign a strict Non-Disclosure Agreement. You will refer to me as your wife in public and as 'Ms. Hayes' in private."

"And what happens when the society pages dig up my past?" I challenged myself. "My life before I was a bodyguard is not exactly clean. My father..."

"Your past is your problem, Adrian. You will deflect, deny, and minimize. You will allow my PR team to craft your narrative. You are a blank slate I am painting over. That is part of the job description."

"And the final, most crucial term," I pushed, meeting her gaze. "The bedroom."

Her eyes narrowed. "I told you: No affection, no intimacy, strictly professional. You will have your own wing of the penthouse. You are a bodyguard pretending to be a husband. Nothing more. If you ever cross that line, the agreement and the payment authorizing Martha's surgery is instantly void."

"A zero-tolerance policy," I acknowledged. "You expect me to live under your roof for two years as your husband, yet remain nothing more than hired help."

"You expect me to risk my reputation and my niece's future on a mercenary. Yes. I expect perfect adherence to the contract."

I stared at her, absorbing the absolute cruelty of the contract. I had to live by her rules, or Martha died.

I spread the contract against the hospital wall, signing the document with a brutal flourish. The pen shook slightly, a testament to the death of my dignity. I handed it back to Amelia.

"The wedding is in three days," I said, the words tasting like dust. "I'll be there. And I will not break the terms."

She took the signed document, her expression softening into a calculated, almost terrifyingly beautiful smile. "Then you've done well, Adrian. The wire transfer is initiated. Martha will be prepped for surgery tomorrow. My lawyers will contact you with the briefing documents."

She stopped by the exit door, her body rigid with a final, chilling sense of triumph. "Now, Adrian," she said. "Let's discuss our love story."

I followed her out, my mind already calculating the immense weight of the lie I was about to live. I was her legal husband, her silent shadow, and her desperate protector. I had sold my name, but I had saved Martha. The cost, however, was just beginning to accumulate. The next three days would be pure, agonizing performance.