They say marrying a billionaire is easy, until you’re the one standing at the altar. Ethan Steele is everything I swore to avoid: cold, controlling, and emotionally unavailable. But when death came knocking, I had no choice than to accept a deal that would change everything….
View MoreAmelia
“It’s an opportunity of a lifetime, Amelia. Do you realize how much this could boost your career?”, Dr. Marks leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk like he had all the time in the world.
I did not. What I saw was the flashing neon sign of regret associated with Ethan Steele's work.
“No, I'm not listening," I stated decidedly as I grabbed my tote bag. “Let’s be honest, I care about my peace of mind and from what I’ve been told, Ethan Steele doesn't come across as a piece of cake to find serenity.”
I knew I should have sent him over to someone else the moment Estelle told me she'd be transferring her patients to me, since she was resigning, but I hadn't.
I thought I could handle it. Handle him…And I was wrong. I dreaded our sessions more than I dreaded working overtime.
Dr. Marks sighed, his eyes narrowing in that patronizing way senior doctors often did when they felt superior. “Amelia, Ethan Steele isn’t just any patient. He’s the Ethan Steele. If you succeed with him, the doors it could open—”
A scoff escaped my lips. The only doors that could open were the doors of my office, ushering him out after each session.
“I’m not here for doors”. I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m here to help people heal, not babysit some billionaire who’s too proud to put in the work.”
“He’s not your typical case, " Dr. Marks pressed, sitting forward. “You’re the best physical therapist we have after Estelle. If anyone can handle him, it’s you.”
Handle him. As if I didn't have enough to do. Between juggling demanding clients, my clinic responsibilities, and my mother’s mounting medical bills, taking on a high profile case like Ethan Steele’s felt like asking for trouble.
“Find someone else,” I said, standing. “I can’t do this.”
The elevator ride down to the clinic’s lobby felt suffocating.
My cell phone rang inside my bag, but I did nothing about it.
Probably just another prompt about late payments or calls I just did not have the energy to respond to.
As I stepped outside, the brisk air snapped at my face. The walk to my apartment was only ten minutes, but I could already feel the weight of the day pressing down.
Just the idea of sitting in my dingy one bedroom apartment and wrestling with another pile of medical chill out sheets sent me spiraling.
When I finally unlocked the door, the dimly lit apartment did nothing to raise my spirits. It looked just as gloomy as I felt.
My mother’s hospital room wasn’t much better, but at least there, I had her soft voice and the smell of lavender lotion to ground me.
Here, it was just... emptiness.
The pile of unopened mail on the counter taunted me. Grabbing the top envelope, I tore it open. As expected, it was another hospital bill.
Total due: $12,473.21
I dropped the paper, my stomach knotting. I’d been managing to scrape by with my savings and freelance gigs, but this? This was impossible.
Before I could keep beating myself up about it, my phone buzzed back one more time. I grabbed it from the counter with the intention of terminating whoever was on the other side, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I read the name.
Jared Marshall.
Just hearing the name was enough to cause my chest to constrict.
Jared was the right hand man of Ethan Steele, with an unsentimental and uncompromising style. He had a cold and calculating demeanor but was a nice guy overall.
But that wasn't why I froze.
I'd met Jared before. Briefly. At an industry gala over a year and a half ago.
Back then, I'd been a nervous wreck, a new employee eager to please and practically dragging myself through the evening, counting down the minutes until I could leave.
I hadn't expected anyone to notice me, let alone strike up a conversation.
But Jared had.
That night, I had no idea who he was or he was working for, I was too nervous to ask.
We'd ended up at the same bar, both desperate for an escape from the crowd.
He'd ordered whiskey, neat, and offered to buy me a drink. I'd refused at first, but then he told me to relax, and somehow, we'd ended up talking.
About everything and about nothing.
I closed my eyes as I remembered how his sharp, cold demeanor had thawed just a little by the time we clinked glasses.
How his eyes had locked almost too intently on mine, as if I was the only person present. It made me feel like I could do anything.
But then nothing had happened between us, because before it could, he was called away.
A couple months later, I saw him on the news, standing next to Ethan Steele, the arrogant yet most coveted bachelor and billionaire in the city.
I had been relieved nothing had happened between Jared and I after seeing that.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Miss Blake," Jared, with a deep, commanding sound, on the phone. “I trust you’ve heard about Ethan Steele’s condition?”
“Wow you're still cold…”
There was a pause at the other end, and I could tell he was smiling. He rarely smiled, but that night, he'd smiled…
Even laughed.
“And you're no longer nervous. Very sharp tongue.” He retorted, his voice still firm but less formal.
I smiled. “Much better…now…”
“You have to say yes.” Jared cut in.
I groaned inwardly. “I’ve heard enough. If this is to take him up as a client, I already turned down the offer and the answer is no.”
There was a break and then Jared spoke and my heart skipped a beat. “What if I told you there was more at stake here than just a therapy contract?”
I hesitated. “I’m not interested in publicity stunts.”
“This isn’t a stunt,” Jared said evenly. “This is about preserving Ethan’s legacy. The board is circling like vultures, and if Ethan doesn’t show progress soon, he’ll lose everything he’s built. That’s why we need you.”
The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard, but I wasn’t ready to relent. “Why me? Surely you can afford the best therapists in the world.”
“We already have the best therapist in the world, " Jared said smoothly. “And she’s the one I’m speaking to.”
Flattery wasn’t going to work on me. “I appreciate the compliment, but I have personal obligations. I am not able to handle this kind of case right now.”
I didn't tell him what I really felt. That I didn't want to deal with Ethan. Estelle stories about him were all I wanted them to be. Stories.
“I understand your hesitation,” Jared said, his voice softening. What if I showed you how to eliminate all of your financial troubles in a single stroke?”
My grip tightened on the phone. “What are you talking about?”
“A contract,” he said. One that carries with it full payment of your mother's medical debt, plus bonuses. The only catch is that it involves more than therapy.”
I frowned, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”
Something was up.
“You’d have to marry Ethan.”
The words hit me like a freight train. For a moment, I was sure I’d misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
Then I threw my head back and laughed. This was a joke.
Has everyone gone mad today?
“It's a publicity stunt", Jared said, as if asking to marry a stranger was a perfectly good call. “The board needs to see Ethan as stable and rehabilitating. A wife would make him appear grounded, and your reputation would assure them he’s in the best hands.”
“This is insane,” I muttered, pacing my tiny kitchen. “You think I’m going to marry someone I’ve never met, let alone someone like Ethan Steele?”
“You wouldn’t be marrying him in the traditional sense,_ Jared said. “It’s a business arrangement. “You would live with him, care for him, and pretend to be a couple in good spirits. Once the situation stabilizes, you’re free to leave.”
I did want to giggle, but nothing was funny about any of this. “And what if I say no?”
How did I go from being a therapist to a wife?
There was a long silence before Jared spoke, "Well I hope you are ready to watch your mother's condition get worse while you wait for a miracle to make those payments.”
I froze. This was no longer funny. Who did he think he was?How dare he weaponize my mother’s health against me?
“How dare you? No. No way. I will not do it!” I heard myself yell.
“You have 24 hours to decide. Please think carefully about your decision” Jared said. “Consider what this has the potential to do for you, your mother, and your career.”
“Now, look here. You can tell Ethan Steele that—”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, doing my best to control the way my hands were shaking with anger. This couldn’t be real.
However, the pile of money on my counter begged to differ. It was real, and somehow I had a chance to clear all these debts and finally be free.
I had a chance to save my mother.
Clutching the silver necklace on my chest, I sank into a chair.
This was nuts. Everyone was nuts. Marry Ethan Steele? Live under the same roof as a crippled man known for his temper and arrogance?
I couldn't do it.
Yet, the alternative was even grimmer. It was either that or sink into the ground with debts, or probably lose my mother.
I swallowed hard, tears stinging
my eyes. How has my life come to this? Why was everything suddenly so hard?
Jared said I had a choice, but that was a lie.
I had no choice.
It was either this or death
"Amelia… open the door. Please."I stood there for what felt like forever, my hand resting flat against the wood of our bedroom door. My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore.“Ethan… go away,” she finally said, soft but sharp enough to sting.“Just five minutes,” I tried again. “We can fix this. I—”“No,” she cut me off. A pause, then the sound of the lock turning.I dropped my hand, letting it fall uselessly at my side. My chest ached like I’d been holding my breath for hours.I stood there another few seconds, just staring at the door. Then I turned and walked back down the hallway, the uneven click of my cane the only sound keeping me company.****The storm hadn’t let up. If anything, it was worse now. Rain hammered the windows so hard you could hear it even in the lounge. The wind groaned through the chimney like something alive.I sat in the corner chair, the one I always chose when I wanted to disappear. A half-full glass of scotch sat on the table in front of me. The bott
I tried. I really did.I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting each clap of thunder, each gust of wind as it rattled the shutters. The storm had only gotten worse since dinner. The trees outside scraped against the walls. The rain came in sheets, slapping the terrace below hard enough to echo through the floor.No matter how I shifted or how many times I flipped my pillow to the cool side, sleep stayed stubbornly out of reach. My body felt tense, like I’d been bracing for something all evening and couldn’t stop.Eventually, I threw off the covers and swung my feet to the floor.The hallway was empty when I stepped out. The air was cool and still, heavy with the faint smell of wood polish and something floral I couldn’t place.I didn’t even think about where I was going until I found myself at the lounge doors.The lamps were dimmed in there, casting everything in soft gold light. A few empty glasses were left scattered on the bar from earlier. One of the windows was cracked ju
"Amelia… please. Can we talk?"I stopped with my hand on the door.Ethan stood behind me in the hallway, his tie loosened, his voice softer than I expected. The storm roared outside, wind whistling down the corridor, rattling the shutters like they could come off any second.“Not now,” I said, without turning.He stepped closer, his cane clicking faintly. “You shouldn’t walk around with your hand like that. It looks—bad. You’re still bleeding through the bandage.”“It’s fine,” I cut in.“I just want to—”“Ethan.” I finally turned my head, just enough for him to see my face. “Go.”He stood there a moment longer, his brow furrowed like he was about to protest, but the words never came. Eventually he sighed and stepped back.The shutters groaned again as he walked away.****Dinner was already underway when I slipped into the dinning room.The long table was bright with candles and gleaming cutlery, but the guests looked weary, restless, like they’d all run out of polite small talk hours
I wrapped my hand in a towel from the bathroom, but the bleeding didn’t want to stop.The fabric was already soaked through by the time I stepped into the hallway, the white turned patchy red. My palm throbbed in time with my heartbeat, little waves of heat crawling up my arm. My cheeks felt just as hot, though the corridor itself was chilly, lit by a faint row of sconces.I didn’t even know where I was going at first.But my feet carried me toward the back of the house, where the faint hum of machinery and the smell of cleaning products told me I’d stumbled into the service wing.The doors here were plain, utilitarian. The walls hadn’t been painted in years. A faint strip of fluorescent light buzzed overhead.I pressed the towel harder to my hand and scanned for anything that might resemble a first aid station. A closet, maybe. A little red box. I just wanted something clean to press against the cut before it got worse.When I pushed one of the heavy swinging doors open, I stopped sh
I pressed my shoulder into the door until I heard the latch click. Then I turned the key and slid the chain into place, every little metallic sound somehow louder than it should have been.For a moment I just stood there, leaning against the wood, palms pressed flat against it as if I could somehow keep the whole world outside. My breath came fast and uneven. My bag lay forgotten by my feet where I’d dropped it.The quiet in the room rang in my ears.I stumbled to the bed and sat down hard, clutching the edge of the mattress with both hands. My fingers curled into the fabric as my eyes blurred. I didn’t even bother wiping at my cheeks when the first tears came, hot and angry.I’d kept it together long enough down there, long enough to pack my bag, to sit in that room and pretend I didn’t see her watching him. But now the air felt thick, stifling.I sobbed into my hands until my throat felt raw.After a while I got up and went to the little sink, turning the cold tap and splashing my f
POV: AmeliaThis wasn't the getaway I'd pictured.The storm had come back overnight, louder, meaner, as though it was as sick of this place as I was.By the time I made it downstairs to the lounge, rain was lashing the tall windows in furious sheets. Wind rattled the shutters so hard the guests flinched whenever they caught. The air smelled damp and sharp with coffee.I chose a corner table near the wall, my small carry-on at my feet. Already packed.I’d packed as soon as it was light, my hands shaking over each sweater and dress as though folding them properly would somehow fold all this chaos away. I kept telling myself we’d leave today. We’d get out of here. Surely.Now I wasn’t so sure.The staff behind reception moved fast, their voices low and tight as they fielded calls, checked clipboards. Near the windows, two women in tailored jackets murmured about cancellations. The sound of it pressed in on me.I clasped my hands in my lap and kept them there, fingers digging into my palm
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