❀LENA❀

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and dying flowers. Someone had brought Margaret a bouquet three days ago.

The petals were browning at the edges now, curling inward like they were giving up.

I knew the feeling.

The contract sat in my lap, corners already bent from how many times I'd unfolded it. Read it. Refolded it. Like the words might change if I looked enough times.

Margaret slept fitfully in the bed, her breathing rattling. The nurse had adjusted her medication an hour ago. Said it would help with the pain. It didn't look like it was helping.

The door opened. Another nurse, this one carrying a clipboard.

"Miss Ward?"

I looked up.

"I have the updated invoice for this month's treatment." She held it out like an apology. "I'm sorry. I know the timing isn't."

"It's fine." I took it. Didn't look at the number. What was the point?

She left quietly.

I set the invoice on top of the contract in my lap. Two pieces of paper. Two impossible choices. One of them would bury me in debt I'd never escape. The other would bury me in something worse.

My phone sat on the chair beside me. I'd been staring at it for the past hour, at the number written on the bottom of Adrian's contract. Ten digits between me and salvation.

Or damnation.

Hard to tell which.

I pulled up my browser instead. Typed his name into the search bar.

Adrian Knight.

Hundreds of results. Thousands. Articles and interviews and glossy magazine photos. There he was in a tux at some charity gala.

There he was shaking hands with politicians. There he was on the cover of Forbes with the headline: "The Ice King of Knight Empire."

I clicked on the article.

"Adrian Knight, 29, has transformed his late mother's company into one of the most powerful conglomerates in the country. Known for his ruthless business tactics and emotional detachment, Knight has earned a reputation as a man without weaknesses. When asked about his personal life, he declined to comment."

I scrolled further. Found another article. This one older.

"Victoria Knight, beloved philanthropist and business mogul, died five years ago in a tragic accident. She leaves behind her only son, Adrian, who inherited control of Knight Empire under the condition that he marry before his thirtieth birthday. Industry insiders speculate about the unusual clause, but the Knight family has remained silent."

So it was true, all of it. The inheritance. The deadline. The desperation hiding under that cold exterior.

I kept reading. Found photos of his mother. Victoria Knight had kind eyes in every picture. Warm smile. The complete opposite of her son.

What happened to him?

My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah at the café.

You okay? You left weird yesterday.

I didn't respond.

Margaret stirred in the bed, and I set my phone down. Went to her side. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused.

"Lena?"

"I'm here."

"You should go home. Get some rest."

"I'm fine."

She reached for my hand. Found it. Squeezed weakly.

"You've done enough," she whispered. "More than enough. You don't have to keep sacrificing for me."

My chest tightened. "You're not a sacrifice."

"I'm dying, baby. We both know it."

"Mom.."

"Let me say this." Her grip tightened. "Twenty-five years ago, I found you on my doorstep. Tiny thing. Couldn't have been more than a few days old. Wrapped in a blanket with no note, no explanation. Just you."

I'd heard this story before. But I let her tell it again.

"I could've called someone. Should've. But I looked at you, and I just knew. You were mine. You were always meant to be mine." Her eyes watered. "You gave me a reason to keep going. After your father left, after everything fell apart, you were the thing that made sense."

"You saved me," I said.

"No, baby. You saved me."

She closed her eyes again, exhausted from just those few words.

I stayed beside her until her breathing evened out, until I was sure she was really asleep.

Then I picked up my phone.

Stared at the number.

Margaret had given me everything. Worked herself to the bone to give me a life. She had chosen me when she didn't have to. Loved me when no one else did.

Now it was my turn to choose her.

I dialed before I could talk myself out of it.

It rang once. Twice.

On the third ring, he answered.

"Adrian Knight."

My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Yes."

Silence.

Then, "I'll have my lawyer send the details."

He hung up.

I sat there with the phone against my ear, listening to dead air, wondering what I'd just done.

The lawyer's office was all glass and leather. The kind of place where they charged you just for breathing their air. I sat in a chair that probably cost more than my rent, hands folded in my lap, trying not to touch anything.

Adrian sat across from me. He had barely looked at me since I arrived.

The lawyer, an older man with gray hair and expensive cufflinks, slid papers across the desk.

"This is fairly straightforward," he said.

"A one-year marriage contract with clearly defined terms and conditions. Mr. Knight has already outlined the specifics."

I pulled the papers closer. Started reading.

Separate bedrooms. No cohabitation beyond public appearances.

No public displays of affection unless required for media purposes.

No emotional involvement or romantic expectations.

No contact with former romantic partners during the contract period.

Ms. Ward will receive full medical coverage for Margaret Ward, including all treatments, medications, and ongoing care.

Upon successful completion of the one-year term, Ms. Ward will receive $1,000,000.

Failure to comply with contract terms will result in immediate termination and forfeiture of all benefits.

I looked up. Adrian was watching me now. Clinical and detached.

"Any questions?" the lawyer asked.

"This is insane," I said.

"Is that a question?"

"No." I picked up the pen. My hand shook slightly. "Where do I sign?"

The lawyer showed me. Line after line after line. My signature looked wrong on every page. Too small. Too insignificant next to the weight of what I was agreeing to.

Adrian signed after me. His signature was sharp. Confident. Like he'd done this a thousand times.

Maybe he had.

"Congratulations," the lawyer said, standing. He shook Adrian's hand first, then mine. "I wish you both the best."

The irony wasn't lost on either of us.

We stepped out of the building into chaos.

Cameras. Flashing lights. Voices shouting questions all at once.

"Mr. Knight! Is it true you're engaged?"

"Who is she?"

"When's the wedding?"

I froze. Adrian didn't. He moved smoothly, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me close against him.

His hand pressed against the small of my back.

"Smile," he said under his breath.

I smiled. Felt plastic and fake.

The cameras exploded.

Adrian navigated us through the crowd with practiced ease, his body a shield between me and the shouting reporters.

His hand stayed on my back the entire time. Steady and firm.

But there was something else.

A tremor. Barely there. Just the slightest shake against my spine.

I glanced up at him. His face was a mask. Perfect. Controlled. But his hand betrayed him.

He was scared.

Or maybe just human.

We reached his car, and he opened the door for me. I slid inside, and he followed.

The driver pulled away from the curb, and the chaos faded behind us.

Adrian stared out the window. Didn't speak.

His hand was steady now. Whatever crack I'd felt was gone.

"Someone leaked it," I said.

"Yes."

"You knew they would."

"I suspected." He turned to look at me finally. "Welcome to your new life, Lena Ward."

His voice was cold again. Empty.

But I'd felt his hand shake.

I'd felt him break, just for a second.

And somehow that made everything worse.