Sebastian’s pov

“A B-plus?” My father’s voice was cold as ice as he stared at my English report card in his office. “In English. A subject that requires no real intelligence, just the ability to regurgitate what teachers want to hear.”

“I’m sorry, Father. The essay was…”

His hand cracked across my face before I could finish. The force of it snapped my head to the side,My teeth cut the inside of my cheek.

“I don’t want excuses.” He grabbed my collar, yanking me closer. “Do you know what happens to people who accept B’s, Sebastian?”

I couldn’t answer. My face was throbbing.

“They become mediocre. Forgettable. Worthless.” His grip tightened. “Is that what you want to be?”

“No, Father.”I said with my voice shaking

“Then why are you bringing me less than perfection”His fist connected with my ribs, driving the air from my lungs.

I doubled over, gasping. He released my collar, and I fell to my knees on his expensive Persian rug.

“Get up.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “Wolfe men don’t kneel.”

I forced myself to stand, even though my ribs screamed in protest.

“You will retake that essay,” he said, straightening his tie as if nothing had happened. “You will score an A. And you will never bring me less than perfect again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”I said with my head facing the floor.

“Good. Now get out.” He straightened his tie and turned back to his desk, dismissing me. “And Sebastian? This is how the world works. The strong survive. The weak get crushed. I’m teaching you how to survive.”

I stood there, shaking, until he said, without looking up, “Close the door.”

I did. Quietly. Because noise made him angry.

I learned two things that day:

Love was conditional.

And crying only made it worse.

That night I iced my ribs and rewrote the essay until my eyes blurred. Scored an A and he never acknowledged it.

That was fine. I’d stopped expecting approval. Or warmth. Or anything, really.

Brrr! Brrr!” my phone buzzed distracting me from my thoughts

Klaus: Stop staring at your phone. She’ll call when she’s ready. Or she won’t. You need a backup plan.

My mind quickly drifted to Hannah She had twenty-four hours to call me,why hasn’t she was the money not enough? Should I have offered more?

I stared back at my screen to klaus text I didn’t text back. I didn’t need a backup plan. She’d call. She had to.

The penthouse was silent except for the faint hum of the city below. Sixteen hundred square feet of glass, steel, and cold leather. No photos, no personal items, nothing that suggested a human being actually lived here.

Exactly how I preferred it.

My phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

This is Hannah. I have questions about the contract. Can we meet?

Less than twelve hours. I’d predicted correctly.

I typed back: Where and when?

Hannah: There’s an all-night diner on 5th. Can you be there in an hour?

I could be there in fifteen minutes, but appearing too eager would weaken my negotiating position.

Me: 9:45. I’ll be there.

I arrived at the diner at 9:40. Hannah was already there, looking exhausted in jeans and a worn sweater.

I slid into the booth across from her.

“Mr. Wolfe.”

“Sebastian,” I corrected. “If we’re going to do this, you should use my first name.”

She nodded, pulling out the contract. I noticed she’d made detailed notes in the margins. “I have questions.”

“I expected you would.”

“The confidentiality clause says I can’t discuss the marriage terms with anyone. Does that include my family?”

“Your parents can know. But not friends, not coworkers. This only works if people believe it’s real.”

“And the events,business functions where I’d have to appear as your wife. How often?”

“Five or six over the next few months. Charity galas, corporate dinners. You’ll need appropriate clothing, which I’ll provide.”

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t need you to dress me.”

“I’m not dressing you. I’m ensuring you have what you need for the role.” I kept my tone neutral. “Unless you already own evening gowns suitable for ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate events?”

She looked away. “No.”

“Then let me handle it. It’s a business expense.”

She shook her head slightly, muttering, “Everything’s a business expense with you.” Then louder: “Marriage, clothing, my life,just numbers.”

I kept my tone even. “I prefer to think of it as practical.”

“And I prefer to think of it as cold.”

I felt nothing at the accusation. I’d been called cold my entire life.

I took a sip of my coffee “Is there anything else?”I asked

“Yes.” She pointed to a clause. “This termination section says I can leave after a year with no penalties. But what happens to you?”

“As long as we are married for a year the inheritance is secure.”

Hannah pulled out more notes. “What about Lily’s ongoing care? The contract mentions the surgery, but what about physical therapy? Follow-up appointments?”

“Everything. All medical expenses related to her recovery, for as long as necessary.”even if I leave after a year?

“The money transfers to a medical trust in Lily’s name the moment we’re married. Whether you stay an hour or a year, she gets the care.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “Why would you structure it that way?”

“Because I don’t want you to stay out of obligation. I want this arrangement to work for both of us. When it stops working, you leave.”

She wiped her eyes. “That’s the first humane thing you’ve said.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She laughed,actually laughed,and I found myself studying her face, the way it transformed when she smiled.

“One more question,” she said. “The most important one.”

“Go ahead.”

“What happens if this stops being fake? What if one of us develops real feelings?”

“That won’t happen.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. Because I don’t develop feelings, Hannah.

“And you’re certain you can’t feel anything?”

I’m certain.”

Hannah studied me for a long moment. “Okay. I have conditions of my own.”

“Which are?”

“If this arrangement hurts Lily in any way, I walk immediately. Her wellbeing comes first.”

“Agreed.”

“And I want an independent attorney to review this contract. Someone who’s not working for you.”

“Smart I’ll have Whitmore send you a list. Choose anyone. I’ll pay their fees.”

Her chin lifted. “Of course you will.”

She was about to say more when her phone buzzed. I saw the color drain from her face before she even listened.

She played the voicemail on speaker. Dr. Martinez’s urgent voice: “Hannah, this is Dr. Martinez. Lily’s condition has deteriorated rapidly. We need you here immediately. The nerve damage is progressing faster than anticipated. We need to schedule that surgery within two weeks, or,”

The message cut off.

Hannah’s face had gone white. “Two weeks. Not six weeks anymore Two weeks.”

Her eyes met mine,pleading, terrified. “I’ll marry you,” she said, voice breaking. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Whatever it takes. Just please help me save her.”

This was exactly what I’d wanted. Her agreement. Her desperation. Her complete surrender.

“We’ll get the license tomorrow morning,” I said, pulling out my phone. “The ceremony within seventy-two hours. I’ll have the money transferred tonight as a deposit,”

“Can’t we do it faster?”

“New York requires a twenty-four hour waiting period. But I’ll authorize payment tonight so they can schedule the surgery.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, tears spilling over.

Then the phone rang again. “They’re prepping her for tests. I have to go.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to,”

“I am.” I stood, pulling out my keys my voice came out harsher than I meant.

In the car, I texted klaus: Need you to call Mount Sinai administration. Patient Lily Brooks, Room 847. Authorize full payment for surgery tonight. Make it happen.

The car ride was quiet except for her muffled crying and the city blurring by in streaks of red and gold.

At the hospital, she ran for the elevators. I followed.

On the eighth floor, the doctor was waiting. “Hannah, thank God. Lily’s stable, but the scans are concerning. If we don’t operate within two weeks,”

“Schedule it,” I said. “Whatever she needs. Money isn’t an issue.”

The doctor looked confused. “Who are you?”

“Sebastian Wolfe. As of tomorrow, I’ll be Hannah’s husband.” I showed him Marcus’s text confirmation. “My head of security is contacting your administration now to authorize full payment.”

He checked his phone, eyes widening. “This is real?”

Hannah looked at me. “It’s real.”

“Then we can schedule the surgery for next week.

After he left, Hannah turned to me. “You didn’t have to authorize payment before the wedding.”

“We have a deal. Go be with your sister.”

She did something unexpected then.

She hugged me.

It wasn’t long,three seconds at most,but her warmth lingered like a bruise.

Then she pulled away, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I just…thank you.”

She hurried toward Lily’s room.

I stood in the empty hallway, noting the strange sensation in my chest. Not emotion. Just… awareness.

After speaking to the doctor I walked towards lily’s room Hannah looked up when I entered, surprise crossing her face.

“I thought you left,” she said quietly.

“Not yet.” I looked at the teenager in the bed,brown hair like Hannah’s, pale and fragile. “I wanted to make sure everything was handled.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears again. “Why are you being nice?”

“I’m not being nice. I’m protecting my investment.”

I’m leaving now I’ll contact you tomorrow.

As I stepped into my car My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Photo attachment.

I opened it.

A picture of me and Hannah in the diner, taken from outside. Professional surveillance.

Her face half-turned toward me, mine angled down , two people who shouldn’t have looked like anything more than a business meeting. Yet somehow, the shot felt… intimate. Personal.

And then the message underneath:

“Interesting new friend, Sebastian. Your father would be so disappointed. Or maybe proud is this another business acquisition?

It suddenly felt like the air had been sucked out of the car.

My jaw tightened until it hurt. Old instincts kicked in,don’t flinch, don’t react, don’t feel. But something still twisted low in my stomach, dark and sharp. Disappointed. Proud.

That was his voice. The same tone he always used…cold and condescending.

I blinked hard, shoving the phone facedown on the seat. My reflection in the windshield looked exactly like his,tight mouth, hollow eyes, control clamped over everything else.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

Whoever sent it wanted a reaction, and they wouldn’t get one.

I forwarded the message to Marcus: Find out who sent this. Now.

Then I deleted the message started the car, and drove off.