Maya didn't sleep that night.
Rain tapped against her window like an accusation, steady and relentless.
She lay curled on her side, staring at the dim outline of her ceiling, replaying Adrian's words over and over until they lost meaning and gained weight instead.
Six months to marry.
The audacity of it.
The absurdity.
The quiet devastation.
Men like Adrian Blackwood didn't get ultimatums—they issued them. And yet, somehow, the threat hadn't sounded hollow. It sounded… final.
She rolled onto her back and groaned softly.
"This is not my problem," she said in the dark.
But the words didn't settle.
By morning, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. Maya showered quickly, dressed in her usual jeans and sweater, and tried to focus on work. She opened her laptop, stared at the screen, and closed it again.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
"Maya. It's Adrian."
Her spine straightened instantly.
"I thought you might block my number," he continued calmly.
"I considered it," she said. "Why are you calling?"
A pause. Brief. Controlled.
"Because I owe you clarity."
She almost laughed. "You owe me nothing."
"That's not true," he said. "I disrupted your sense of reality. The least I can do is explain."
She pressed her lips together. Every instinct told her to hang up.
Instead, she said, "Explain, then."
"Meet me," he said. "One conversation. Neutral ground."
She glanced at her apartment—the flickering light, the unpaid bills pinned to the corkboard. Neutral was a luxury.
"Fine," she said. "The café. One hour."
"Thank you," he replied.
She hung up before he could say more.
Adrian arrived early.
He always did.
The café was quieter than usual, the post-rain calm settling over the space. He sat at their familiar table, hands folded, expression unreadable. This wasn't a boardroom negotiation—but his posture suggested he was treating it like one.
Maya arrived ten minutes late on purpose.
She dropped into the chair across from him, arms crossed.
"You have my attention."
Adrian studied her face—the shadows beneath her eyes, the tension she didn't bother hiding.
"You look like you didn't sleep," he said.
"Get to the point."
He exhaled slowly.
"My grandfather controls fifty-one percent of Blackwood International. He built the company. He believes stability begins at home."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "And by 'home,' you mean a wife."
"Yes."
"Let me guess," she said dryly. "Young. Presentable. Silent."
"Not silent," Adrian corrected. "Strategic."
She snorted. "That's worse."
He didn't smile.
"He's given me six months," Adrian continued. "If I fail, control transfers to a board he handpicked. People who will dismantle what I've spent a decade protecting."
Maya leaned back. "That sounds terrible. For you."
"For thousands of employees," he said. "For ongoing research, pensions, livelihoods."
She held his gaze. "And where do I come in?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was even. "I want you to marry me."
Silence crashed between them.
Maya laughed once—sharp, incredulous. "You're serious."
"Yes."
"No," she said immediately. "Absolutely not."
"I'm not asking for love."
"That's supposed to help?" she shot back.
"I'm asking for a contract," he said. "Six months. Public appearances.
Shared residence. No emotional obligations."
She stared at him. "You're insane."
"I'm practical."
"You barely know me!"
"That's precisely why this works," he replied. "You're not connected to my world. You're not invested in my power. You won't mistake the arrangement for something it isn't."
Her laugh this time was bitter. "You want a wife-shaped solution."
"Yes."
She stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. "Find someone else."
"There is no one else," he said quietly.
She paused.
He continued, "Anyone from my circle comes with expectations. Alliances. Manipulation. You don't want anything from me."
"That's not true," she snapped, turning back. "I wanted nothing—and you dragged me into this."
Adrian rose as well, but he kept his distance. "I didn't intend to."
"Well, congratulations," she said. "You've succeeded."
She grabbed her bag. "This conversation is over."
"Maya," he said.
She stopped.
"I'll pay you," he said.
The words hit her like a slap.
She turned slowly. "I'm not for sale."
"I know," he said quickly. "That's not what I meant."
"Sounded like it."
"I meant compensation," he said. "For your time. Your inconvenience. Your protection."
She folded her arms. "Protection from what?"
"My world," he answered honestly.
Her throat tightened despite herself.
"No," she said again. "I won't be your solution."
She walked out before he could stop her.
The universe, apparently, had terrible timing.
Two days later, Maya's landlord called.
Then her mother.
Then the hospital.
Her father's condition had worsened. Insurance covered part of it. The rest—not so much.
Maya sat on her bed, phone in her hand, listening to the numbers stack higher and higher.
By evening, her bank app confirmed what she already knew.
There was no safety net left.
She stared at the wall, at the crack she'd named Frank, and felt something inside her give way.
Temporary fixes only worked until they didn't.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian.
She let it ring.
Then again.
She answered on the third call. "This better not be another pitch."
"It's not," he said. "I heard about your father."
Her breath caught. "How?"
"I asked," he admitted. "And before you accuse me of intrusion—I wanted to be prepared."
"For what?"
"For you to say yes," he said.
Anger flared. "You're assuming—"
"I'm offering terms," he corrected. "Improved ones."
She closed her eyes. "You're unbelievable."
"Listen," he said. "I'll cover your father's medical expenses. No loans. No strings beyond the contract. Six months. At the end, we walk away."
She laughed weakly. "You make it sound so clean."
"It will be," he said. "Because I won't touch you unless you want me to."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"And if I say no?" she asked quietly.
"Then I step back," Adrian said. "Completely."
Silence stretched.
Maya thought of her father's tired smile. Her mother's quiet strength. Her own reflection in the mirror—always surviving, never resting.
Cornered.
"When would this start?" she asked.
"Immediately," he said. "Public announcement in forty-eight hours."
She swallowed. "I need rules."
"Of course."
She took a breath that felt like surrender. "I'm not agreeing yet."
"I know," Adrian said. "Meet me tomorrow. We'll draft the contract together."
Together.
The word lingered.
"Tomorrow," she echoed.
When the call ended, Maya sat very still.
This wasn't romance.
There were no flowers.
No promises.
No illusions.
Just a choice between pride and survival.
And for the first time in her life, Maya Collins wondered what it would cost her—not in money, but in heart—to say yes.
Next: Chapter 5 - Rules of the Contract
"He didn't ask for her heart. He asked for her signature."
Six months. No love. No escape. And a decision that would change everything.
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