Nerissa POV
"You want me to marry you?" I stare at Thaddeus Reign like he's lost his mind. "You're insane."
"Probably." He's still holding me up, my body pressed against his expensive suit. I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. Unlike mine, which is racing like I just ran a marathon. "But I'm also your only option."
I push away from him, my legs steadier now. "I don't even know you."
"You've known me for seven years, Nerissa." His voice is quiet. Dangerous. "We've sat across from each other at dozens of family dinners. I've watched you smile and laugh and pretend to be happy with my pathetic stepson. And you've noticed me too. Don't lie."
My face burns. Because he's right. I have noticed him. Every single time he walked into a room, my eyes found him. Every time he spoke, I listened. Every time our hands accidentally touched passing dishes at dinner, electricity shot through me.
But I never admitted it. Not even to myself.
"That's different," I whisper. "I was married—"
"To a man who was cheating on you for months. Maybe years." Thaddeus pulls out his phone again, showing me Marlowe's post. It has seventy thousand shares now. "By morning, this will have half a million. Your face will be everywhere. Everyone will think you're a cheater and a homewrecker."
"But it's not true!"
"Truth doesn't matter. Only what people believe." He puts his phone away and looks at me with those ice-blue eyes. "I can make this disappear. I can save your mother. I can pay your father's debts. I can give you back everything you lost today."
"Why?" My voice cracks. "Why would you do that?"
For a moment, something raw flashes across his face. Pain. Loneliness. Want.
Then it's gone, replaced by his cold businessman mask.
"Because I'm dying," he says simply. "Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. My doctors give me eighteen months. Maybe less."
The air leaves my lungs.
"I don't want to die alone," he continues, his voice emotionless. "I don't want nurses and lawyers hovering over my deathbed. I want..." He pauses, and for the first time, he looks uncertain. Vulnerable. "I want someone real. Someone who doesn't care about my money or my company. Someone who's too broken to pretend."
"That's horrible," I breathe.
"Which part? The cancer or the proposal?"
"Both." Tears burn my eyes. "You're dying and you want a fake wife to keep you company?"
"Not fake." His eyes bore into mine. "Real. For one year. Be my wife, Nerissa. Come to events with me. Let me take care of you. Let me feel like I matter to someone before I'm gone."
"This is crazy—"
"Is it crazier than letting your mother die because you can't afford surgery? Crazier than watching your father lose everything? Crazier than letting Marlowe destroy your reputation while Dashiell gets away with cheating?"
Each word is a knife.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"No, you don't." He steps closer. "You hate that I'm right. You hate that you're considering this. You hate that part of you wants to say yes."
"Stop." But I don't move away.
"One year," he says softly. "Marry me. I'll wire eight hundred thousand dollars to the hospital tonight. Your mother gets her surgery tomorrow. I'll pay off your father's gambling debts—all of them. I'll buy back your family's pharmaceutical company and put it in your name."
"What do you get?"
"You. At my side. In my home. As my wife."
"You want sex." It's not a question.
"No." His answer surprises me. "The contract will specify separate bedrooms. No physical intimacy required. I just want... companionship. Someone to talk to. Someone who sees me as more than a dying man or a bank account."
I want to say no. Want to run. Want to find another way.
But there is no other way.
"I need to see the contract," I hear myself say.
Thaddeus pulls a folder from inside his jacket. "I had my lawyer draw it up this afternoon."
"You were that sure I'd say yes?"
"I was that sure you're smart enough to recognize your only lifeline." He hands me the folder. "Read it. Ask questions. Take your time."
I open it with shaking hands.
The contract is ten pages long, but the terms are clear:
Marriage duration: One year from signing date
Financial compensation: $800,000 immediate payment for medical expenses
Additional compensation: All debts paid, pharmaceutical company restored, plus $50,000 monthly allowance
Living arrangement: Separate bedrooms in Thaddeus's penthouse
Public appearances: Minimum two events per week as Mrs. Reign
Intimacy clause: No physical relationship required unless mutually agreed
Termination: Marriage dissolves after one year or upon Thaddeus's death, whichever comes first
Settlement: Upon termination, Nerissa receives $5 million and keeps all gifts/property acquired during marriage
My hands shake harder as I read.
"This is a business deal," I whisper.
"Yes."
"You're buying a wife."
"I'm saving a brilliant woman from drowning." His voice is fierce now. "You deserve better than what Dashiell did to you. You deserve better than watching your mother die. You deserve better than losing everything because your father gambled it away."
"And you deserve better than dying alone," I say quietly.
Something breaks in his expression. For just a second, I see the real Thaddeus. Scared. Lonely. Human.
"Maybe we both deserve better," he admits. "But this is what we've got. So what do you say, Nerissa? Will you be my wife?"
I look at the contract. At the check for $800,000 clipped to the front page.
I think about my mother in a hospital bed, her heart failing.
I think about my father crying on the phone.
I think about Marlowe's post going viral, destroying my reputation.
I think about Dashiell's cruel words: "You make me feel small."
And I think about Thaddeus, this powerful billionaire who's watched me for seven years, who's dying, who's offering me everything in exchange for one year of companionship.
"I have conditions," I say.
"Name them."
"If I do this, if I marry you—I want my old job back at the lab. I want to keep working. Keep researching. I'm not going to sit around your penthouse like a decoration."
"Agreed. I'll make a call. You'll have your position back by Monday."
"And I want the truth. Always. No lying, no games. If this is going to work, we have to be honest with each other."
"Deal." He holds out his hand. "Anything else?"
"Yes." I meet his eyes. "If we're going to do this, I need to know why you really want me. Not just because you're dying and lonely. There's something else. I can see it."
Thaddeus is quiet for a long moment.
Then he says, "Because I've wanted you since the moment Dashiell brought you to your first family dinner seven years ago. You walked in wearing a blue dress, and you smiled at me, and something in my chest cracked open. I've spent seven years watching you waste your brilliance on my worthless stepson. Seven years wishing you were mine."
My breath catches.
"Now you're free," he continues, his voice rough. "And I'm dying. And maybe, just maybe, we can have one year of something real before I'm gone."
"That's not fair," I whisper. "You can't say things like that—"
"You wanted the truth."
He's right. I did.
I look at the contract one more time.
Then I pick up the pen.
"Where do I sign?"
Thaddeus's eyes flash with something that looks like triumph. And relief. And hunger.
"Page ten. Next to my signature."
I flip to the last page. His signature is already there, strong and bold.
I sign my name next to his: Nerissa Caldwell
"It's done," I say, setting down the pen.
"Not quite." Thaddeus pulls out his phone and makes a call. "Geneva? Wire eight hundred thousand dollars to County Hospital, patient Cressida Caldwell, immediately. Yes, tonight. And prepare the penthouse—Mrs. Reign will be moving in tomorrow."
Mrs. Reign.
What have I done?
He hangs up and looks at me. "Your mother's surgery is paid for. She'll be in the operating room by morning."
Tears flood my eyes. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." His voice is dark. "You just married a dying man to escape a nightmare. We'll see how grateful you are when this gets complicated."
"How could it get more complicated?"
Thaddeus steps closer, so close I can smell his cologne—expensive, masculine, intoxicating.
"Because in about three hours, Dashiell is going to find out you married his stepfather. And he's going to lose his mind."
My stomach drops. "Oh God."
"And Marlowe's post will explode when she realizes you didn't just survive her attack—you married a billionaire." He smiles, but it's predatory. "Tomorrow, the whole world is going to talk about us. About the scandalous widow who married her ex-husband's father."
"Stepfather," I correct weakly.
"They won't care about the difference." He reaches out and touches my cheek, gentle despite everything. "Are you ready for war, Nerissa? Because that's what this will be."
Before I can answer, his phone buzzes.
He looks at it and his face goes dark.
"What?" I ask.
"Dashiell just posted his own response to Marlowe's claims." He shows me the screen.
Dashiell's post has a photo of me from this morning—leaving the clinic. Someone followed me. Photographed me.
The caption makes me want to vomit:
"My wife didn't just cheat. She aborted our baby today and is already moving on to her next victim. Gold digger. Liar. Monster."
The world tilts.
"He knew," I breathe. "He knew I was pregnant. He knew I..."
Thaddeus's jaw clenches. "He's declared war. Good." His eyes meet mine, burning with rage. "Now we destroy him."