The morning after the deal didn't feel real.
Emily stood in front of the bathroom mirror in her tiny apartment, staring at the faint red mark where her emotions had burst through the night before. Her reflection was a stranger—a woman who had signed a marriage contract with a man she barely knew.
Mrs. Knight.
The name felt foreign on her lips.
She hadn't even seen Alexander Knight again after signing the contract. His assistant had handled everything—the transfer, the documents, and the warning: "Be ready to move into his estate within seventy-two hours. A driver will pick you up."
Emily's phone buzzed.
Driver arriving in 30 minutes. Please be ready. —James
Panic curled around her ribs like a tight rope. She hadn't even told her mother. What would she say? That she sold herself into a contract with a stranger to afford life-saving treatment?
She knelt by her mother's bedside, brushing a graying curl from her pale forehead. "Mum, everything's going to be okay," she whispered. "I promise."
As the car pulled up outside her building, sleek and black like something from a movie, Emily stood frozen on the pavement. She took one last look at her neighborhood—cracked sidewalks, peeling fences, and the neighbors who barely noticed her.
This would be the last time she saw it for a while.
The estate wasn't just a house. It was a fortress. White stone walls, towering gates, and gardens so perfectly trimmed they looked artificial.
James, the assistant, met her at the entrance. "Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow. For now, you'll be shown to your quarters."
Quarters? Emily thought. Not 'room'—not even 'guest suite'?
She followed him silently through the marble hallways until they stopped at a door.
"The west wing," he said. "Mr. Knight prefers to keep things… professional."
The room inside was larger than her entire apartment. It was tastefully decorated in shades of cream and gold, with a window overlooking a private rose garden.
That evening, she finally met him again.
Alexander appeared at the dining table like he had stepped out of a magazine—suit crisp, expression unreadable.
"This arrangement will require appearances," he said, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Events. Photos. We'll maintain the illusion of a real couple. But I trust you remember the conditions."
Emily nodded, sitting opposite him, her back straight despite the storm in her chest.
"No feelings," he repeated. "This is business. The moment it becomes more—it ends."
She met his gaze evenly. "Understood."
But as their eyes locked for the first time as husband and wife, a silent tension crackled between them—something neither of them wanted to admit.
Something that might break the very first rule of their agreement.
---