The fluorescent lights of St. Mary's Hospital buzzed overhead like angry wasps, each flicker a reminder of how much time Sophia Chen was wasting in the billing office instead of at her brother's bedside.
"Miss Chen, I'm sorry, but without payment, we can't proceed with the surgery." The billing administrator's voice was professional, detached, as if she wasn't sentencing a seventeen-year-old boy to death with her spreadsheet and clipboard.
Sophia's fingers clenched around the strap of her worn leather bag. "Mrs. Palmer, please. I just need two more weeks. I'm waiting on my commission from the Harrison project"
"You said that three weeks ago." Mrs.
Palmer's expression softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. "The hospital has been more than generous. Your brother's bill is now at $347,000. Without a significant payment or proof of insurance coverage, I'm afraid we'll have to transfer him to County General."
County General. Where they'd put Ethan on a waiting list that would take months. Months he didn't have.
Sophia's vision blurred. She would not cry. Not here. Not in front of this woman who saw dozens of desperate families every day and had probably built up an immunity to tears.
"I understand," Sophia whispered, her voice barely audible. "Can I… can I have until tomorrow? To figure something out?"
Mrs. Palmer hesitated, then nodded.
"Tomorrow. Nine AM. I'm sorry, Miss Chen. I really am."
Sophia fled the office before the tears could fall, her heels clicking against the linoleum in a frantic rhythm that matched her racing heart. She made it to the hospital courtyard before the first sob broke free, harsh and ugly in the evening air.
Three years. Three years since the car accident that killed their parents and left Ethan with a damaged heart that was slowly failing. Three years of working herself to exhaustion, of putting her dreams on hold, of watching her baby brother grow weaker while she scrambled for money that always seemed just out of reach.
The Harrison commission would have covered it. Would have. Until Thomas Harrison decided to give the project to his nephew instead, leaving Sophia with nothing but wasted months and broken promises.
Her phone buzzed. Another email, probably another rejection from the firms she'd applied to. She almost didn't check it.
Subject: Urgent Meeting Request - Alexander Sterling, Sterling Industries
Sophia's thumb hovered over the delete button. Spam. Had to be. Alexander Sterling didn't send meeting requests to struggling architects whose biggest completed project was a boutique hotel renovation in Queens.
But something made her open it.
Miss Chen,
I have a business proposition that requires discretion and immediate attention. I understand you're currently facing financial difficulties. I can resolve them.
Meet me tomorrow, 7 AM, Sterling Tower, Executive Floor.
Time-sensitive. Come alone.
A. Sterling
Sophia read it three times. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was insane. Probably a scam. Definitely too good to be true.
But what if it wasn't?
She looked back at the hospital, at the window of the ICU where Ethan lay connected to machines that beeped out the rhythm of his failing heart.
Tomorrow at nine, Mrs. Palmer would transfer him to County General.
Tomorrow at seven, Alexander Sterling claimed he could solve everything.
Sophia pulled up Google with shaking fingers. Alexander Sterling's face filled her screen sharp jawline, steel-gray eyes, dark hair perfectly styled. Forbes called him "The Ice King of Manhattan."
Business Insider said he'd turned a modest family company into a billion-dollar empire through ruthless efficiency and zero tolerance for failure.
Twenty articles mentioned his broken engagement to supermodel Vanessa Westbrook two years ago. Ten more speculated about his complete absence from the dating scene since.
And now he wanted to meet her. At seven in the morning. About a "business proposition" that could solve her financial problems.
Every instinct screamed danger. But desperation has a way of silencing instincts.
Sophia typed her response before she could change her mind.
Mr. Sterling,
I'll be there.
Sterling Tower pierced the Manhattan skyline like a sword of glass and steel, its facade reflecting the sunrise in shades of gold and blood-orange. Sophia had passed it a thousand times, always craning her neck to see the top, always wondering what it would be like to design something so magnificent.
Now, standing in the marble lobby at 6:47 AM, she felt like an imposter in her best interview suit the navy one she'd worn to every important meeting for the past three years, with the hem she'd fixed herself after catching it in a subway door.
"Miss Chen?" A woman in her fifties approached, her gray suit impeccable, her smile professional but warm. "I'm Margaret, Mr. Sterling's executive assistant. He's expecting you."
The private elevator was all mirrors and soft lighting. Sophia caught her reflection and barely recognized herself dark circles under her eyes, her black hair pulled back in a bun that was more practical than polished, her face too thin from too many skipped meals.
What could Alexander Sterling possibly want with her?
The elevator opened directly into a penthouse office that took Sophia's breath away. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Central Park, the city spreading out below like a kingdom. The space was minimalist, all clean lines and purposeful design, but what caught her attention was the architectural model on the side table Sterling Tower itself, in exquisite detail.
"You're early."
The voice came from behind her, deep and smooth like expensive whiskey. Sophia turned.
Alexander Sterling was even more striking in person. Tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders filling out a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent.
But it was his eyes that stopped her gray like a winter storm, sharp and assessing, studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed.
"You said it was time-sensitive," Sophia replied, grateful her voice didn't shake. "I took you at your word."
Something flickered in his expression. Approval? "Margaret, hold my calls. No interruptions."
Margaret nodded and disappeared, the elevator doors closing with a soft whisper.
They were alone.
Alexander moved to his desk, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Sit. Please."
Sophia sat, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap to hide their trembling. Up close, she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. He looked tired. Human, despite the Ice King reputation.
"I'll be direct," Alexander said, leaning back in his chair. "I need a wife. You need money. I'm proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Sophia blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"A contractual marriage. One year. At the end, you walk away with two million dollars, free and clear." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing a real estate deal, not asking a stranger to marry him.
"This is insane," Sophia breathed. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." He opened a folder on his desk, sliding it toward her. "Sophia Chen, twenty-six, graduated top of your class from Columbia with a Master's in Architecture.
Worked at Morrison & Associates for two years before they laid off half their staff. Freelancing since then with moderate success until the Harrison project fell through last month. Parents deceased, one younger brother, Ethan, currently in St. Mary's Hospital with dilated cardiomyopathy requiring immediate surgery. Total medical debt: $347,000 and counting."
Blood drained from Sophia's face. "How did you"
"I do my research." His expression softened slightly. "I'm not trying to intimidate you, Miss Chen. I'm showing you that I understand your situation. You're desperate, but you're not reckless. You wouldn't be here if you had any other choice."
She wanted to argue, but he was right. God help her, he was right.
"Why me?" she asked instead. "You could have anyone."
"I need someone who won't fall in love with me." His voice was cold, clinical. "Someone who understands this is a transaction. You need money for your brother. I need a wife to satisfy my grandfather's will. We both get what we want, no complications."
"Your grandfather's will?"