Alexander's jaw tightened. "He controls sixty percent of Sterling Industries through a trust.
According to his terms, I have to be married by my thirty-third birthday which is in five months or controlling interest passes to my cousin, who will undoubtedly run the company into the ground.
My grandfather believes marriage builds character. I believe it's an archaic requirement, but I'm not willing to lose everything I've built over principle."
Sophia's mind raced. This was crazy. Absolutely insane. But
Two million dollars.
Ethan's surgery. His medications. His future.
"What would this… arrangement… entail?" she asked carefully.
Alexander pulled out another document, several pages thick. "A contract. Specific terms, all legally binding. You'd move into my penthouse separate bedrooms, I'm not a monster. We'd attend social functions together, maintain the appearance of a real marriage in public. In private, we live our own lives. No intimacy beyond what's necessary for appearances."
"Necessary for appearances?" Sophia's voice rose slightly.
"Hand-holding. Perhaps a kiss or two at events. Nothing you're not comfortable with, and all with prior discussion." His gaze held hers. "I'm not interested in forcing anything, Miss Chen. This is a business arrangement. I need a wife who can play the part convincingly, not a woman who'll expect romance and declarations of love."
The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. Someone had hurt him badly. Sophia found herself wondering about Vanessa Westbrook, about what had happened to turn a man into this.
"Two million dollars," she said slowly. "For one year."
"Five hundred thousand upfront, deposited into your account immediately upon signing. Enough to cover your brother's surgery and ongoing care. The remaining million and a half when the year is complete and my grandfather's requirements are satisfied."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you walk out that door, and we never speak again." He leaned forward. "But your brother will be transferred to County General this morning, and I think we both know what that means."
It should have felt like a threat, but his tone was gentle, almost sympathetic. He wasn't trying to manipulate her. He was simply stating facts.
Sophia closed her eyes. Ethan's face swam in her vision his smile when she brought him books, his terrible jokes even when he was in pain, his dreams of becoming a doctor someday if he could just get better.
"I need to read the contract," she said.
Alexander slid it across the desk. "Take your time."
Sophia read every word. The terms were clear, almost painfully so. Separate residences within his home. No infidelity for either party. Public appearances as required, minimum twice weekly. No disclosure of the arrangement to anyone except legal counsel.
At the end of twelve months, a clean divorce with no alimony, no further obligations.
She'd be selling a year of her life. Her freedom. Her ability to pursue any real relationships.
But she'd be buying Ethan's life in return.
"I need one addition," Sophia said, looking up. "I want to continue my career. I won't be some trophy wife sitting at home. I need to work, to maintain my professional identity."
Alexander studied her for a long moment. "Agreed. In fact, it's better that way. More believable. We'll say I'm supporting my brilliant wife's career."
"And I want to visit my brother whenever I need to. No restrictions."
"Of course."
"And…" She took a breath. "I want a clause that allows either of us to terminate the contract early if it becomes… unbearable. With appropriate financial adjustments."
Something like respect flickered in his eyes. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for. Agreed."
He made a notation on the contract, initiated it, then slid it back to her along with a pen. A very expensive pen.
"Last chance to walk away, Miss Chen."
Sophia picked up the pen. Her hand hovered over the signature line.
One year. Two million dollars. Ethan's life.
She signed.
Alexander took the contract, added his own signature with a flourish, then extended his hand. "Welcome to the family, Miss Chen. We're getting married this weekend."
Sophia shook his hand, his grip warm and firm, and wondered what she'd just done.
"Call me Sophia," she said. "If I'm going to be your wife, you should probably use my first name."
The corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Alexander. Or Alex, if you prefer."
"What happens now?"
"Now?" He released her hand and pressed a button on his phone. "Now Margaret starts planning a wedding, my lawyer files the paperwork, and five hundred thousand dollars appears in your bank account by noon. You call St. Mary's and authorize your brother's surgery. And tonight, you move into my home."
It was happening. Actually happening.
Sophia's phone buzzed. A text from the hospital: Final notice. Payment required by 9 AM or we proceed with transfer.
She looked at Alexander at her future husband and felt the world tilt beneath her feet.
"One year," she said softly.
"One year," he agreed. "Then you're free."
But as Sophia left Sterling Tower an hour later with a contract, a five-carat engagement ring, and a bank notification showing a deposit of $500,000, she couldn't shake the feeling that freedom was the one thing this arrangement would never give her.
The penthouse was obscene.
There was no other word for it. Sophia stood in the entrance hall of Alexander's home her home, supposedly, for the next year and tried not to gape like a tourist. Marble floors.
Soaring ceilings. Art that probably cost more than most people's houses. Floor-to-ceiling windows that made the city look like a glittering toy set far below.
"Your room is this way." Alexander's voice was neutral, professional, as if he were showing a client around a property rather than bringing home his brand-new fiancée.
Sophia followed him down a hallway lined with abstract paintings, her single suitcase feeling pathetically small in her grip. She'd left most of her belongings in her studio apartment in Brooklyn the lease wasn't up for two more months, and something in her insisted on keeping that escape route open.
Alexander opened a door and stepped aside. "I hope this suits you."
Suits her? The room was bigger than her entire apartment. A king-size bed dominated the space, dressed in soft gray linens. A sitting area with a designer couch faced another wall of windows. She could see her own bathroom through an open door all white marble and gleaming fixtures.
"It's… nice," Sophia managed.
"There's a closet through there. I've arranged for a stylist to come tomorrow to update your wardrobe. We have dinner with my grandfather on Friday, and the wedding is Saturday afternoon."
Right. The wedding. Three days away.
"That's fast," Sophia said.
"My grandfather isn't well. I want him to see us married before" Alexander cut himself off, his jaw tightening. "Before he dies. He's the only family I have left who matters."
There was real emotion there, carefully controlled but present. Sophia found herself softening slightly. This might be a business arrangement, but Alexander clearly loved his grandfather.
"I understand," she said gently. "I'll do my best to make it convincing."
"I know you will. That's why I chose you." He moved toward the door, then paused. "My room is at the end of the hall. If you need anything, Margaret's number is programmed into the house phone. There's a full staff housekeeper, chef, security but they're all discreet. They know this is… an unusual situation."
"They know?" Sophia's eyes widened.
"They've signed NDAs. Everyone who works for me has. Trust is currency in my world, Miss Sophia."
He still hesitated over her name, as if intimacy of any kind was foreign to him.
"What should I tell Ethan?" Sophia asked. "About us?"
Alexander considered this. "Tell him the truth, if you trust him. Or tell him we fell in love quickly. Either way, I'll make sure he receives the best care available. I've already had my personal physician consult with his surgical team."
"You didn't have to do that."
"You're my wife. Your family is my responsibility now." He said it matter-of-factly, but Sophia felt something warm unfurl in her chest. Dangerous. This was dangerous.
"Thank you," she said quietly.