Natalie's POV
The contract was fifty-three pages long.
I sat in Daniel Wright's law office at exactly 2 PM, staring at the document that would control the next year of my life. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Take your time, Daniel said, sliding a pen across his desk. Read everything carefully.
Adrian stood by the window, phone in hand, texting someone. He hadn't looked at me once since I arrived. Like I was already just another business transaction he'd completed and moved on from.
I opened to the first page.
CONTRACTUAL MARRIAGE AGREEMENT
Between: Adrian Blackwell (Party A) and Natalie Chen (Party B)
The words blurred together. Legal language about terms of engagement and performance expectations and breach of contract penalties. They were talking about marriage like it was a corporate merger.
I forced myself to focus and read.
Article 1: Duration
Contract term: Twelve (12) months from date of legal marriage ceremony. Extension possible only by mutual written agreement.
One year. I could survive anything for one year.
Article 2: Compensation
Party A agrees to pay Party B a total sum of $2,000,000 (two million dollars) as follows:
- $500,000 upon execution of marriage ceremony- $1,500,000 upon successful completion of contract term and finalization of divorce
My throat tightened. Half a million dollars tomorrow. Enough to save everything.
Article 3: Public Conduct
Party B agrees to:- Attend all family events, business functions, and social gatherings as required- Present as devoted, affectionate spouse in all public settings- Maintain positive relationship with Party A's family members- Dress and behave in manner befitting spouse of Blackwell family member- Avoid any behavior that could damage Party A's reputation or business interests
I was being hired to be the perfect wife. Smile on command. Play the role. Never let the mask slip.
Article 4: Private Arrangements
Party A and Party B agree to:- Maintain separate bedrooms within shared residence- Respect each other's privacy and personal space- Avoid romantic or physical intimacy unless required for public appearances
My cheeks burned. They'd actually written no sex into a marriage contract.
Article 5: Confidentiality
Party B agrees that the contractual nature of this marriage must remain absolutely confidential. Disclosure to ANY third party, including but not limited to: family members, friends, media, or Party A's business associates, constitutes immediate breach of contract.
Breach penalty: Return of all compensation received plus $1,000,000 in damages.
I looked up sharply. You're saying if I tell anyone this is fake, I owe you a million dollars?
We're saying discretion is essential, Daniel clarified. Adrian's grandmother cannot discover this is a business arrangement. If she does, she'll contest the inheritance and destroy both of you legally.
So I lie to everyone. For a year.
You perform, Adrian said, finally turning from the window. His ice-blue eyes pinned me in place. There's a difference. Actors don't lie. They play roles convincingly.
Actors get to go home and stop pretending.
So will you. In twelve months.
If I survived that long without losing myself completely.
I kept reading. Rules about social media (nothing without approval). Rules about travel (accompany Adrian when required). Rules about communication with his family (always gracious, never confrontational). Rules about ending the contract early (only by mutual agreement, with penalty fees).
Fifty-three pages of rules that turned marriage into employment.
There's nothing in here about what happens if one of us changes our mind, I said slowly. What if six months in, you decide you want out?
Then we renegotiate, Adrian said. But I won't. I always complete my contracts.
What if I want out?
His jaw tightened. Do you?
I'm asking hypothetically.
Hypothetically, you'd forfeit all remaining payment and return what you've already received. Plus damages. He moved closer, eyes hard. I'm investing two million dollars in you, Natalie. I expect return on that investment. If you're having doubts, leave now. Before we both waste time.
The challenge in his voice made me angry. He thought I'd run. Thought I was too weak, too poor, too desperate to stand up to him.
I'm not having doubts, I lied. I'm making sure I understand what I'm agreeing to.
Then understand this: for the next year, you belong to me. Every public smile, every family dinner, every moment someone might be watching—you're mine. Can you handle that?
The word belong made my skin crawl and my heart race at the same time.
Can you handle having a wife who doesn't worship you? I shot back. Who sees exactly what this is, a business deal where you're buying compliance?
Something flickered in his expression. Surprise? Respect? Then it was gone, replaced by cold control.
I don't need worship. I need competence. Can you deliver or not?
I grabbed the pen. Where do I sign?
Daniel flipped to the final pages, marked with colored tabs. Here, here, and here. Initial every page. Sign the last three.
My hand shook as I initialed page after page. Each one felt like giving away a piece of myself. My freedom. My honesty. My ability to choose who I loved and how I lived.
But with each initial, I was also saving my family. Protecting my mother. Escaping the loan sharks who'd threatened to burn down everything my parents had built.
Sometimes survival meant selling parts of yourself you'd never get back.
I signed the final page: Natalie Chen
My signature looked small and scared next to all that legal text.
Adrian took the pen from my trembling fingers. His signature was bold, confident, done in three seconds flat: Adrian Blackwell
Like he signed contracts controlling people's lives every day. Which he probably did.
Congratulations, Daniel said, closing the contract. You're now contractually engaged to be married. The ceremony is tomorrow at 10 AM, City Hall. Bring identification and dress appropriately.
How appropriately? I asked.
Like a woman marrying into one of New York's wealthiest families, Adrian said bluntly. Not like someone who shops at Target.
The insult stung. I don't have money for designer clothes. That's why I'm here, remember?
He pulled out his phone, typed rapidly. I just sent you five thousand dollars. Buy a dress, get your hair done, look the part. Consider it a signing bonus.
My phone buzzed with a bank notification. Five thousand dollars, just like that. More money than I usually made in a month.
I don't need your charity, I said, pride making me stupid.
It's not charity. It's investment. You represent me now. Look like it. He checked his watch. I have a meeting. Daniel will handle the rest of the logistics. Don't be late tomorrow.
He walked out without another word, leaving me sitting there with a signed contract and a bank account that was suddenly five thousand dollars heavier.
Daniel smiled sympathetically. He's not usually this cold. He's just... not good with emotions.
Good thing this doesn't require any emotions then, I said bitterly.
Natalie. Daniel's voice softened. Can I give you some advice? Off the record?
Sure.
Adrian has spent his entire life being controlled by his family. They decided who he'd become, what he'd study, how he'd live. This contract? It's his way of maintaining control over at least one thing. Try not to take it personally.
How can I not take it personally? He's literally buying a wife.
He's protecting himself the only way he knows how. Daniel gathered the contract pages. His parents have the worst marriage I've ever seen. His father is emotionally absent. His mother is manipulative. His grandmother runs the family like a dictator. Adrian learned early that love is dangerous and control is safe.
That's sad, I admitted. But it doesn't make this less insane.
No, Daniel agreed. It doesn't. But maybe—just maybe—this arrangement could be good for both of you. You get financial security. He gets freedom from his family's control. And who knows? Stranger things have happened.
Like what?
Like contract marriages turning into real ones.
I laughed, bitter and sharp. That won't happen. Adrian made it very clear this is business only.
People say a lot of things they don't mean when they're scared.
He doesn't seem scared of anything.
Everyone's scared of something, Natalie. Even billionaires.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in my tiny apartment, staring at the contract copy Daniel had given me. Fifty-three pages that controlled everything about the next year of my life.
Tomorrow I'd marry Adrian Blackwell. Put on a white dress and lie to a judge about loving someone I barely knew. Then I'd move into his penthouse and become Mrs. Adrian Blackwell—a role I had to play perfectly or lose everything.
My phone buzzed at 2 AM.
A text from Adrian: Second thoughts?
I stared at the message. Was he hoping I'd back out? Testing me?
No second thoughts, I typed back. See you at the courthouse.
His response came immediately: Good. Because I just transferred the first payment. Five hundred thousand dollars. It's in your account now. You're locked in.
My hands shook as I checked my banking app. The number was real. $500,000. More money than I'd ever seen in my life.
I could pay off the restaurant. Cover Lily's debts. Save everything.
I was also now contractually obligated to marry a man tomorrow morning.
Another text appeared: Sleep well, future Mrs. Blackwell. Tomorrow, your life changes forever.
I typed back: So does yours.
Three dots appeared, like he was writing something. Then they disappeared. No response.
I lay awake until sunrise, wondering what I'd just done.
At 6 AM, my phone rang. Unknown number.
Hello?
Miss Chen? A woman's voice, crisp and professional. This is Eleanor Blackwell's assistant. Mrs. Blackwell would like to meet you this morning before the wedding ceremony. Nine AM at her residence. It's not optional.
My stomach dropped. I didn't know she knew about the wedding—
Mrs. Blackwell knows everything about her family. The car will pick you up at eight-thirty. Do not be late.
She hung up.
I stared at my phone, heart racing.
Adrian's grandmother wanted to meet me before the wedding. The woman Daniel said could destroy us both if she discovered the truth.
I had ninety minutes to prepare for the most important performance of my life—convincing Eleanor Blackwell that I was genuinely in love with her grandson.
And I had absolutely no idea how to do that.