She stayed in bed long after that night. Not asleep. Just lying there, staring at the ceiling while the shock settled into something heavier and quieter.
The next two days blurred into each other. Unpaid bills on the table. Three in the morning with her eyes wide open. A grief that came and went in waves with no warning.
By the second morning something shifted. Not hope exactly. More like stubbornness. She couldn't undo any of it, but she wasn't going to lie there and let it take her apart either.
She started looking for jobs and barely came up for air. Waitress, temp work, admin assistant, anything that could cover rent. Nothing was enough. She applied anyway, refreshed her inbox every twenty minutes, tried not to think about Friday.
She was about to close the laptop when she saw it.
*PERSONAL ASSISTANT WANTED. High-profile client, discretion required, immediate start, competitive salary. Montoya Industries.*
She stared at the name longer than she should have.
All of Madrid knew who Alejandro Montoya was. The kind of man business magazines wrote about in the same sentence as words like brilliant, ruthless, untouchable. Javier's uncle. The one who never smiled in photographs and somehow made that look deliberate.
She attached her résumé and hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
By midday she'd given up and was flat on her back again, fully prepared for silence. Then her phone rang.
*Interview confirmed. 4:00 PM. Montoya Industries, Madrid.*
She read it three times.
Three hours later she was standing in a lobby that made her feel underdressed just by existing inside it. Three receptionists looked her over with that specific polished curiosity that meant they'd already decided something.
"I have an interview," she said. "Catalina Rivas."
One of them checked her screen. "Mr. Montoya will see you now."
Catalina blinked. "Mr. Montoya himself?"
"Top floor. Private elevator."
The ride up felt endless. Thirty floors, forty, fifty. When the doors opened she walked into a wall of glass and sky and silence that looked nothing like an office and everything like a statement.
She found his secretary outside the door, introduced herself, got looked over the way you look over something you're not sure belongs there.
"You can go in."
His voice hit her before she'd fully crossed the threshold.
"Catalina Rivas. You're late."
She glanced at the clock. 3:56.
"The interview was scheduled for 4:00," she said.
"Then you should have been here at three fifty." He didn't look up from his laptop. "Punctuality isn't about arriving on time. It's about being ready before time."
She pressed her lips together. "Noted."
He looked up then, finally, and the full weight of his attention landed on her like something physical. She sat, crossed her legs, kept her hands still in her lap and her eyes away from his. The room felt too quiet.
He felt too sure of himself. The kind of sure that doesn't need to fill silence with anything.
"Catalina Rivas," he said, looking at something on his tablet. "Twenty-five. Marketing background, freelance work, no stable employment in the past year."
Her cheeks went warm. "That's not exactly how I'd put it."
"I prefer precision." He set the tablet down and looked at her directly for the first time. "You don't look like someone who belongs in my office."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Nervous. Unpolished. Out of place." Said it like a weather report. "I wouldn't compare you to even the lowest member of my staff."
Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She felt small and hated feeling small. "With all due respect-"
He ignored her and leaned back, studying her the way you study something you haven't catalogued yet. "How far would you go to keep your life from falling apart, Miss Rivas?"
"Is that part of the interview?"
"Consider it practical." He opened a folder and slid a document across the desk. "I'm not looking for a personal assistant."
She looked at the paper.
There was a number at the bottom that made her forget how to breathe.
"I'm looking for someone who can play a role."
She looked up. "A role?"
"Temporary. Events, dinners, travel when necessary. The public will believe you're my fiancée."
The word dropped into the room and stayed there.
"Your what?" she said.
"Fake fiancée." Said it like quarterly projections. "Three months, possibly extended. You'll be compensated at the end of the contract."
She stared at him. "You're joking."
"I don't joke." He folded his hands on the desk. "The family patriarch wants stability. The image of a settled man. That's a distraction I can't manage with someone real."
She looked at the contract again. Monthly stipend, completion bonus, numbers that could undo everything that had gone wrong in the last forty-eight hours and then some.
"You could hire anyone for this," she said. "A model. An actress. Why me?"
"Because you're nobody."
She felt that land somewhere behind her sternum. "Pardon?"
"No public profile. No scandals. No social ambitions. You're safe." A pause. "And desperate enough not to say no."
"Wow." A short laugh. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."
He didn't react. "I'm not looking for special, Miss Rivas. I'm looking for reliable."
She put the papers down and made herself think straight. "Do you understand how insane this is? You're asking me to pretend to be engaged to a man I just met. To live in your house. To hold your hand at parties."
"In public, when necessary - affection, familiarity, the illusion of intimacy. Nothing more."
"And your family?" she asked. "What if they figure out it's not real?"
"They won't. There's a confidentiality clause. Break it and the penalties will be unpleasant."
She looked at the signature line.
Fifty million dollars.
She couldn't make that in five years of nonstop work, and she was going to get all of it for three months?
The thing about Javier and Alejandro could wait.
She picked up the pen and signed. Her hands were shaking.
Alejandro reached over to collect the papers and their fingers brushed. Brief. Electric.
Their eyes met for a second and she caught the smallest shift in his breathing before he looked away.
"There are rules," he said, putting the contract away. "You'll live in my residence, be available when I need you, and you won't confuse this for anything other than what it is."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you don't fall in love with me."
She almost laughed. "Trust me, Mr. Montoya. That won't be a problem."
He looked at her for a long moment, like he was filing something away, then stood. "Good. My driver will take you to the penthouse tonight."
"Tonight?"
He turned toward the window.
Madrid spread out behind his reflection, vast and indifferent. "We have a gala tomorrow. You'll need something to wear.
" She opened her mouth but he was already done with the conversation.
"Welcome to the contract, Miss Rivas. Let's hope you're worth the risk."