I was drowning in hospital bills when a stranger in a suit offered me a deal: pretend to be his fiancée, and he’d save my father’s life. I had no choice but to say yes. Then I met his brother…
The day started like any other, but by noon, my entire world had collapsed.
My phone buzzed just as I was locking my apartment door.
I almost didn’t answer: spam calls had been relentless lately, but something made me pick up.
“Miss Carter?” The voice was calm and professional. “This is Dr. Reynolds.
I’m calling about your father.”
“Is he okay?” My voice cracked on the last word.
There was a pause, a measured breath. “His condition has worsened. He needs surgery immediately.
Without it… his chances are low.”
I pressed my back against the doorframe, gripping the phone so hard my fingers ached.
“How much?”
The number crashed over me like a tidal wave. Too high. Impossible.
I barely heard anything after that.
I just murmured a weak “I’ll figure it out” before ending the call.
But I had nothing. No savings. No family to ask for help.
Just a café job that barely covered rent.
By the time I arrived at work, my chest felt hollow. I barely noticed the smell of coffee beans or the familiar chime of the bell as I pushed through the door. I made a beeline for my manager.
“Lisa, I… I need an advance.
Please. Anything you can spare.”
Lisa’s face softened, but her hands twisted nervously.
“Sophie, I wish I could do more. Two months’ salary is the best I can offer.”
It wasn’t enough.
But I forced a nod, blinking hard.
“Thank you. I… I appreciate it.”
The weight in my chest only grew heavier. Two months’ salary wasn’t nearly enough.
It wouldn’t even cover half of what I needed.
I blinked hard, willing the sting behind my eyes to disappear. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. Exhaling shakily, I turned back toward the café floor.
And that’s when I felt it.
Someone was watching me.
The sensation crawled up my spine, a quiet, lingering gaze that felt too deliberate to ignore. I glanced up. A man sat near the window, his eyes locked onto me.
He wasn’t pretending to skim a menu or glance around absentmindedly.
He was watching. Listening.
The café wasn’t loud. My conversation with Lisa hadn’t been a whisper.
He must have caught every desperate word. Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Who is he?
For months, another man always sat in that spot. We had never spoken beyond polite exchanges, but I noticed him.
He never rushed, never buried himself in his phone, never seemed in a hurry to leave.
He always ordered the same thing. Black coffee. No sugar.
No cream.
I even started adding an extra cookie to his plate. He never said anything, never questioned it, but he always smiled before leaving.
And I had foolishly imagined, just once, that maybe one day he’d do more than smile.
But that day, he wasn’t there. Instead, a different man sat in his place.
Older.
Sharper. Dressed in a suit that radiated quiet authority. He stirred his coffee with slow, deliberate movements, his gaze flicking toward me before shifting away.
I forced myself to move, to pretend I hadn’t noticed.
But my stomach twisted.
I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know what he wanted.
And I had no idea that by the end of the night, he would change everything.
***
Later that evening, I walked home, my body aching from the long shift, my mind tangled in numbers, hospital bills, and the crushing weight of impossibility. I barely noticed the cold creeping through my thin jacket or the flickering streetlights overhead.
I just kept walking.
The streets were quiet, the usual city hum softened by the late hour.
Then, a car slowed beside me.
I stiffened, gripping my bag a little tighter. The tinted window rolled down, and a deep, controlled voice called my name.
“Sophie.”
I froze mid-step.
It was him. The man from the café.
The one who had taken the seat of my regular customer that day—the one I always brought an extra cookie to.
Every instinct screamed at me, “Keep walking! Ignore him. This is how true crime documentaries start.”
But something about his tone made me pause.
It wasn’t commanding. It wasn’t threatening. It was… certain.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.
“I just want to talk.”
I turned, keeping a cautious distance. “Who are you?”
“Steven.”
He leaned slightly toward the open window, his dark eyes sharp, assessing.
“Get in. I’ll explain everything.”
I huffed out a laugh.
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
His lips twitched.
“Fair enough.”
He exhaled, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Then I’ll talk here.”
“I’m listening.”
His gaze met mine.
“My father is handing over control of our family business soon. But there’s a condition—he wants to see me as a settled man.
Stable. Engaged.”
“And that affects me how?”
Steven studied me for a moment. Then, with a quiet certainty, he said, “Because I need a fiancée.”
I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
He let the silence stretch just long enough before adding, “And you need money. I heard you talking to your manager.”
My fingers curled into fists. “You were listening?”
“I see an opportunity, I take it.
You need money. I need a fiancée. It’s simple.”
Simple.
Right. Except nothing about this feels simple at all.
“You… want me to pretend to be your fiancée?”
“A few weeks. Public appearances.
My father believes I’ve finally settled down, and in return… I’ll pay for your father’s surgery.”
I could refuse. Walk a
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