It'd been a week since Mom slipped into a coma. A full week of silence, fear and sterile cold rooms. I needed an escape.
I'd stayed by her side for the entire week and she was no closer to waking up than she was a week ago. I didn't know how to help her or how to wake her up. All I could do was hold her hand and cry, willing her to wake up.
"Here," Damien handed me a cup of something warm.
I inhaled the scent deeply, the aroma of coffee hit me, calming my nerves. He'd convinced me we'd hear news if something were to change and that I needed to rest.
I glanced at my phone on the table. Oliver told me Lindsay and Drake were getting married---on my wedding date.
As if that weren't enough, they chose our venue and the exact dress I had picked. It felt like they were mocking me.
"What do you think would have happened if I never found them in bed together?" I asked.
"What?"
I leaned back, glaring at my phone. "Would I have walked into my own wedding---only to find my fiancé marrying someone else?"
He crossed his legs, his eyes on me. "Probably."
"Hmm." I sipped my coffee.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I scoffed.
"My ex fiancé is marrying my friend on our wedding date. My mom is in a coma. I'm about to sign a contract marriage with my boss who is also my ex's step brother."
I met his gaze. "I'm peachy."
He leaned forward. "We could hold back the contract for some time, you know?"
The wedding was in a week. There was not enough time to plan my revenge.
I placed the cup down, anger swelling up inside me. "No."
He raised a brow. "No?"
I grabbed the document and turned to him. "If Lindsay thinks she'll have a fairy tale wedding after what she did to me, she's got another thing coming.
I squeezed the paper, folding my fists. "I'll make her marriage the worst experience of her life."
He held my fist and pried my fingers open. "Okay."
He straightened the paper and shot me a look. "Look, I'm gonna help you lay out the perfect stage for your revenge."
"But we have to lay down some rules," he finished.
"Right."
"Speaking of…" he reached inside his pocket and brought out a box.
"What's this?"
He touched the box fondly and smiled. "My mom's ring."
I stared at the little box in his hand, his eyes glazing over as he thought of something. "She never once removed it, that's how much she loved it."
He looked…sad, it tore at my heart. It reminded me of my parents. I was a kid when dad died, but I saw the pictures and knew how much they loved each other.
Mom still wore her wedding ring, never once took it off. I'd tried to convince her to go on a date several times, but she refused, saying she would only ever love one man.
I wanted a love like that. I'd thought Drake was my one, true love. Great how that turned out.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." And just like that, the vulnerability in his eyes vanished.
"I need you to wear it," he said.
"A-are you sure? I mean, isn't it important to you?"
"Oh, it is," he said. "But Dad would never believe our relationship is real if I didn't give you this ring."
"I see," I stared at the box closely. There was a symbol inscribed on it, it looked strangely familiar.
"What does this mean?"
"It's an inscription of the Brown logo," he said.
That was why it looked so familiar. I saw the symbol every day walking into the company. It looked like a maze.
I opened the box and the ring stared back at me. It was a sapphire ring, encrusted with diamonds. It sparkled in the low lights, leaving me bedazzled.
I closed the box quickly. It looked expensive and I wasn't sure I should be wearing it.
"I don't think I should wear this, Damien," I said.
"I don't think so either, but it's important if we want this to work."
I nodded, staring at the ring again. I felt…unworthy. Not only did it look expensive, it was his mom's. It belonged to someone he truly loved, not me.
He grabbed the paper and leaned back on the chair.
"First rule; no feelings," he said. "This is strictly business."
I scoffed. "I don't plan on falling for you, Mr. Brown. Besides, you aren't exactly my type."
He did look hot though.
He was wearing a blue shirt, which was folded all the way up his forearms revealing his biceps. His hair was gelled and parted halfway, and he was wearing glasses.
He pulled his glasses down his nose, meeting my gaze as he leaned closer. "That wasn't what you said to me when we had sex."
My cheeks flushed red as the memory came back. "Rule number two; no sex."
"Agreed," he said.
I paused, staring at him. That was quick. Too quick.
"What?"
"What?" he echoed.
"Just so you know, I'm the one turning down sex with you, not the opposite," I said.
He smiled. "So, you do want to have sex?"
I rolled my eyes. "You wish."
His lips curled up as he smirked. He pulled his glasses back up and leaned back, manspreading. I glanced down---and instantly looked away. Big mistake.
I grabbed my neck, as I felt the blood flush to my cheeks making my face hot. I couldn't let him know how bothered I was by him.
This was mutual, I was marrying him simply for revenge. I shouldn't forget that.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded. I crossed my leg, mirroring his posture.
"Rule number three; this arrangement is only valid for one year," he said.
That was fine by me. A year was more than enough to get back at Lindsay and make her marriage hell.
"Rule number four; this arrangement stays a secret," he leaned forward, holding me captive with his gaze.
"You can never tell anyone that this is a fake marriage. Never."
His face was so serious that it caught me off guard. "It stays between us."
"Of course."
He nodded, looking relieved. "Is there anything you'd like to add?"
"Yes."
"Where am I gonna stay?" I asked.
"You're moving in with me," he said.
I wanted to argue with him on that, but I couldn't. I hadn't grabbed my things from Lindsay's and I couldn't face Oliver either. I'd been staying in the hospital with mom for the past week. Thankfully, Damien had told them at work that I was taking some time off.
"You mean here?" I glanced around the glamorous room.
We came over to his penthouse to go over the contract. It was my first time staying in such a luxurious place. The chandeliers hung low, lightening up the room. The tiles were marble and golden. It was a beautiful place, but it didn't feel like a home.
"You don't like this place?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not really."
It felt like I was in a show house; beautiful yet cold and empty. He reached for a magazine on the table and passed it to me. There was a picture of a house on the cover page. I stared at it in confusion.
"What's this?" I asked.
He balanced his glasses on his nose. "Pick out a property and it's yours."
"What?"
"You said you didn't like this place, so I'm asking you to pick any house you want and I'll buy it."
I paused. Oh, he meant it.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked.
"Why would you buy me a house?"
He blinked. "Because you're going to be my wife."