Rain hammered against the cracked window, blurring the neon lights outside.
Inside the small café, the smell of burnt coffee lingered, and the ancient ceiling fan rattled as if it might fall at any moment.
Diana Moore wiped her damp hands on her apron, as she picked up the phone.
"Miss Moore," the doctor's voice was polite but unyielding. "Your mother's treatment fees have increased. We will need the payment by Monday."
Her stomach dropped hearing that. "That's not right. I already—"
"I'm sorry, but without the payment, we'll have to stop her therapy."
The call ended before she could reply. Her grip tightened against the phone.
Her hands shook slightly. For three years, she had been juggling three jobs already—morning shifts at the cafe, afternoon shifts at an elementary school and night shifts cleaning offices—but the money was never enough. The loan she had taken to cover the first round of the bills had turned into a noose around her neck.
And tonight, the noose tightened.
The door to the cafe slammed open with a force that rattled the chimes. A man in a grey leather jacket strode in, water dripping from his boots, his hair slick from the rain. The fluorescent light caught the jagged scar across his jaw. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Miss Moore," he drawled, leaning on the counter. "You know why I am here."
She gulped. "I already told you, I just need more time."
The man chuckled, his gaze scanned the empty café lazily. "Time's up missy. Five days, Diana. Pay every cent… or maybe your pretty hands will have to work it off elsewhere."
She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palm, but her voice was steady. "Get out."
He laughed as he left, tossing a business card onto the counter. The carved skull on it made her skin crawl.
When he left, the café suddenly felt colder.
By the time her shift ended, the rain had stopped, but her mind was a storm. She had just forty-eight hours to save her mother—and herself.
On the walk home, she passed the darkened storefronts and food stalls. The streetlight flickered slightly above her head. She imagined her mother's frail figure on the hospital bed, her soft voice urging Diana not to worry.
A memory surfaced—her mother sitting cross-legged on their worn sofa, slicing apples for Diana as a child. "Always keep your head high, no matter what happens," she used to say. Back then, Diana believed her mother was strong enough to withstand anything.
But now, the truth was bitter: her mother's strength was failing and Diana was the only shield left.
Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts.
A text from Maya, her best friend since high school:
'Come to Maxwells Towel. Someone wants to meet you. Says he has an offer you can't refuse.'
An offer? Probably another scam.
Diana almost laughed out loud. She had had plenty of these "offers" in the last few months, all from men who thought desperation was an open invitation.
But when she looked at her mother's smiling face on her phone wallpaper, her feet started moving.
By the time she got to Maxwells Tower, her clothes were damp from the misty night air. The building towered above her, all glass and steel, a world she could never reach.
The receptionist didn't ask questions. She simply took Diana's name, made a quick call amd gestured towards the elevator.
Diana stepped inside, the mirrored walls reflecting her sunken eyes and messy bun. She smoothed her blouse, but there was only so much she could do.
The elevator rose with a silent, fluid motion, floor numbers blinking until it stopped at the very top.
The elevator doors slid open to a silent, luxurious office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
Behind a massive desk, sat a man in a midnight suit, his presence was so commanding and the air felt heavy.
His gaze met hers—sharp, cold, and assessing.
Diana froze as her gaze locked with the man. She felt as though he knew everything about her already. The way his eyes stared sharply at her, made her self-conscious.
"Diana Moore," he said, his voice deep and smooth, carrying the kind of authority that didn't require volume. "Sit."
Diana found herself sitting despite her hesitation, the plush chair in front of his desk looked more like a trap that a seat. "Who are you?" She asked after she settled herself in the chair.
The corner of his mouth tilted upward, not in kindness but something she couldn't place her fingers on. "Gabriel Black. And I'm here to solve all your problems."
She stiffened. Because men like him never solved problems for free.
Gabriel leaned forward slightly, his gaze never breaking from hers. "I have reviewed your case. The debt. Your mother's illness. The… foolish loan you took."
Her pulse quickened. "How do you—"
"I know everything that matters." His tone was almost bored, as if her life's mishaps were just another set of numbers to him.
He reached for a black folder on his desk and slid it towards her.
Diana glanced at the folder, then back at him. "What is this?"
"An agreement," he said. "Marry me for one year, and your debt disappears."
For a second, she thought she had misheard him.
Then she opened the folder. Inside, in crisp black ink, were the words: MARRIAGE CONTRACT— with her name already typed in.
Her chair suddenly felt too small, the room too bright. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious," Gabriel replied. "Sign it, and all your problems are gone. Refuse…" his paused and his gaze sharpened. "And you will have bigger ones than a loan shark."
The city lights glittered far below, but all Diana could hear was the fast pace of her own heartbeat.
She stared at the pen in his hand, realizing that whatever choice she made tonight would change everything.
Diana looked at the contract again.
Somewhere at the bottom, in small hidden print, one line caught her eye;
Rule #1. DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH ME.