"I have a job offer for you," he said calmly.
"What?"
"My boss is looking for a wife. A contract wife. You'll be paid twenty-five million dollars."
I stared at him, my mind struggling to understand what he was saying."Excuse me?"
He looked directly into my eyes without flinching."Would you like to marry Nathan Langston?"
Emily's POV
The sound of my alarm woke me up, but I didn't need it.My eyes were already open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sleep had been impossible since yesterday.
How could I rest when the strange man's words kept replaying in my head?
After our conversation in the hospital lobby, I tried to go back to the restaurant, but Jasmine insisted I go home to think and rest."You look like a ghost," she said, pushing me out with her apron still in hand.
Rest? How could that be possible?
"Would you like to marry Nathan Langston?" he had asked.
Even now, I let out a bitter laugh at the memory.Was this some kind of joke? A strange social experiment?Or was I suddenly the main character in a web novel where the scandalous CEO needs a fake wife to fix his image?
At the time, I expected him to laugh and admit it was a prank.But he didn't. His face stayed serious, deadly serious.
"Wait… are you serious?" I asked him.
There was only silence.
I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to make sense of it all.Twenty-five million dollars just to play the role of a pretend wife.
That kind of money could change everything.
I could pay off Papa's debts, move us into a decent apartment, and finally open my own art studio.A space where I could create freely, teach aspiring artists, and share my passion with others.
It was the dream I had clung to for years.
But then reality hit me.
What kind of father would want to hear that his daughter got married just to settle debts?And not even a real marriage no, this was a contract marriage.
I had read enough books and seen enough stories to know how these things usually end: in tears, drama, and regret.
And yet… as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, one thought refused to leave me:
What if this was the only way to save my father's life?
Then there was the man himself. Not just any man The Nathan Langston. A man the media had described as ruthless, cold, and just earlier, a possible psychopath.
I shook my head, trying to speak."I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. I may be helpless, but I'm not desperate."
I stood up, ready to leave, but before I could walk away, his hand reached out, stopping me.
"Where's the camera? This has to be a skit, right? Am I being punked?"I looked around, hoping someone would pop out and shout, "Gotcha!"
Instead, he pulled a business card from his pocket and gave it to me.
"If you change your mind, call me," he said.
And then he turned and walked back into the hospital, talking on his phone.
"I've found someone perfect for the role."
His words echoed in my mind as I stared at the card he had given me.
That night, for the first time in a year, I called my boss and asked for a day off. Not even when my dad was hospitalized did I allow myself the luxury of stepping back.
But I couldn't face the world after that encounter.
Now, the card sat on my bedside table.I reached for it, hesitated, and then pulled my hand back.
No.
Instead, I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, and threw on some clothes before heading to the kitchen.Pancakes and coffee seemed like the only thing I could digest this morning.
After breakfast, I rushed to the basement to finish a commission for an elderly woman I'd met at the hospital.
She wanted a custom painting for her granddaughter, and every dollar counted right now.
When I finally completed the piece, I called her to ask where to deliver it.She texted me an address within minutes, and I booked a cab to her estate.
I used to live here.Not just in this estate, this exact house. My dad and I used to laugh and play in this place before the bank seized it. Now, I was delivering a painting to its new occupants.
The uniformed guard at the gate led me to the front door, and a maid ushered me into the living room.
The familiar walls pressed in on me like ghosts of the past. Every corner whispered of the life I'd lost, the laughter, the warmth, the home that was once mine.
I set the painting gently on the polished table and turned to leave.
But then, a deep voice behind me said, "I didn't think I'd see you here again, Emily."
I froze.