Lila Harper wiped the sweat from her brow, the scent of fresh bread and burnt sugar clinging to her apron. The bell above the bakery door jingled, but she barely glanced up from the counter she was scrubbing. Harper's Hearth, her family's pride for three generations, was crumbling faster than the day-old croissants she'd discounted to pennies. The eviction notice taped to the register burned in her peripheral vision, its bold red letters screaming a truth she couldn't ignore: thirty days to pay $20,000, or lose everything.
"Lila, you okay?" Clara's voice, bright despite the late hour, cut through the hum of the ancient coffee machine. Her younger sister, barely nineteen, balanced a tray of muffins with the same optimism she'd carried since their dad's diagnosis last year.
"Fine," Lila lied, forcing a smile. Clara didn't need to know how close they were to losing the bakery—or their home above it. She'd already given up her college dreams to help keep this place afloat. Lila's chest tightened at the thought. She was supposed to protect Clara, not drag her into this mess.
The bell jingled again, sharper this time. A man strode in, his tailored suit stark against the bakery's peeling paint. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair swept back and eyes like a storm cloud, he scanned the shop like he owned it. Lila's first instinct was to bristle—guys like him didn't belong in a place like this, where flour dusted the air and the cash register wheezed with every transaction.
"Welcome to Harper's Hearth," she said, her customer-service voice strained. "What can I get you?"
He didn't answer right away, his gaze flicking from the cracked display case to the flickering fluorescent light. "Is this the best you've got?" he asked, his tone clipped, like he was appraising a failing investment.
Lila's smile froze. "If you're looking for gold-plated pastries, try downtown. We've got coffee and muffins. Take it or leave it."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something close. "Coffee. Black. And make it quick."
She bit back a retort, pouring the coffee with more force than necessary. The guy radiated arrogance, from his polished shoes to the way he checked his sleek watch, as if her little bakery was wasting his precious time. She slid the cup across the counter, her fingers brushing the edge of the eviction notice. His eyes followed, sharp and unreadable.
"Two dollars," she said, chin lifted. She wouldn't let him see her desperation.
He handed her a crisp five, his fingers grazing hers. A spark jolted through her, unexpected and unwelcome. She yanked her hand back, dropping the bill into the register. "Keep the change," he said, already turning toward the door.
"Good riddance," Lila muttered under her breath as the bell chimed his exit. Clara giggled from the back, but Lila's heart wasn't in it. She glanced at the clock—8:47 p.m. Thirteen minutes until closing, then another shift at the diner across town. Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford.
The rest of the night blurred by. Clara locked up while Lila counted the day's meager earnings: $127.43, barely enough for a week's worth of flour. Upstairs, in their cramped apartment, she checked on their dad, asleep with an oxygen mask fogging softly. The medical bills piled on the kitchen table mocked her. She sank into a chair, head in her hands, willing the numbers to magically multiply.
A sharp knock at the shop's front door startled her. Clara was already in bed, and no one came this late. Lila crept downstairs, heart pounding, and peered through the glass. A woman in a crisp blazer stood outside, holding a leather folder. Not a robber, at least. Lila unlocked the door, leaving the chain on.
"Can I help you?" she asked, wary.
"Miss Harper? I'm Vanessa Tate, assistant to Ethan Caldwell." The woman's voice was polished, like she'd rehearsed it. "I have a proposal for you."
Lila's stomach twisted. "Caldwell? As in Caldwell Enterprises?" The name was plastered across half the city—real estate, tech, you name it. The rude guy from earlier flashed in her mind. No way. "What's this about?"
Vanessa's smile was all business. "May I come in? It's… sensitive."
Against her better judgment, Lila unchained the door. Vanessa stepped inside, her heels clicking on the worn linoleum. She opened the folder, revealing a stack of papers with fine print that made Lila's head spin. "Mr. Caldwell is prepared to offer you a deal," Vanessa said, sliding the folder forward. "Marry him—temporarily—and he'll pay off your debts. All of them."
Lila blinked, the words not computing. "Marry him? Is this a joke?"
"No joke." Vanessa's tone was firm. "Mr. Caldwell needs a wife to stabilize his company's image. A hostile takeover is threatening his board's confidence, and a stable personal life will secure their trust. You need money. He needs… you."
Lila laughed, sharp and bitter. "Me? I'm nobody. Why not some socialite with a trust fund?"
Vanessa's eyes softened, just a fraction. "He saw you tonight. You've got grit. Authenticity. That's what he needs."
The coffee guy. Lila's pulse raced, anger mixing with disbelief. "He insulted my bakery and now wants me to play house? Tell him to find someone else."
Vanessa didn't flinch. "He'll clear the $20,000 you owe on this place. Plus your father's medical bills. $50,000, total. Six months, no strings attached. You keep your bakery, your home, everything."
Lila's breath caught. Fifty thousand dollars. Enough to save the bakery, get Clara back in school, maybe even let her sleep for more than four hours a night. But marry a stranger? A cold, arrogant billionaire who looked at her like she was a problem to solve? Her pride screamed no, but the eviction notice loomed in her mind, a ticking clock.
"What's the catch?" she asked, voice low.
Vanessa slid a pen across the counter. "It's all in the contract. Six months as his wife, public appearances, absolute discretion. No romance, no complications. Just business."
Lila stared at the contract, the words blurring. Her fingers hovered over the pen, trembling. She thought of Clara's smile, her dad's labored breathing, the bakery's warm ovens that had been her mom's dream before cancer took her. Could she sell her freedom for this? Could she afford not to?
"Does he always buy people like this?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Vanessa's smile was tight. "Mr. Caldwell gets what he wants, Miss Harper. The question is, what do you want?"
Lila's heart pounded, torn between defiance and desperation. The pen felt heavy in her hand, the contract a lifeline wrapped in chains. She didn't trust this Ethan Caldwell, not one bit. But as she glanced at the eviction notice, then back at the contract, a reckless spark ignited inside her. If this was a game, she'd play it—her way.