Sophia's brain, usually capable of processing complex algorithms at lightning speed, came to a complete and utter halt.
"Fake... engagements?" she repeated, certain she'd misheard. Maybe the stress had finally driven her to auditory hallucinations. That would actually be preferable to whatever was happening right now.
Alexander Sterling—billionaire, tech mogul, and apparently insane person—nodded as if he'd just asked about the weather instead of proposing something that belonged in a romance novel, not real life.
"I need a fiancée," he said matter-of-factly. "You need money. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Sophia stared at him. In the server room's blue-tinted lighting, his sharp features looked almost ethereal, like some kind of corporate angel. A very tall, very expensive corporate angel who had clearly lost his mind.
"This is a joke, right?" She looked around for hidden cameras. "Someone's pranking me. Emma put you up to this because she thinks my life isn't dramatic enough already."
"I don't know who Emma is," Alexander said, his tone remaining frustratingly serious. "And I assure you, this is not a joke."
"Then you're certifiably insane."
"I've been accused of worse."
Sophia rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache that had nothing to do with her all-nighter. "Okay, let's pretend for a moment that this isn't the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever suggested to me. Why would you possibly need a fake fiancée? You're Alexander Sterling. You probably have women throwing themselves at you every day."
Something flickered across his expression—too quick to interpret, but it looked almost like pain. "Unfortunately, the women who 'throw themselves at me' are generally interested in my net worth, not my personality. And my grandfather has very specific requirements for the woman I marry."
"Your grandfather?"
"Harrison Sterling. Former senator, current patriarch of the Sterling family, and the man who controls the board votes that keep me as CEO of my own company." Alexander's jaw tightened slightly. "He's decided that my bachelor status makes me appear unstable to potential investors. I have six months to find a 'suitable wife' or he'll replace me with my cousin Victor."
Sophia processed this information with the same analytical approach she used for debugging code. "So you need someone who looks good on paper but won't actually complicate your life."
"Precisely."
"And you think I fit that description because...?"
Alexander was quiet for a moment, studying her with those unnervingly perceptive blue eyes. "Because you're brilliant, beautiful, and desperate enough to consider it."
The brutal honesty hit her like a slap. "Wow. Don't sugarcoat it or anything."
"Would you prefer I lie to you?"
"I'd prefer you not proposition random women you find breaking into your building at four in the morning!"
"You're not random," Alexander said quietly. "You're Sophia Chen, MIT computer science PhD candidate, daughter of Grace Chen, former student of Richard Chen before you had a falling out—yes, I know who your father is—and currently drowning in medical debt despite having one of the most brilliant minds I've encountered in years."
Sophia's blood ran cold. "You had me investigated in the last hour?"
"I had you investigated in the last twenty minutes. Corporate security is very efficient." Alexander stepped closer, and she caught that expensive cologne again. "I know your mother's cancer treatment cost over $200,000. I know you've been working three jobs while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. I know you turned down a full scholarship to Harvard because you couldn't afford the living expenses, even with financial aid."
"Stop." Sophia's voice came out sharper than she intended. The idea of this stranger knowing her most private struggles made her skin crawl.
"I know you've been eating ramen noodles for dinner for the past six months to save money," Alexander continued relentlessly. "And I know that despite all of this, you still sent your mother flowers on her birthday last week."
Sophia felt tears prick at her eyes and blinked them back furiously. She would not cry in front of this man. She would not give him that satisfaction.
"What's your point?" she managed.
"My point is that you're exactly what I need. Intelligent enough to hold your own in my world, desperate enough to agree to the arrangement, and honorable enough that I can trust you not to betray me." Alexander's voice softened slightly. "And I can solve all of your problems."
"All of them?"
"Your mother's medical bills. Your student loans. Your thesis defense—I can make sure Professor Martinez receives a very generous donation to his research fund, along with a recommendation that you be granted your PhD with highest honors."
Sophia's knees went weak. Everything he was offering represented years of her life. Years of stress, of choosing between textbooks and groceries, of watching her mother pretend she wasn't in pain because she knew they couldn't afford stronger medication.
"How much?" she whispered.
"Two million dollars for six months of your time."
The number hit her like a physical blow. Two million dollars. She could pay off every debt, secure her mother's treatment, and still have enough left over to start her own cybersecurity firm.
"What would I have to do?" The question came out before she could stop it.
Alexander's expression remained carefully neutral. "Attend public events as my fiancée. Live in my penthouse to maintain appearances. Learn enough about high society to be convincing. Allow my grandfather to believe we're genuinely in love."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Sophia studied his face, looking for the catch. There was always a catch. "No... physical expectations?"
"Absolutely none." Alexander's response was immediate and firm. "This would be purely a business arrangement. Separate bedrooms, minimal physical contact beyond what's necessary for public appearances."
"Hand-holding at galas?"
"Occasionally."
"Kissing for photographs?"
Alexander hesitated for just a moment. "When absolutely necessary."
"Dancing at charity events?"
"I'm actually an excellent dancer."
Despite everything, Sophia felt her lips twitch upward. "Of course you are. I bet you also speak five languages and play the piano."
"Four languages, and I prefer violin." Alexander's own mouth curved slightly. "Though I can manage piano if the situation calls for it."
The almost-smile transformed his entire face, making him look younger and infinitely more human. Sophia felt something flutter in her chest and quickly suppressed it. This was business. It had to be business.
"Why me?" she asked again. "Surely you could find someone more... suitable. Someone who already knows which fork to use at fancy dinners."
"I could," Alexander agreed. "But then I'd have to worry about their real motivations. You're honest about wanting the money, and you have no interest in my social circle or political connections. You won't fall in love with me, and you won't try to make the arrangement permanent."
His certainty stung more than it should have. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because you're practical above all else. You'll take the money, solve your problems, and walk away when it's over." Alexander straightened his tie, the gesture somehow making him seem even more untouchable. "It's actually refreshing."
Sophia wanted to argue, to point out that she wasn't some emotionless robot who only cared about financial security. But wasn't that exactly what she was considering? Trading six months of her life for enough money to solve every problem that kept her awake at night?
"I need to think about it," she said finally.
"Of course." Alexander reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. "My private number. Call me when you've decided."
Sophia took the card, her fingers brushing his for just a moment. His skin was warm, which seemed somehow surprising. She'd been half-convinced he was actually made of marble and corporate ambition.
"How long do I have?"
"Twenty-four hours. My grandfather is expecting me to bring my fiancée to the Sterling Foundation charity gala this weekend."
"This weekend? As in, three days from now?"
"Is that a problem?"
Sophia almost laughed. "You're asking me to fake being in love with you in front of Manhattan's elite with three days' preparation. What could possibly go wrong?"
"I have faith in your adaptability," Alexander said dryly. "You did break into my building and accidentally save my company in one evening."
"That was different. That was just code."
"This is just performance."
Sophia looked down at the business card in her hand. The paper was thick, expensive, with his name embossed in elegant script. Everything about Alexander Sterling screamed money and power and a world so far removed from her own that it might as well be another planet.
"If I say yes," she said slowly, "when would this start?"
"Immediately. You'd move into the penthouse tomorrow, begin etiquette training, and meet with my stylist for appropriate clothing."
"Etiquette training?"
"Sophia, no offense, but you're currently wearing a hoodie with what appears to be pizza sauce on the sleeve. My grandfather will expect you to navigate a seven-course dinner while making small talk about art galleries and yacht clubs."
Sophia looked down at her sleeve. It was definitely pizza sauce. From Tuesday's dinner, which technically made it yesterday's dinner now.
"This is insane," she muttered.
"Yes," Alexander agreed. "But it's also practical. We both get what we need, and no one gets hurt."
Famous last words, Sophia thought, but she didn't say it out loud.
The server room fell silent except for the quiet hum of machines and the distant sound of New York City waking up outside. Dawn was breaking over the skyline, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that seemed impossibly beautiful after the sterile blue light she'd been working under.
"I should go," Sophia said finally. "My thesis defense is in two hours."
"Good luck."
She turned to leave, then stopped. "Alexander?"
"Yes?"
"If I do this... if I agree to this arrangement... you won't try to change the terms? Add expectations or complications?"
Alexander met her eyes steadily. "You have my word. Six months, two million dollars, purely professional."
Sophia nodded and headed for the elevator, her mind already racing through the implications. As the doors closed between them, she caught one last glimpse of Alexander Sterling standing alone among his servers, looking somehow smaller and more isolated than she'd expected.
The elevator descended in silence, carrying her back toward her real life—her struggling, complicated, financially devastating real life.
But in her pocket, a business card seemed to burn like a promise.
Or maybe like a warning.
---
Twenty minutes later, Sophia sat in an all-night diner near MIT, staring at her phone screen and trying to work up the courage to call Emma. Her thesis defense was in ninety minutes, but all she could think about was Alexander's proposal.
Two million dollars.
Her mother's medical bills: gone.
Her student loans: gone.
Her constant anxiety about money: gone.
All she had to do was pretend to be in love with possibly the most intimidating man she'd ever met, fool Manhattan's social elite, and somehow not lose herself in the process.
She looked at Alexander's business card again, running her thumb over the embossed letters.
What was the worst that could happen?