Sophia's thesis defense went perfectly.
Too perfectly.
She sat in Professor Martinez's office three hours later, staring at the signed approval form that officially made her Dr. Sophia Chen, and felt absolutely nothing. The moment she'd been working toward for four years—the validation of her intelligence, the proof that she belonged in the academic elite—felt hollow and strange.
Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was because every time she'd explained her AI-driven cybersecurity protocols, all she could think about was Alexander Sterling's piercing blue eyes and his impossible proposition.
"Congratulations, Dr. Chen," Professor Martinez said warmly, sliding the form across his desk. "Your work on predictive threat assessment is groundbreaking. I've already had three calls this morning from colleagues who want to discuss your research."
"Thank you, Professor." Sophia managed a smile. "I appreciate all your support."
"Have you given any thought to your post-graduation plans? The NSA has expressed interest in your work, and there are several tech companies that would be lucky to have you."
The NSA. Six months ago, that would have been a dream offer. Government work, prestigious position, steady salary that could slowly chip away at her mother's medical debt over the next decade.
Now all she could think about was two million dollars and six months of pretending to love a man who collected first-edition books and spoke four languages.
"I'm still weighing my options," Sophia said carefully.
Professor Martinez studied her with the same intensity he usually reserved for particularly complex algorithms. "You look troubled, Sophia. Is everything alright?"
No, she wanted to say. Everything is completely insane and I'm considering doing something that would make my mother question how she raised me.
"Just tired," she said instead. "Long night."
"Well, celebrate tonight. You've earned it." Professor Martinez stood and extended his hand. "Dr. Chen."
The title still felt surreal. Dr. Sophia Chen. She'd imagined this moment so many times, but never while contemplating fake engagements to billionaire CEOs she'd met during B&E incidents.
Sophia shook his hand, gathered her things, and walked out into the crisp October afternoon feeling more lost than triumphant.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Emma: *How did it go??? Please tell me you passed so I can start planning your celebration party!*
*Passed,* Sophia typed back. *Official Dr. now.*
*AHHHHH!!! I'M SO PROUD! Come home immediately so I can hug you and then we're getting Thai food and ice cream and watching terrible movies until we pass out.*
Sophia smiled despite everything. Emma's enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment she felt a flicker of the joy she should be experiencing. She'd done it. Against all odds, despite the financial stress and the sleepless nights and the constant anxiety, she'd earned her PhD.
So why did she feel like she was standing at the edge of a cliff?
The subway ride back to Queens gave her forty-five minutes to think, which was forty-five minutes too many. Every rational part of her brain screamed that Alexander's proposal was insane. Fake relationships were the stuff of romance novels and rom-coms, not real life. Normal people didn't solve their problems by pretending to love strangers.
But then again, normal people didn't break into corporate headquarters at 3 AM either.
The medical bill notification was still in her email inbox, a digital sword of Damocles hanging over every decision she made. $37,847.92. The number had been burned into her memory since this morning, along with the collection agency's deadline.
Seventy-two hours.
Sophia pulled out Alexander's business card and ran her thumb over the elegant script. The paper was heavier than regular cardstock, probably more expensive than most people's weekly grocery budget. Everything about Alexander Sterling was expensive, including his problems.
What kind of life had he lived that he needed to buy a fiancée instead of finding one naturally? He was brilliant, successful, and undeniably attractive in that sharp-edged, dangerous sort of way. Women probably did throw themselves at him, just as he'd said.
But maybe that was the problem. Maybe when you were worth billions, you could never be sure if someone loved you or your bank account.
Sophia's phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. The caller ID made her stomach clench.
"Hi, Mom."
"Sophia! How did your defense go? I've been thinking about you all day."
Dr. Grace Chen's voice carried the same gentle warmth it always had, even after everything they'd been through. Her mother had a gift for making even the worst situations feel manageable, which was probably why Sophia hadn't completely fallen apart during the past two years of medical bills and insurance battles.
"It went well," Sophia said. "I passed. I'm officially Dr. Chen now."
The silence on the other end stretched so long that Sophia wondered if the call had dropped.
"Mom?"
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm just..." Grace's voice caught. "I'm so proud of you. Your father would have been proud too."
The mention of her father sent a familiar stab of pain through Sophia's chest. Richard Chen had walked out of their lives when she was twelve, choosing his business empire over his family. He'd never called, never wrote, never acknowledged the brilliant daughter who'd inherited his analytical mind and her mother's compassionate heart.
"Mom, are you okay? You sound tired."
"Just a little worn out from treatment yesterday. Nothing to worry about."
But Sophia did worry. Constantly. Her mother was fifty-eight years old and had already survived breast cancer once. The current battle was with a recurrence that had metastasized, requiring experimental treatments that insurance deemed "investigational" and therefore not covered.
"The bills came today," Grace continued quietly. "From the hospital."
Sophia closed her eyes. "I know, Mom. I saw the email. Don't worry about it. I'll figure something out."
"Honey, we can't keep doing this. Maybe it's time to look into other options."
Other options. Her mother's euphemism for giving up on the expensive treatments and accepting whatever time she had left.
"No," Sophia said firmly. "We're not giving up. I'll handle the bills."
"With what money, Sophia? You're brilliant, but you're not magic. And I won't let you destroy your future trying to save me."
"You're not destroying anything. You're my mother."
"And you're my daughter, which is why I'm telling you that some things are more important than money."
Grace Chen had been saying variations of this for two years, and every time it broke Sophia's heart a little more. Her mother would rather die than watch her daughter sacrifice everything for medical bills. It was noble and selfless and completely unacceptable.
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you too. Now go celebrate your achievement. You've worked too hard not to enjoy this moment."
Sophia hung up and stared at Alexander's business card again.
Two million dollars would pay for any treatment her mother needed, at any hospital in the world. It would mean the difference between experimental therapy and giving up. Between hope and resignation.
What was six months of her life compared to that?
---
Emma was waiting in their tiny shared apartment with Thai takeout, chocolate ice cream, and a congratulations banner that looked suspiciously homemade.
"Dr. Chen!" Emma squealed, launching herself at Sophia for a bone-crushing hug. "I'm so proud I could cry! Actually, I think I am crying."
Emma Park had been Sophia's roommate and best friend for three years, ever since they'd been randomly assigned to the same dorm room. Emma was everything Sophia wasn't—bubbly, optimistic, trusting, and convinced that everything would work out in the end. She was also fiercely loyal and had probably saved Sophia's sanity more times than either of them could count.
"Thanks, Em." Sophia returned the hug, breathing in the familiar scent of Emma's vanilla perfume and the comfort of someone who loved her unconditionally. "The banner's beautiful."
"I made it during my marketing class. Professor Williams was not amused, but priorities, right?" Emma stepped back and studied Sophia's face. "You look weird."
"Thanks. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear."
"Not weird bad. Weird... distant. Like you're thinking about something big." Emma's eyes narrowed with the investigative instincts that made her such a good journalism major. "What aren't you telling me?"
Sophia considered lying. It would be easier to pretend everything was normal, eat Thai food, and avoid making the decision that was burning a hole in her pocket. But Emma knew her too well, and Sophia had never been good at deception.
"I met someone," she said carefully.
Emma's face lit up. "Oh my God, finally! Is he cute? Smart? Please tell me he's not another computer science nerd who thinks personal hygiene is optional."
"He's..." Sophia paused, trying to figure out how to describe Alexander Sterling. "He's complicated."
"Complicated how? Like, has-an-ex-wife complicated or likes-to-wear-your-underwear complicated?"
Despite everything, Sophia laughed. "Neither. More like... billionaire-CEO-who-needs-a-fake-fiancée complicated."
Emma stared at her. "I'm sorry, what?"
Sophia sank onto their secondhand couch and told Emma everything. The break-in, the quantum computing fix, Alexander's proposition, the timeline, the money. All of it.
When she finished, Emma was silent for a full minute.
"Two million dollars," Emma said finally.
"Two million dollars."
"For six months."
"Six months."
"Of fake dating a billionaire."
"That's the general idea."
Emma was quiet for another moment, processing. Then: "Holy shit, Sophia."
"I know."
"This is like... this is like something out of a movie."
"I know."
"And you're actually considering it?"
Sophia looked at her best friend—really looked at her. Emma's student loans were manageable because her parents helped with tuition. Emma had never chosen between textbooks and groceries, never watched a parent suffer because of money, never felt the weight of impossible choices crushing down on her shoulders.
"My mom's medical bills are due in seventy-two hours," Sophia said quietly. "If I don't pay them, they go to collections. Her credit gets destroyed, her treatment gets discontinued, and we lose any chance of beating this thing."
Emma's expression softened. "Sophia..."
"Two million dollars, Emma. I could pay off everything—her bills, my loans, all of it. And still have enough left over to start my own company, maybe even fund some research grants." Sophia pulled out Alexander's business card. "All I have to do is pretend to love someone for six months."
"Pretend being the operative word," Emma said carefully. "Because this guy—Alexander Sterling—he's not exactly known for being warm and fuzzy. I've read about him in business magazines. He's brilliant, but he's also cold and calculating and probably hasn't had a genuine emotion since the Clinton administration."
"That makes it easier, doesn't it? Less chance of... complications."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Complications like falling for your fake fiancé?"
"I'm not going to fall for him," Sophia said quickly. "This is business. Pure and simple."
"Sophia, honey, you broke into his building and accidentally saved his company. Then he offered to solve all your problems with a fake engagement. That's not business. That's the setup for every romance novel ever written."
"Real life isn't a romance novel."
"No, but it's starting to sound suspiciously like one." Emma leaned forward. "What's he like? Really?"
Sophia thought about Alexander's piercing blue eyes, his unexpected moment of near-humor, the way he'd moved with controlled grace through his server room like he owned the world—which, she supposed, he kind of did.
"He's..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Intimidating. But not cruel. He was actually surprisingly... decent. Even after he caught me breaking in."
"Decent how?"
"He read my thesis instead of just calling security. He knew about my mom's situation and seemed to actually care. And when I was having a panic attack, he helped me calm down." Sophia frowned, remembering. "He said he understood academic pressure."
Emma was watching her with a knowing expression that made Sophia uncomfortable.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just... you got that look."
"What look?"
"The look you get when you're trying to solve a particularly interesting coding problem. Like you've found something that challenges you."
"Alexander Sterling is not a coding problem."
"No, he's a much more dangerous kind of puzzle."
Sophia's phone buzzed with a text. Unknown number, but she knew instinctively who it was.
*Hope your defense went well. The offer stands. - AS*
Emma read the text over her shoulder. "He's checking on you."
"He's checking on his potential investment."
"Uh-huh." Emma's tone suggested she wasn't buying it. "Sophia, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest."
"Okay."
"Are you considering this because it's a good business decision, or because you're attracted to him?"
The question hit closer to home than Sophia wanted to admit. She thought about those moments in the server room when Alexander's mask had slipped slightly, when she'd glimpsed something vulnerable underneath all that corporate armor.
"Business," she said firmly. "Definitely business."
Emma studied her face. "You're a terrible liar."
"I'm not lying."
"You're not telling the whole truth either." Emma sighed. "Look, I can't tell you what to do. But if you decide to go through with this, promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me you'll be careful. Not just with the fake relationship stuff, but with your heart. Because guys like Alexander Sterling—they're used to getting what they want. And if he decides he wants more than just a fake fiancée..."
"That won't happen."
"Promise me anyway."
Sophia looked at her best friend's worried expression and felt a surge of affection. Emma was trying to protect her, just as she always had.
"I promise," Sophia said. "If I do this—and I'm not saying I will—I'll be careful."
Emma nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Now, before you make any life-altering decisions, let's eat this pad thai and watch something mindless on Netflix. You've had enough drama for one day."
They settled in with their takeout and queued up a romantic comedy that was so predictably formulaic it was almost comforting. But even as she laughed at the meet-cute and rolled her eyes at the misunderstandings, Sophia's mind kept drifting to a certain billionaire's business card and the impossible choice it represented.
Two million dollars.
Six months.
The point of no return.
---
At 11:47 PM, Sophia sat alone on the tiny balcony of their Queens apartment, Alexander's business card in one hand and her phone in the other. Emma had gone to bed an hour ago, but sleep was impossible.
The city sparkled below her, millions of lights representing millions of lives, millions of choices being made every second. Somewhere out there, Alexander Sterling was probably working late in his penthouse office, calculating risk assessments and profit margins with the same precision she used for debugging code.
Was he thinking about her? Or was she just another variable in whatever equation he was solving?
Sophia's phone showed eleven missed calls from the collection agency. She'd turned off the ringer after the fifth one, but the notifications were a constant reminder of the deadline ticking away.
Seventy-two hours was now down to sixty-eight hours and thirteen minutes.
She thought about her mother, alone in their old house in Flushing, probably awake and worrying about the same bills that were keeping Sophia up. Grace Chen would never ask her daughter to sacrifice six months of her life for money, but she also wouldn't complain if those medical bills magically disappeared.
Sophia thought about the experimental treatment that could save her mother's life, currently sitting just out of reach because of a number in a computer system.
She thought about Alexander Sterling, standing alone among his servers, looking somehow smaller than his reputation suggested.
And she thought about Emma's warning: *Guys like Alexander Sterling—they're used to getting what they want.*
The question was: what did he really want?
Sophia dialed the number before she could change her mind.
He answered on the second ring.
"Sophia."
His voice was exactly as she remembered—deep, controlled, with that slight rasp that suggested he'd been working late. She could hear the faint sound of classical music in the background, something soft and melancholy that seemed at odds with his corporate persona.
"I'll do it," she said without preamble.
Silence. Then: "Are you sure?"
"No. But I'm doing it anyway."
"Why?"
The question caught her off guard. She'd expected him to immediately start discussing logistics and timelines, not asking about her motivations.
"Does it matter?" she asked.
"It matters to me."
Something in his tone made her chest tighten. This was supposed to be business, but the way he said her name, the way he'd asked why she was agreeing to his impossible proposition—it sounded almost personal.
"My mother's medical bills are due in sixty-eight hours," Sophia said finally. "And you're offering enough money to save her life. The math is pretty simple."
"There are other ways to handle medical debt. Payment plans, charity programs—"
"Are you trying to talk me out of this?"
Another pause. "I'm making sure you understand what you're agreeing to."
"Six months, two million dollars, fake engagement, separate bedrooms, minimal physical contact." Sophia ticked off the terms on her fingers. "Did I miss anything?"
"No, that covers it."
"Then we have a deal."
"We have a deal." Alexander's voice was all business now, but something underneath it sounded almost... relieved? "I'll have my lawyer draw up a contract. Can you be at my office tomorrow morning at nine?"
"I'll be there."
"Sophia?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth... I think your mother is lucky to have a daughter like you."
The line went dead before she could respond, leaving Sophia alone on her balcony with the city lights and the overwhelming realization that she'd just agreed to something that would change her life forever.
She'd crossed the point of no return.
Now all she could do was hope she hadn't just made the biggest mistake of her life.