"Two million dollars. Three years. No questions asked."
Maya Hart's hand froze halfway to her coffee cup. The hospital cafeteria buzzed around her—doctors arguing about a diagnosis, nurses gossiping about Dr. Peterson's divorce, the constant beep of pagers. But all of that faded as she stared at the man sitting across from her.
He didn't belong here. That was her first thought.
Everything about him screamed expensive—the black suit that probably cost more than her car, the watch that caught the fluorescent lights, the way he sat with perfect posture like he'd never been tired a day in his life. His dark hair was styled carefully, and his eyes were an unusual color, almost black, watching her with an intensity that made her want to squirm.
"I'm sorry, what?" Maya finally managed.
"You heard me correctly." His voice was smooth, almost too controlled. "I'm offering you two million dollars to marry me for three years."
Maya looked around, certain this was some kind of prank. Maybe one of the other nurses had put him up to this. But nobody was watching them. Nobody seemed to notice this insane conversation happening over terrible cafeteria coffee.
"Is this… are you with one of those reality shows?" She spotted her reflection in the window behind him—exhausted twenty-seven-year-old in wrinkled scrubs, hair falling out of its ponytail, dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide anymore. "Because I didn't sign a release form."
"This isn't a show." He slid a business card across the table. Heavy cardstock, expensive. Just a name—Kane Morningstar—and a phone number. "This is a legitimate business proposal."
Maya picked up the card, half expecting it to burst into flames or something equally crazy. "Okay. Why?"
"That's one of the questions you can't ask."
"Right." She set the card down and reached for her coffee. Her twelve-hour shift had turned into fourteen, and she had exactly thirty minutes before she needed to be at her second job. She didn't have time for whatever this was. "Look, Mr. Morningstar—"
"Kane."
"I don't have time for whatever scam this is. I need to—"
"Your brother is Jason Hart, age sixteen, admitted to St. Catherine's Hospital for acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He's been through two rounds of chemotherapy with limited success. Dr. Richardson mentioned an experimental treatment last week that could save his life. Cost: eight hundred thousand dollars. Your insurance won't cover it."
Maya's blood went cold. "How do you know that?"
"I did my research." Kane's expression didn't change. "You work three jobs. Nurse here, waitress at Morelli's on Tuesday and Thursday nights, weekend shifts at the clinic on Fifth Street. You're drowning in medical debt. Your as iffhe had is two months overdue. You're one crisis away from losing everything."
She should be angry. Terrified, even. This stranger had dug into her entire life. But mostly, Maya just felt tired. "What do you want?"
"I told you. Three years of marriage. You'll move into my residence. We'll appear as a legitimate couple for any public engagements required. Beyond that, you're free to maintain your own life, your own career, whatever you choose."
"And I get two million dollars."
"Half upon signing the contract. One million transferred immediately to an account of your choosing. The second million when the three years conclude and we divorce amicably."
Maya's hands were shaking. She set down her coffee before she spilled it. "Why me?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it really does. I'm nobody. I'm broke, exhausted, and wearing the same scrubs I've worn for three days because I haven't had time to do laundry. There are thousands of women who'd be better—"
"I don't want better. I want someone who needs the money enough not to ask too many questions. Someone intelligent enough to handle the... complexities of the situation. Someone with their own priorities so they won't become emotionally attached."
The way he said that last part—like emotional attachment was something dangerous—made Maya study him more carefully. He looked young, maybe early thirties, but there was something old in his eyes. Something tired.
"This is insane," she said.
"Yes."
"You could be a serial killer."
"I'm not."
"That's exactly what a serial killer would say."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Fair point. That's why I'm offering you time to think about it. Do your research. The number on that card will reach me anytime. I need an answer within one week."
He stood, and Maya realized he was tall. Really tall. At least six-three, towering over the cafeteria tables.
"Wait." She grabbed the card. "If I say yes… what's the catch? There's always a catch."
Kane paused. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion she couldn't quite read. Sadness, maybe. Or regret.
"The catch is that my life is complicated. There will be things you see that you won't understand. Things I can't explain. If you can accept that, if you can trust that I won't let harm come to you or your brother, then we have a deal."
"And if I can't accept it?"
"Then you finish your coffee, throw away my card, and we never speak again. Your brother doesn't get the treatment he needs, and you continue drowning alone." He adjusted his cufflinks, a strangely old-fashioned gesture. "But something tells me you're a survivor, Maya Hart. You've been drowning for three years, and you're still here, still fighting. That's exactly what I need."
He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the hospital corridor like he'd never been there at all.
Maya sat frozen, staring at the business card. Her pager went off—Room 304 needed pain medication. The real world intruding on whatever surreal moment she'd just experienced.
She should throw the card away. Should report this to… someone. Hospital security? The police? But report what exactly? A man offered her money to marry him. Weird, but not illegal.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Jason: *Doc says the spots on my lungs are getting worse. Need to decide about treatment soon.*
Maya closed her eyes. Eight hundred thousand dollars. It might as well be eight million. She'd never get that kind of money. Even if she worked herself to death at three jobs for the next ten years, she'd never come close.
But this stranger—Kane Morningstar, if that was even his real name—he was offering her one million up front. Enough to save Jason. Enough to pay off the debt crushing her. Enough to breathe for the first time since their parents died.
What was three years of her life worth? What wouldn't she do to save her little brother?
Maya tucked the card into her pocket and headed back to work.
She didn't throw it away.
That night, after her shift ended at eleven, Maya stopped by Jason's hospital room. He was awake, reading on his tablet, the IV drip feeding medicine into his arm in a steady rhythm she'd memorized. Too slow meant the line was kinked. Too fast meant air in the tube.
"You look terrible," Jason said by way of greeting.
"Thanks. You look pretty rough yourself."
"Yeah, but I have an excuse. I'm dying."
"Don't." Maya sat in the uncomfortable visitor chair she'd spent so many hours in. "Don't joke about that."
"If I don't joke about it, I'll cry about it." He set down his tablet. "Dr. Richardson says we're running out of options. The experimental treatment is a long shot anyway."
"It's not a long shot. It's got a sixty percent success rate."
"For people who can afford it." Jason had always been too smart for his own good. At sixteen, he understood exactly how broken their situation was. "Maya, you're killing yourself. Three jobs, and we're still drowning. Maybe… maybe it's time to—"
"No." She leaned forward, taking his hand. It was too thin, bones too prominent. "We're not giving up. I'm going to figure something out."
"How? What are you going to do, rob a bank?"
Maya thought about the business card in her pocket. About Kane Morningstar's too-dark eyes and his impossible offer. About the way he'd said "I did my research" like knowing everything about her life was perfectly normal.
"Something like that," she murmured.
Jason squeezed her hand. "I don't want you to sacrifice everything for me."
"You're my brother. You're all the family I've got left. I'd sacrifice anything."
After Jason fell asleep, Maya pulled out her phone and searched for Kane Morningstar. Surprisingly, there were results. Lots of results.
He was listed as CEO of Morningstar International, a company that seemed to do… everything. Real estate, investments, import/export, venture capital. Articles mentioned him in connection with high-profile business deals, always in the background, never the main focus. No social media presence. No personal details. A few photos from business events where he looked exactly like he had in the cafeteria—expensive, controlled, and slightly out of place.
The company was worth billions. With a B.
Maya sat in her car in the hospital parking lot, engine running for heat against the October chill, and stared at her phone.
This was crazy. Absolutely insane.
But her bank account had forty-three dollars. Her rent was due in two weeks, and she didn't have it. Jason needed treatment that cost more than she'd make in a lifetime.
And a man who looked like he'd never struggled a day in his life was offering her a way out.
Maya pulled out the business card and stared at it for a long time. The number seemed to glow in the dim light from her phone, like it was waiting. Tempting her.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," she whispered to herself.
Then she dialed.
He answered on the first ring, like he'd been expecting her call.
"Maya Hart." Not a question. Like he knew exactly who was calling. "Have you made a decision?"
"I have questions."
"I told you—"
"Not about why. I don't care why." She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. "But I need to know you're serious. I need proof this isn't some sick joke before I even consider it."
There was a pause. Then: "What kind of proof?"
"Transfer fifty thousand dollars to my account. Right now. Consider it a good faith deposit. If you're actually serious, that's nothing to you. But it's enough to start Jason's treatment, and it proves you have the money you're claiming."
She rattled off her bank account number, not caring how desperate it made her sound. She was desperate. Past the point of pride.
"Done," Kane said after a moment. "Check your account."
Maya pulled up her banking app with shaking hands. The screen loaded slowly on her old phone. And then—
*Deposit: $50,000.00*
She stared at the number until her vision blurred. That was more money than she'd ever seen in one place. More money than she'd make in an entire year working three jobs.
And he'd transferred it like it was nothing. In under a minute. Like it didn't even matter.
"Maya?" His voice in her ear, oddly gentle. "Are you still there?"
"I'm here."
"Is that sufficient proof?"
She watched the number on her screen, still not quite believing it was real. Fifty thousand dollars. Enough to start Jason's treatment. Enough to buy time to figure out the rest.
Or enough to walk away and tell this strange man no.
But if she walked away, where did that leave her? Right back where she started, drowning in debt with a dying brother and no way out.
"When do you want to meet?" she heard herself say.
"Tomorrow. I'll send a car for you at noon. We'll finalize the contract."
"I want a lawyer to look at it first."
"Of course. I'd be concerned if you didn't." He paused. "Maya?"
"Yeah?"
"You're making the right choice. I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you—your brother will get the treatment he needs, your debts will disappear, and in three years, you'll walk away with enough money to start whatever life you want."
"And what do you get out of it?"
"I told you—"
"I know, I can't ask. But you're getting something. Nobody offers this kind of money without wanting something in return."
The silence stretched. Then Kane said, very quietly, "I get to not be alone. Even if it's just a business arrangement. Even if it's just for three years. That's worth more to me than you could possibly understand."
Something in his voice made Maya's chest ache. He sounded… lonely. Terribly, deeply lonely in a way that went beyond just being single.
"Okay," she said. "Noon tomorrow. But Kane?"
"Yes?"
"If you're lying to me, if this is some kind of trick, I'll find a way to make you regret it. I've got nothing left to lose, and that makes me dangerous."
She heard what might have been a laugh. "Duly noted. Sleep well, Maya."
He hung up.
Maya sat in her car, watching the bank account number on her screen, and wondered what the hell she'd just agreed to.