Suzie almost ignored the email.
It arrived quietly the next morning, buried between promotional messages and automated reminders, the kind she usually deleted without reading. If she hadn't already been staring at her phone—if she hadn't been checking it every few minutes like a lifeline—she might have missed it entirely.
For a second, she only saw the sender.
From: Edwards Estate Group
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Her stomach tightened, instinct already bracing for disappointment.
Subject: Follow-up Appointment
Her heart dropped.
This was it, she thought.
The formal rejection. The polite dismissal dressed up as procedure. The kind that thanked you for your time and wished you luck elsewhere, even though there was nowhere else to go.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
You are requested to return to the office today at 2:00 PM regarding your inquiry.
That was all.
No greeting.
No explanation.
No hint of what waited for her on the other side of those glass doors.
Suzie sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the screen long after it dimmed and locked itself. Dread came first—heavy and familiar, settling into her chest like a stone. Then came hope, thin and reckless, slipping in behind it like a betrayal.
She hated herself for that part most of all.
Hope had no right to exist anymore. Not after yesterday. Not after the way he'd looked at her like she was an inconvenience with a name.
She stood mechanically, washing her face, and pulled on the same blouse she'd worn yesterday. It wasn't pressed. It wouldn't matter.
When she told her mother she needed to step out, she kept her voice light. Careful.
"I might be a while."
Her mother nodded without looking up from the sink. "Alright."
No questions.
No expectations.
That, somehow, hurt more.
By the time Suzie reached the building again, her heart was racing hard enough to make her lightheaded. The same glass exterior rose before her, gleaming and impersonal, reflecting the sky without offering anything back. Yesterday, she had waited here, invisible and small.
Today, she was expected.
That felt worse.
Inside, everything smelled the same—polished stone, cool air, quiet money. The assistant barely glanced up this time.
"He's expecting you."
Suzie nodded, though her throat was too tight to speak. Her legs felt unsteady as she followed the familiar corridor, each step heavier than the last.
Ray Edwards was already standing when she entered the office.
He didn't smile.
Didn't gesture toward the chair across from his desk.
Didn't bother pretending this was a conversation between equals.
"Miss—Suzie," he said, as if confirming the name rather than greeting her. "You're here because I reviewed your case."
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "And?" she managed.
He didn't hesitate.
"I'll stop the eviction."
The words struck her like a physical blow.
For a moment, the room tilted. Sound drained away, replaced by a dull ringing in her ears. Her lungs forgot what they were supposed to do. Relief surged so fast it made her dizzy, weak—almost nauseous.
"You—what?" she breathed.
"I'll save your home," he repeated calmly, as though he were approving a routine adjustment. "The notice will be withdrawn. The account settled."
Her knees threatened to give way. She gripped the edge of the chair she hadn't been offered, knuckles whitening. This was it. This was the miracle she'd prayed for in fragments, the answer she hadn't believed would come.
Then Ray continued.
"But in return, you'll marry me."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Suzie stared at him, convinced she'd misheard. The words didn't fit together. They didn't belong in the same sentence as eviction or home or help.
"You're joking," she whispered.
Ray's expression didn't change. "I don't joke about contracts."
Her pulse roared in her ears. "This—this is insane."
"For six months," he went on, voice level, detached. "No emotions. No expectations beyond what we agree on. At the end of the term, the arrangement ends."
Her mind scrambled, grasping at fragments of logic that refused to connect. "Why?"
"Because," Ray said, folding his hands on the desk, "this solves a problem. For both of us."
Fear crept up her spine, slow and deliberate. "This isn't help," she said hoarsely. "This is control."
Ray inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point without denying it. "You're free to refuse."
The words landed like a verdict.
Refuse—and lose everything.
Suzie looked down at the polished floor, her reflection faint and distorted. She thought of her brother's books spread across the floor. Her mother's careful budgeting. The crack in the ceiling she'd stared at all night, wondering how long before it didn't matter anymore.
Her mind searched desperately for another option.
There wasn't one.
Ray turned a folder toward her and opened it with unhurried precision.
"Let's be clear," he said. "This is not a relationship. It's a contract."
He slid the papers closer, the pages whispering softly against the desk.
"Terms," he continued, ticking them off without looking at her. "You will move into my residence. Public appearances will be minimal but required. You will not interfere in company matters. Absolute discretion."
Each condition fell like another lock clicking into place.
"There will be a prenuptial agreement," he added. "You gain nothing beyond what's stated. Your family's housing situation will be resolved—permanently."
Permanently.
The word echoed in her chest. Safe. Secure. Untouchable.
Her body tightened painfully.
This wasn't a lifeline.
It was a leash.
"And if I break the rules?" she asked quietly.
Ray finally looked at her then, his gaze steady and unyielding. "Then the contract dissolves. So does the protection."
Hopelessness settled over her like a weight. Heavy. Inescapable.
She had come here hoping to be heard.
Instead, she was being bought.
Her hands shook as she reached for the folder. The pages blurred together, legal language swimming before her eyes—rules and conditions that barely mattered. She didn't need to read them to understand the truth beneath the ink.
This wasn't about consent.
It was about survival.
Ray placed a pen on the desk between them.
"You can take time," he said. "But not much."
Suzie stared at the pen. At how ordinary it looked. How small. How capable of changing everything.
Signing meant safety.
Refusing meant the street.
Her voice came out barely audible. "Six months."
"Yes."
She closed her eyes.
Then, slowly, she reached forward.