Chapter 1 – The Signature
The phone rang at 2:17 a.m.
I knew it was bad news before I even answered.
I was sitting on the cold kitchen floor of our tiny apartment, my back against the cabinet, knees pulled to my chest. The single lightbulb above me flickered every ten seconds, casting the room in a weak, yellow glow. The fridge hummed empty except for a bottle of water and a piece of stale bread I'd been saving since yesterday. My eyes were red and swollen from crying, my throat raw from trying not to make any sound so my father wouldn't hear me from the other room.
"Miss Lila? This is Officer Mansour from Central Precinct. Your father… he tried to hurt himself tonight."
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I felt the air leave my lungs.
I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. "Is he… is he okay?" My voice cracked on the last word.
"He's alive. The guards found him in time. But Miss Lila, he won't make it through the week in here without medical care. He needs to be in a private hospital. The bail is 400,000 pounds."
400,000.
I only had 3,200 in my bank account. 3,200 pounds that were supposed to last me the whole month for food and medicine.
I closed my eyes and whispered, "Is there any other way?"
There was a long pause on the other end. I could hear the officer sigh, the sound of papers shuffling.
"There's a man," he said quietly. "He's willing to pay the bail. But he wants something in return."
My heart started beating faster. "What does he want?"
Another pause. This one felt heavier, like the officer himself was uncomfortable saying it.
"You."
The word echoed in my head. *You.*
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat on the floor until the first light of dawn crept through the small kitchen window, staring at the cracked tiles, my mind spinning in circles. Who was this man? Why would anyone pay 400,000 pounds for me? What kind of "return" could he possibly want from a 24-year-old girl with no money, no connections, and nothing to offer except herself?
By 8 a.m. I was standing outside a tall glass office building downtown, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the crumpled address paper. I was wearing my only decent outfit — a plain black dress and an old brown jacket that was two sizes too big. My hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, no makeup, no jewelry. I looked like a girl who was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.
The lawyer's office was on the 12th floor. The elevator smelled like lemon cleaner. When the doors opened, the office smelled like old wood, leather, and expensive cologne.
Mr. Salim was in his late sixties, with thin white hair and glasses that magnified his eyes. He didn't smile when I walked in. He didn't offer me coffee. He just gestured to the chair across from his massive wooden desk.
"Miss Ahmed," he said, his voice calm and professional. "Please sit."
I sat.
He slid a thick stack of papers toward me. The top page had the word **CONTRACT** printed in bold at the center.
"Mr. Adrian Cole is willing to pay your father's bail and cover all his medical expenses," Mr. Salim said, without looking up. "In exchange, you will marry him."
I blinked. "Marry him?" The words felt strange coming out of my mouth.
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Three years."
I stared at him. "Three years?"
"You will live in his apartment. You will act as his wife in public. You will not ask about his past. You will not speak to the press. You will not try to leave the marriage before the three years are over."
"And after three years?"
"The marriage will be annulled. You will receive 50,000 pounds per month during the contract. At the end of the three years, you will walk away with 1.8 million pounds."
1.8 million.
My father's entire life savings was 18,000.
I looked down at the contract. My name was printed on the second page: *Party B – Lila Ahmed.* Under it was a blank line for my signature.
My hands were trembling now.
"Who is Adrian Cole?" I asked.
"A businessman," Mr. Salim said. "You don't need to know more than that."
"What kind of man pays 400,000 pounds to marry a stranger?"
Mr. Salim adjusted his glasses and looked at me for the first time. "A man who has his reasons, Miss Ahmed."
I thought about my father lying in that cold prison cell, his diabetes untreated, his blood pressure through the roof. The doctor said another week in there could kill him. I thought about my mother, who died when I was 16 from a heart attack because we couldn't afford the medication she needed. I was the only one left to take care of him.
I picked up the pen.
The pen felt heavy, like it weighed a kilogram.
I looked at the line at the bottom of the first page.
*Signature of Party B*
I hesitated.
"Can I… can I meet him first?"
Mr. Salim shook his head. "Mr. Cole doesn't meet his business partners before signing."
I laughed, a short, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. "So I'm a business partner now?"
"You're the solution to his problem," he said plainly, no emotion in his voice.
I looked at the contract again.
Three years.
I could do three years.
I could endure anything for three years if it meant my father would live, if it meant I wouldn't have to bury him the way I buried my mother.
I thought about what my father always told me: *Lila, you're strong. You can handle anything.*
I took a deep breath.
I signed my name.
Lila Ahmed.
The ink was still wet.
Mr. Salim nodded, stamped the paper with a red seal, put it in a brown envelope, and slid a single silver key across the desk toward me.
"He will be waiting for you at the apartment at 8 p.m. Don't be late."
I took the key.
It was cold in my palm.
I stood up, my legs feeling weak.
"Miss Ahmed," Mr. Salim said as I reached the door. "One more thing."
I turned around.
"Don't fall in love with him."
I frowned. "What?"
He didn't elaborate. He just turned back to his papers.
I walked out of the office feeling like I had just sold my life.
The elevator ride down felt endless. I kept staring at the key in my hand, turning it over and over. 8 p.m. 8 p.m. 8 p.m.
When I got outside, the city was already busy, people rushing everywhere, cars honking, vendors shouting. I stood on the sidewalk for a full five minutes, just breathing, trying to make sense of what I had just done.
I had signed a contract to marry a stranger.
I had agreed to live with him for three years.
I had agreed not to ask about his past.
And the lawyer's warning kept repeating in my head: *Don't fall in love with him.*
I wiped my tears, straightened my jacket, and started walking home.
I had 12 hours before I had to meet my husband for the first time.