CHAPTER 1
Isabella's POV
I lost my dad five months ago.
Since then, everything has been on me.
My mom is sick, and she can't miss her medication.
My sister just got admission, and I'm the one who has to pay her tuition.
And rent… rent doesn't wait for anyone.
It all started with $10,000.
"My sister had already called me earlier to ask for her tuition, and I told her I would send the money by the weekend. My mum's medication had run out, so I needed to get it, and my landlord had already promised to throw me out if I didn't pay the rent."
I just needed $10,000.
Just $10,000. Enough to cover the rent, my mom's medication, and my sister's tuition for the month. That's all I needed. Just enough to breathe again.
$1,843 in my account.
$8,157 needed.
I stared at the screen like the numbers might change if I waited long enough.
I pressed my lips together and switched off the screen, and slipped it into my pocket. I had to think. How was I going to raise the money? There had to be a way. There always was.
Think, Isabella.
There had to be a way. There was always a way.
Maybe I could ask Mr. Romano for an advance. He'd never offered before… but maybe that was because I never asked. Maybe if I explained—
No, he won't. The cook tried, and it didn't work. He told her no.
Then maybe extra shifts. Somewhere else. Another restaurant. Late nights, early mornings. I could manage it. I'd done worse before.
Or I could cut back. Skip groceries. Eat whatever I could find in the kitchen. Not ideal, but survivable.
No. Mum had to eat. And Sophia's had to eat before school.
"Hello, can you hear me? I said two plates. Are you even there?"
The shout snapped me back.
"Sorry!" I called quickly, grabbing the plate I had just set down.
The kitchen was chaos as always. Orders kept coming in, pans clanging in the background. The heat was intense, and my breath came fast. I didn't have to think. My hands knew what to do. Plate. Garnish. Pass it on.
But this time, I was there.
But I wasn't focused. My mind was still on the numbers. Trying to figure a way out. Thinking about rent. Tuition. Medication
But my mind… my mind was somewhere else.
Counting.
Calculating.
Panicking.
If I paid rent late again, my landlord would actually throw me out this time. He had already warned me last week, and he wasn't joking. I saw it in his face.
If Sophia's tuition is delayed, she could lose her scholarship. Everything she worked for… gone.And Mom—I swallowed hard.She couldn't miss her medication. That wasn't even an option.
"Isabella, pasta!
"I'm on it," I said, making myself focus. One thing at a time. Finish this shift. Then… figure it out.One thing at a time.
Just finish this shift. Then figure it out.
That's how I survived this long anyway. One step at a time. One crisis at a time.
But this time…it wasn't enough.
"ISABELLA!"
My heart jumped so hard it hurt.
My phone slipped from my hand and hit the counter with a sharp crack.
I froze.
Mr. Romano stood at the kitchen door. Red-faced. Eyes wide with fury.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"I—I was just—"
"Look!"
I turned.
And my stomach dropped.
Smoke curled from the stove. Thick, choking smoke.
The pasta. Oh Goodness, the pasta.
I rushed forward, grabbing the pot, but the heat burned through instantly.
"Ah!" I dropped it.
"Move!" one of the cooks shoved past me, wrapping his hand in a towel and pulling the pot off the heat.
Too late.
The pasta was ruined. Blackened. Burnt beyond saving. The smell filled the kitchen, sharp and bitter.
"Open the door!" someone shouted.
The back door flew open, and people started moving, coughing, waving smoke away.
But the tension didn't leave.
It stayed.
Heavy. Thick. Sitting right on my chest.
"Jesus, Isabella… what were you doing?" someone muttered behind me.
"Not again," another voice added.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, my voice shaking. "I just—I looked away for a second—"
"A second?" Mr. Romano snapped. "Does that look like a second to you?"
I couldn't answer.
Because it didn't.
He walked toward me slowly.
That was the worst part. Not the shouting. Not the anger.
The quiet.
"I'm sorry," I rushed. "I'll fix it. I'll make another batch. I promise it won't happen again."
"You said that last week."
My chest tightened.
"And the week before that."
His words landed harder than any shout.
"I was just distracted," I whispered. "But I can handle it. I just need—"
"I don't need distracted staff," he cut in.
"Please," I stepped closer. "I need this job. I'll do better. I swear."
He looked at me.
Not angry anymore.
Just… tired.
And that scared me more than anything.
"You're fired."
Everything inside me stopped.
"What?" I whispered.
"You're fired. Clean out your locker. And leave."
"No—please—" My voice broke. "I can't lose this job."
"You can't fire me over one mistake. I've worked so hard for this—I gave you my best. No… please, you can't do this."
"That's not my problem."
"You don't understand," I said, panic rising fast now. "I have bills. My mom… my rent—please!"
"I don't care."
"No. You can't do this to me."
Before I even realized what I was doing, I dropped to my knees.
"Please," I said, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "I'll do anything. Just don't fire me."
Silence.
I could feel everyone staring.
The shame burned through me, but I didn't care.
Not when everything depended on this.
"Get up," he said.
I shook my head.
"Get. Up."
"Please.''
My legs felt weak as I forced myself up.
"Get your things," he said. "And leave."
"No… please…"
"Now."
And just like that… it was over.
No second chances.
No warning.
Just the end.
I don't remember walking to my locker.
I don't remember packing my things.
Bag. Jacket. Shoes.
That was it.
That was everything I had left.
When I stepped outside, the cold hit me immediately.
One job, gone Just like that
The bookstore.
That was all I had left.
Maybe Mr. Chen would understand. Maybe he could give me more hours. Maybe even a small advance.
He had to.
I started walking.
Fast.
Then faster.
Not because I was in a hurry… but because I was scared of what would happen if I stopped.
Three blocks.
That was all.
Three blocks between me… and everything falling apart.
The bell above the door jingled softly as I stepped inside.
Too softly.
Something was wrong.
Mr. Chen stood behind the counter.
Sarah and Mike were beside him.
All three of them looked at me.
No one spoke.
"Isabella," Mr. Chen said.
His voice felt… different.
My stomach dropped.
"Is everything okay?" I asked quietly.
He hesitated.
"And in that small pause…. I knew.''
"We need to talk."
And just like that…
I realized something worse than losing one job was about to happen.
CHAPTER 2
Isabella's POV
"Isabella," Mr. Chen said again.
His voice was soft, but there was something in it that made my chest tighten.
I already knew.
I didn't want to hear it—but I knew.
Something was wrong.
I could see it in his eyes before he even spoke.
"We… we're closing," he said slowly. Careful. Like if he rushed the words, they might break. "The bookstore can't stay open anymore. Today is the last day."
For a second, I just stared at him.
Closing?
The word didn't make sense.
"Wait… what?" I said, blinking.
"No…. this can't be.''
I looked around the shop like it would somehow explain things. The shelves. The books. The quiet corners I'd spent two years in. It all looked the same.
So how could it just… end?
"Why?" I asked. "What happened?"
Mr. Chen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Rent increased. Sales dropped. I've been trying to hold it together for months now, but…" He shook his head. "I can't keep it open anymore."
Months.
And I didn't even notice.
Or maybe I did… and just ignored it because I had too many problems already.
My chest tightened, and this strange, hollow panic started building in my throat.
No.
No, this couldn't be happening too.
"I'm paying everyone for this week," he continued gently. "And I added a small severance. It's not much, but… it's all I can give."
He handed me an envelope.
I stared at it for a moment before taking it.
My hands were shaking.
I opened it slowly.
Four hundred and twenty dollars.
That was it.
I stared at the money like maybe I counted wrong.
Four hundred and twenty dollars… for two years.
Two years of waking up early, showing up on days I was exhausted, smiling at customers when I didn't feel like smiling.
Two years.
And this was the end of it.
"I… I understand," I said.
But I didn't.
Not really.
I just didn't have the strength to argue.
If he said he couldn't keep the shop open, then that was it.
I folded the money carefully and put it back in the envelope.
If I held it too long, I might cry.
"I'm sorry, Isabella," he said quietly.
I nodded.
Then I turned and walked out before my eyes could betray me.
The cold air hit me again.
This time, it felt worse.
Like it was sinking into my bones.
I walked a few steps before stopping.
Then I pulled out my phone.
$1,843 in the bank.
Plus $420.
$2,263 total.
I stared at the number.
Then I did the math again.
Still short.
Still not enough.
Not even close.
I needed $8,157.
Now I was still missing $5,894.
My hands started shaking again.
I laughed a little.
Not because anything was funny.
Just because… what else was I supposed to do?
Two jobs.
Gone.
In one day.
It didn't even feel real.
My apartment was forty minutes away on foot.
I didn't have money for a taxi.
So I walked.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Like I could outrun the thoughts in my head.
But I couldn't.
They followed me.
Rent.
Tuition.
Medication.
Food.
Everything kept piling up in my mind until it felt like I couldn't breathe.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me.
It didn't help.
I felt cold from the inside.
Empty.
That was the word.
I was empty.
No plan.
No backup.
Nothing left to hold on to.
I turned into a quieter street.
Then an alley.
It was a shortcut.
I'd taken it before.
I didn't think twice about it.
That was my mistake.
It happened fast.
Too fast.
A hand came over my mouth from behind.
Another arm wrapped tightly around my waist, dragging me backward.
My body froze.
"Don't make a sound," a voice said close to my ear. Low. Rough. "Give me your bag."
My heart started pounding so hard I thought it would burst.
My bag.
Everything was in there.
My wallet.
The envelope.
The money.
Everything.
Except my phone.
That was still in my coat pocket.
"Please—" I tried to speak, but his hand pressed harder against my mouth.
"Your bag," he said again.
I didn't fight.
I couldn't.
Fear locked my body in place.
He shoved me forward suddenly.
I lost my balance and fell hard.
My hands hit the ground first.
Pain shot through my palms as they scraped against the rough concrete.
"Your bag!"
I didn't even remember letting go.
But the next second—
It was gone.
I looked up just in time to see him running.
Turning the corner.
Disappearing.
Just like that.
Gone.
I stayed there.
On the ground.
For a long time.
My hands stung.
My chest hurt.
My head felt empty.
Then the tears came.
Slow at first.
Then all at once.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to stop the sound, but it didn't work.
I started laughing too.
It came out wrong.
Broken.
Because nothing about this was funny.
But it didn't make sense either.
Two jobs are gone.
Money is almost gone.
And now… the little I had left—
Gone too.
I leaned back against the wall behind me.
The cold seeped through my clothes.
But I didn't move.
I just sat there, staring at nothing.
People passed at the end of the street.
Cars drove by.
Life kept moving.
Like nothing had happened.
Like I didn't exist.
"My mum's medication…" I whispered.
My voice sounded small.
Weak.
"My sister's tuition…"
My throat tightened.
"Rent…"
Everything hit me at once.
All of it.
And for the first time…
I didn't know what to do.
No ideas.
No plan.
Nothing.
Just a heavy, crushing realization sitting on my chest.
I couldn't fix this.
Not this time.
I slowly pulled my knees closer to myself.
Resting my head against them.
Trying to think.
Trying to breathe.
But my mind kept going back to the same thing.
I had nothing left.
Nothing.
And no one was coming to help.
A cold wind passed through the alley.
I closed my eyes.
And for a moment…
Everything went quiet inside me.
Not calm.
Just… blank.
Like something in me had finally given up
And sitting there, on the cold concrete…
I realized something I didn't want to admit.
This wasn't just a bad day.
This was the beginning of something worse.
Much worse.
CHAPTER 3
Alessandro's POV
I read the same line again.
And again.
And still, it didn't change.
"The heir must be lawfully married before his twenty-eighth birthday to take full control of Dante Enterprises and its associated holdings."
I exhaled slowly and dropped the papers on my desk.
Six months.
That was all I had.
Six months to get married… or lose everything.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment, then ran a hand over my face. This had to be some joke—what twisted condition did my grandfather think would "build character"?
Marriage.
Out of everything… that's what he chose.
I built this company with him. I carried the weight he left behind. Every deal, every risk, every sleepless night—I was there.
And now this?
I let out a short, dry laugh.
"Associated holdings," I muttered under my breath.
A polite way of saying the parts no one talks about. The parts you don't write in reports. The parts that don't exist on paper.
And if I didn't meet that condition…
Marco would take over.
I straightened immediately at the thought.
Marco.
My younger brother—reckless. Impulsive. Careless with everything that actually mattered.
I clenched my jaw.
Handing everything to him wouldn't just be a mistake. It would destroy everything we built.
"No," I said quietly to myself. "That's not happening."
"You're talking to yourself again."
My mother's voice cut through the silence.
I looked up.
She was already seated across from me, calm as always. Perfect posture. Not a single thing out of place.
She always walked into a room like she owned it.
And most times… she did.
"Did you read it?" she asked.
I tapped the papers. "Hard to miss."
"And?"
"And I'm not getting married. I'm not ready for marriage yet."
Her expression didn't change.
Not even a little.
"Then get ready to lose everything you work so hard for —to Marco," she said simply.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk.
"There has to be another way."
"There isn't."
Her voice was steady. Like she had already gone through every possible option and closed the door on all of them.
"Lawyers have reviewed it. Twice. The condition stands."
I pushed my chair back and stood up, pacing.
I hated this. I don't like this at all.
Not the pressure. Not the responsibility.
That, I could handle.
But this…
Being forced into something personal. Something permanent.
It didn't sit right.
I stopped by the window, looking out at the city below. Everything moved. Fast. Controlled. Predictable.
Unlike this.
"Marriage," I said under my breath.
The word felt strange.
Unnecessary.
Dangerous.
"You're thinking too much about it," my mother said behind me. "It's not emotional. It's strategic."
I turned to look at her.
"Strategic?"
"Yes." She crossed her legs neatly. "You don't need love. You need a solution."
That… made more sense.
Still didn't make it easier.
"You're asking me to tie myself to someone I don't know."
"I'm asking you to secure your position."
I held her gaze for a moment.
Then I looked away.
Because she wasn't wrong.
That was the problem.
I went quiet for a few seconds, thinking.
Weighing it.
Losing everything… or making a decision I don't want too.
"Fine. I'm going to marry the love of my life… Veronica."
She didn't react immediately. just watching me.
"No. There's already someone," she said.
I frowned. "Of course there is."
"Just meet her first."
"I don't want someone you picked."
"You'll meet her," she said calmly. "If you don't approve, we'll consider other options."
"No never.''
I hesitated.
"Then what about Veronica? We've been together for years. I love her. She's the love of my life."
Meet her first.
"Who is she?"
My mother reached into her bag and placed a folder on the desk, sliding it toward me.
"Isabella Moretti. Twenty-two. Her father passed away two years ago."
"Her father borrowed from us before he died, and now he's left her to pay the debt."
I opened the file.
Photos. Documents. Financial records.
Debt.
A lot of it.
I flipped through slowly.
Medical bills. Loans. Overdue notices.
I paused.
"How much?" I asked.
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
I looked up sharply.
"What?"
"She's responsible for it now. Along with supporting her family."
Two hundred thousand.
To her… that wasn't just a number.
That was survival.
I leaned back slightly, studying the photo clipped inside the file.
A simple picture.
No makeup. No posing. Just… normal.
Ordinary.
But her eyes—
There was something there.
Tired.
But still holding on.
Interesting.
"And you think she'll agree to this?" I asked.
My mother didn't hesitate.
"She will."
"Why?"
"Because she doesn't have a choice."
Fine, I said
"But it's on my terms," I added. "No emotional expectations. No interference in my work. No complications."
I looked back at the file.
Desperate.
That made things easier.
Desperate people didn't negotiate.
They didn't argue.
They accepted.
And stayed quiet.
Exactly what I needed.
"Set up a meeting," I said.
My voice was calm again.
Decided.
"I want to see her in person."
"Of course," my mother said, standing.
She paused at the door.
"Make sure she understands one thing," I added. "This is a contract. Nothing more."
"I'll make that clear."
I picked up the photo again.
Isabella Moretti.
Twenty-two.
Drowning in debt.
Perfect.
I reached for my phone and dialed Veronica.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Hello. Baby.''
"Veronica," I said.
"Hmm. What is it?"
There was already tension in her voice.
She knew me too well.
"I have to meet someone," I said. "It's about the will."
Silence.
Then—
"What do you mean, meet someone?"
I exhaled.
"It's a condition. I have to get married."
"What?"
Her voice rose immediately.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
Another pause.
"You're serious," she said slowly. "After everything… you're just going to marry someone else?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like, Alessandro?"
"It's business."
The words sounded empty even to me.
"Business," she repeated. "So five years with me is nothing now?"
"That's not what I said."
"But that's what you're saying."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"Babe,this doesn't change anything between us."
"Doesn't it?" she snapped. "You're bringing another woman into your life."
"And you expect me to be okay with it?"
"For how long?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"Two years," I said finally.
She laughed.
But there is no humor in it.
"Wow."
"Then… what will happen to me?" she whispered.
"It's just a contract," I said.
"Babe, you know how much I love you. She will never come between us, I swear."
Silence again.
Then her voice turned cold.
"No. Never. I can't watch you get married to someone else."
"That won't be a problem."
She hung up the call before I could say anything.
I lowered the phone slowly.
The room felt quieter now.
Heavier.
I looked back at the file on my desk.
At her picture.
Isabella Moretti.
Ordinary.
Desperate.
"Two years," I said to myself.
That was all this would be.
Two years…. a contract…. nothing more.
I closed the file.
But something about this…
didn't feel as simple as I wanted it to be.
"Well… let's see how this goes."
CHAPTER 4
Isabella's POV
My phone kept ringing.
I stared at it for a long time before answering.
I didn't want to answer. Not now. Not when everything already felt like it was too much.
My hands were still shaking. My palms stung from the fall earlier. My head hurt from thinking too much, too fast, with nothing to hold on to.
The phone rang again.
And again.
I swallowed and finally picked it up.
"Hello?" I said.
"Isabella Moretti?" a woman's voice asked.
Calm. Smooth. Controlled.
"Yes… who's this?" I asked, sitting up slightly.
"My name is Mrs. Conti. I'm calling on behalf of someone who would like to meet you."
I frowned.
"Meet me? About what?"
"There's a matter concerning your family's financial situation."
My grip on the phone tightened.
"What about it?"
"I was asked to summon you for a private meeting," she continued. "It's important. And you'll be highly compensated for your time."
Compensated.
That sounds like Money.
But something about this didn't feel right.
"Why me?" I asked slowly.
"You'll understand when you get there."
That didn't help.
At all.
"Where is this meeting?" I asked after a pause.
She gave me an address.
I recognized the street immediately.
High-end.
The kind of place I usually avoided walking past, not to talk of entering.
My stomach turned.
"Isabella," she said again, her voice slightly firmer now. "This is not a joke. It is very important that you attend. Tomorrow. 10 a.m. sharp."
"I… I don't know if I can—"
"You can," she cut in. "For your family."
Silence.
That was all it took.
My mother.
My sister.
The rent.
Everything hit me at once.
"I'll be there," I said quietly.
"Good."
The call ended.
I stared at my phone long after the line went off.
Something about this felt wrong.
Too sudden.
Too convenient.
But at the same time…
I had nothing left.
No job.
No money.
No hope.
Just problems I couldn't fix.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
For a moment, I thought about not going.
Pretending the call never happened.
But the image of my mother sitting quietly, trying to hide her pain…
Sophia pretending she wasn't worried…
That thought alone pushed everything else aside.
I didn't have the luxury of fear anymore.
The next morning came too fast.
I barely slept.
My mind kept replaying everything over and over again until I couldn't tell where one thought ended and another began.
I borrowed a small bag from my neighbor.
Simple. Clean. Not mine.
Just like everything else lately.
I got dressed slowly, adjusting my clothes more times than necessary. Nothing felt right for where I was going.
The city felt different that morning.
Louder.
Busier.
Like it was moving forward without me.
I took the subway downtown, holding the strap tightly as the train moved. My reflection in the window looked unfamiliar.
Tired.
Nervous.
Small.
When I finally got off and walked toward the building, my steps slowed.
The place was exactly how I imagined.
Tall.
Glass everywhere.
Cars parked outside that probably cost more than my entire life savings.
I stopped at the entrance for a second.
Then I forced myself to walk in.
The lobby was quiet.
Too quiet.
Marble floors. Clean lines. Everything was polished to perfection.
I suddenly became very aware of my shoes.
The sound they made against the floor felt too loud.
A receptionist looked up.
"Can I help you?"
Yes. "I… I'm here for a meeting. Isabella Moretti."
She checked something, then gave me a small, polite smile.
"They're expecting you. Take the elevator. Floor thirty-two."
I thanked her and turned away.
My hands felt cold.
Inside the elevator, I pressed the button and watched the doors close.
Then I just stood there.
Listening to my own breathing.
The numbers climbed slowly.
Each floor maked my chest feel tighter.
By the time it reached thirty-two, I felt like turning back.
But it was too late.
The doors opened.
A man stood inside the hallway.
Well-dressed. Straight posture.
He didn't even look at me at first.
"Isabella Moretti."
I turned.
Mrs. Conti. The woman from the phone stood behind me.
She looked exactly like she sounded.
Sharp. Controlled. Observant.
"He's ready for you," she said.
I nodded, even though my throat felt dry.
"Be calm. Speak carefully. And remember…" she paused slightly, her eyes holding mine, "this is about your family."
I swallowed.
"I understand. Ma"
"Good."
She gestured toward the door.
I walked toward it slowly.
My hand hovered over the handle. I took a deep breath.
And then I pushed the door open.
The silence hits first.
The room was too quiet.
CHAPTER 5
Isabella's POV
The room was too quiet.
That was the first thing I noticed fast when I stepped in. Not the size of it. Not the glass walls or the city stretching out behind them. Just… the silence. The kind that made you aware of every breath you took.
He didn't turn immediately.
He stood near the window, hands in his pockets, like I wasn't even there yet.
For a second, I thought… should I say something? Maybe introduce myself. But my throat felt tight, and the words refused to come out.
Then he turned.
And just like that, the air shifted.
Alessandro Dante didn't look like someone you spoke to casually. He looked like someone you measured your words around. Tall. Sharp features. Eyes that can't just look at you—they studied you. Like he was already deciding something.
I suddenly became very aware of my clothes. My shoes. The fact that my bag wasn't even mine.
"Ms. Moretti," he said.
His voice was calm. Flat. No warmth in it.
"Yes," I said quickly.
He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."
I sat down carefully. Like if I moved too much, I might break something expensive.
He didn't sit immediately. He just stood there for a moment, looking at me. Not in a strange way. Not in a kind way either. Just… assessing.
Like I was something he wanted to buying.
The thought made my stomach twist.
He walked around and finally took his seat.
"I assume you were told this meeting concerns your family," he said.
"Yes." My fingers tightened in my lap. "But I still don't understand why I'm here."
"You will."
That was it. No explanation. Nothing. Just that.
He opened a file on his desk and slid it toward me. I didn't need to read it to know what was inside. My family's debts. Every number that had been keeping me awake at night.
"Two hundred thousand dollars," he said. "That's what your family owes."
Hearing it out loud made it worse. He said it so easily. Like it was nothing.
I swallowed. "I know."
"I can clear it," he said.
"Wait…. what?"
"I can clear all of it," he repeated, like we were discussing something simple. "Medical bills. Loans. Everything."
My heart started beating faster. Too fast.
"Why?" I asked.
He leaned back slightly, watching me.
"Because I need something from you."
I forced myself to stay still. "What?"
He didn't rush his answer. Like he knew I wasn't going anywhere. Like he had all the time in the world.
"Marriage."
The word didn't make sense at first. It just… hung there.
"Sorry?"
"Yes, we get married," he said. "You live in my home. You appear with me when necessary. You fulfill the role of a wife in public."
My chest tightened.
"And in return?" I asked, even though I already knew.
"Your family's debts disappear."
Silence.
I looked at him, trying to figure out if this was a joke. It didn't feel like one. But nothing about him felt like he joked about anything.
"You're serious," I said quietly.
"Yes."
I let out a shaky breath. My mind was racing, trying to catch up.
"Why me?"
"Because you need something," he said simply. "That makes things easier."
Easier.
The word hit harder than it should have.
"You think I'll just agree to this?" I asked. There was a bit of anger in my voice. I couldn't help it.
"I think you'll consider your options carefully," he replied.
Options.
Right.
I let out a quiet breath and looked down at my hands. They were still a little scraped from yesterday. The skin around my palms was rough, slightly swollen.
That alley came back to me so fast it made my chest tighten.
The fall.
The cold ground.
My bag is gone.
Everything is gone.
I swallowed hard.
I thought about my mom. The way she tried to smile even when she was in pain. The way she always said, "We'll figure it out," even when there was nothing left to figure.
I thought about Sophia. How hard she worked. How she pretended she wasn't scared of losing everything.
And me?
I had nothing left.
No job.
No money.
No options.
Just this.
"This isn't a choice," I said quietly.
He didn't respond.
Because we both knew it was true.
"What exactly will I have to do?" I asked, my voice softer now.
"Very little," he said. "You'll attend events when required. Maintain appearances."
He paused slightly.
"And in private, we live separate lives."
Separate lives.
I nodded slowly.
"So this isn't real," I said.
"No."
At least he was honest.
"You won't expect… anything?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
His gaze didn't shift.
"You shouldn't expect anything other than what it is," he said. "And you shouldn't either."
That stung more than I expected.
Maybe because some small part of me—stupid, unrealistic—had hoped there would be something else. Something human.
But there wasn't.
This was a transaction.
Nothing more.
"There will also be a need for an heir," he added.
My head snapped up.
"Wait… what?"
My breath caught.
An heir.
A child.
"You can't be serious," I said, my voice thin. "You want me to have a child for you?"
"Eventually," he said.
Like it was nothing.
Like he was asking for a signature.
"No," I said immediately, shaking my head. "No, that's… not possible. I don't even know you."
"What if you say no?" he cut in.
"Then your family keeps the debt," he said. "It must be paid before the end of the month."
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No softness.
I looked away, blinking quickly.
A child.
"Hmmmmm.''
I wasn't even thinking about marriage properly, and now—
This?
"Do I have time to think?" I asked.
"Twenty-four hours," he said. "After that, the offer is off the table."
Twenty-four hours.
To decide everything.
My future.
My family's future.
Everything.
I pushed myself to stand.
My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stay steady.
"Ms. Moretti," he said before I reached the door.
I stopped.
Turned slowly.
"This is a business arrangement," he said. "Don't expect anything more from me."
His voice was firm.
Clear.
Final.
For a moment, I just looked at him. Really looked this time.
Cold.
Controlled.
Certain.
And completely serious.
"I understand," I said.
I walked out of that room feeling like I couldn't breathe.
The hallway felt longer than before.
The elevator ride down felt endless.
By the time I stepped outside, the air hit me hard—but it didn't help.
Marriage.
Debt gone.
My family is safe.
All I had to do… was say yes.
But a child?
I shook my head slightly as I walked.
No.
I couldn't.
I wasn't ready.
I didn't even know him.
This wasn't normal.
None of this makes sense l.
I kept walking, my thoughts running in circles.
I'll find a way to pay the debt somehow.
Maybe I could look for another job or something, but not this.
Maybe—
My phone rang.
I froze.
Slowly, I pulled it out.
The screen lit up.
Sophia.
My heart dropped.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?"
"Isabella…" her voice broke on the other end.
My stomach tightened instantly.
"What happened?" I asked, panic rising.
"It's Mom," she said, crying now. "They said… they said we need to make a payment today or they'll stop her treatment—"
Everything around me went quiet.
What? I'm coming, I said, trying to be strong.
"I… I'll handle it," even though my voice didn't sound like mine anymore.
"Please," she whispered. "I don't know what to do."
The call ended.
I lowered the phone slowly.
My hands were shaking again.
But this time…
It wasn't fear.
It was something else.
Something heavier.
I looked back at the building behind me.
At the place I had just walked out of
And I whispered, barely audible, "What should I do? Should I accept the offer?
No. I can't do this. I can't marry someone I don't even know, let alone have a child for him. God… forbid