Carrie.
The moment I stepped out of his office, I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
My legs moved on autopilot, carrying me toward the elevator, but my mind was stuck back in that room, with him. With the man who somehow managed to bruise my pride and bind me to him in the same breath.
I had just sold five years of my life.
Signed it away like it meant nothing.
And the strangest part? I didn't even feel regret. Not yet, anyway.
All I felt was numb.
I kept replaying the way he looked at me: calculated, cold, like I was a business transaction sealed with a signature. Maybe that's exactly what I was to him. A means to an end. A name on a contract. A temporary solution to polish up his image so he could become the man everyone on that boardroom table feared.
And maybe that's all I needed to be.
But still, his words sat heavy in my chest.
"I believe I can trust you, even though I'm holding up my end before the wedding."
Like I was already on trial. Like kindness came with a leash.
I wanted to bite back. Say something sharp. Remind him that I had pride too, even if I was desperate. But I didn't. Because my brother's name was louder in my head than my ego.
Every time I thought about the bills piling up, the nurses whispering about how long we could hold the room, and the look in my brother's eyes when he told me he didn't want to be a burden, I swallowed my pride a little deeper.
But still… I hated how quiet I'd been. I hated that he noticed it.
I hated that I noticed it.
Yesterday, I was a flame. Today, I felt like a flickering smoke.
Maybe that's what this agreement would do to me: dim me. Wear me down slowly with every silence I let pass and every insult I swallowed just to make it to the next step. But if that's the price of saving the only family I have left, then so be it.
Still, I made a silent promise to myself right there in that elevator:
He may own five years of my time, but he doesn't own me.
Not my thoughts.
Not my soul.
And certainly not my fire.
Since I had no work to do, I decided to go see Peter, my beloved brother. The thought of him made me smile; it warmed my heart.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and too much air conditioning. I walked down the hallway slowly, my heels clicking against the polished floor. Room 207. My brother's room. I didn't have to look up; I'd memorized every step. I could walk this corridor in my sleep.
Reaching the door, I paused. Smoothed down the front of my blouse, pushed the emotional look off my face. My brother didn't need to see the storm brewing inside me. Not when he had his own battles to fight.
I knocked lightly and pushed the door open. "Hey," I said softly. My smile was so big.
Peter's face lit up the moment he saw me. Even with the IV drip in his arm and the tiredness in his eyes, he managed a grin that never failed to tug at my heart.
"You look like you just came from war," he teased, eyes scanning me.
I smiled. "Close enough. I was at a meeting."
"Fancy meeting?"
"Let's call it that."
I moved to sit beside him, my hand instinctively reaching for his. His fingers were colder than usual.
"The doctor came by this morning," he said, a little too casually. "They're saying the new treatment might speed things up. But it's expensive."
"I know," I said, squeezing his hand gently. "And I've already taken care of it. Starting today, things are going to change. You would have to be moved to a better hospital."
Peter studied my face. He'd always been able to read me too well. "Carrie… what did you do?"
I looked away, blinking against the sting behind my eyes. No, I wouldn't cry, I told myself. "Something I didn't think I'd ever do. But don't worry—I'm not in danger. I'm just… making a deal."
"A deal with whom?"
"Someone who needs me to pretend to be something I'm not. For a while."
Peter didn't press. He watched me quietly, and I could feel the weight of his concern. But he didn't ask for details. He never did. He trusted me, maybe too much.
"I'll be fine," I said. "You just focus on getting better, okay? Let me worry about the rest."
Peter nodded slowly. "You've always carried too much, you know?"
I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Then I guess my back's just gotten stronger."
I stayed there a while longer, talking about small things: TV shows he'd been watching, the nurse who had a weird obsession with houseplants, and how bland the hospital food still was. I laughed when he teased me about my cooking, and he smiled when I tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
But when I finally stood to leave, my heart grew heavy again. I could only hope this new arrangement would not do anything to my relationship with my brother; if anything, it should make it stronger.
I picked up my phone and stared at Andie's name on the screen for a long moment. She was going to be pissed; I knew that much. If she found out I'd come to the hospital and hadn't stopped by the nurse's station to say hello, she'd give me that familiar death glare that usually made me feel like I was twelve again.
But I couldn't face her just yet. Not without risking a full emotional breakdown.
Andie had always been the one person who could see straight through me. She didn't need explanations or long confessions. One look at my face and she'd know everything I was feeling. That was the thing about lifelong friends: there's nowhere to hide.
And now I had something I desperately wanted to keep hidden. Except… I couldn't lie to her.
I just couldn't.
Sure, I had signed a non-disclosure agreement that said I couldn't tell anyone the truth about this marriage. But Andie wasn't just anyone. She was my person. My sounding board. The one I ran to with everything from late-night heartbreaks to silly dreams I never told anyone else. And she knew I wasn't dating anyone, so if I suddenly told her I was getting married, she'd know something was off.
I finally hit dial.
She picked up almost immediately. "Where are you? You better not be in this hospital without saying hi to me."
I closed my eyes. Busted.
"I'm here," I said. "I just… needed a minute. Are you still at the nurse's station?"
"Yeah. Come find me. Now."
I hung up, took a breath, and walked down the hall. She was already waiting, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between concern and annoyance. The moment she saw me, that annoyance softened.
"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked gently.
I gave her a small, nervous smile. "Hey, you too. Can we… can we talk? Just us?"
Her brows furrowed, but she nodded. "Of course." She led me to a quiet corner down the hallway, where two chairs sat beneath a vending machine light that buzzed faintly overhead.
We sat.
I didn't speak right away. My hands twisted in my lap, heart thudding loudly in my chest. Andie waited, patient but alert.
"Carrie," she said quietly, "is this about Peter?"
I looked at her, swallowed hard, and shook my head. "I'm getting married."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Just like that.
Her mouth parted in stunned silence. She blinked like she wasn't sure she heard me right.
"You're… what?"
I could already see the whirlwind of questions rising behind her eyes, so I held up my hand quickly. "Don't ask anything. Not yet. I promise I'll explain everything when I can. Just… not now."
She stared at me for a long beat, her face full of confusion and growing concern.
"We'll also be moving Peter to a better hospital," I added.
Her brows lifted even higher. "We?"
"My husband and I," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Andie just sat there, stunned, her mouth still slightly open. She didn't say anything right away, and for a moment, I was grateful. Because if she started asking the questions I wasn't ready to answer, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep it together.
Not here. Not now.
"Alright, I trust you!" She said, I stood up to hug her. I never knew I needed that hug.
As I stepped into the hallway, I leaned my back against the closed door and let myself breathe, slow, controlled, aching.
This was why.
Not for Ty Yates. Not for his boardroom battles or his cold, unreadable eyes.
This was why I had signed that contract.
This was why I had silenced my pride.
This was why I would endure.
Because my brother's life was worth every sacrifice, even if it cost me parts of myself.
*************
The sun was barely up when I opened my eyes. Not because I wanted to, but because sleep had become impossible the moment I remembered what today was.
My wedding day.
I woke up in my own bedroom, but for the first time, it didn't feel like mine. The words "wedding day" echoed in my mind, foreign and heavy, like a dress tailored for someone else. I sat up slowly, the familiar comfort of my bed suddenly distant. My once cozy room now felt hollow, stripped of its warmth. The cream-colored walls, which usually calmed me, seemed unfamiliar, almost suffocating. Everything felt like a stranger.
Just like the man I am about to marry.
I stood and walked toward the mirror.
There I was. Carrie Brown. The maid. The sister. The soon-to-be wife, on paper. I laughed out loud. I touched my face, half expecting it to look different, changed somehow. But no. Still me. Still the same girl who spent the last year working double shifts just to scrape together enough to pay medical bills. Still the girl who thought she would never get married because she had never been in a relationship, even my previous heartbreaks were from guys who I had thought I liked but they had ended up with someone else.
And yet, here I was, about to walk into a deal that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with power, image, and survival.
I opened the garment bag hanging by the door. The wedding dress wasn't traditional. It was sleek. Elegant. Expensive. Something Ty's team had selected with precision. Ivory silk that hugged the waist and draped down like liquid. No lace, no fluff, no personality. It wasn't me. But it would serve its purpose.
I took a deep breath.
This was a business transaction.
A lifeline.
I reminded myself of that with every brushstroke as I did my makeup. With every pin I slipped into my hair. With every breath I took to steady the trembling in my chest.
A knock came at the door. "Ms. Brown? Your car is waiting." The person at the other side of the door said, immediately she opened the door
Of course it was.
I grabbed my small clutch, looked one last time at the woman in the mirror, and whispered under my breath,
"You don't have to feel ready. You just have to show up."
And I would.
Not for Ty Yates. Not for the cameras or the headlines or the people who'd whisper behind our backs.
But for Peter.
Because this wasn't about love, it was about sacrifice. And I'd do it a hundred times over if it meant my brother would get to live and walk.