My mouth fell open as I stared up at the stranger in the navy suit.
My heart was still racing from nearly getting hit by that truck. My pulse thudded so loudly in my ears I could barely hear the blaring horns of jeepneys on the avenue behind us.
"W-what did you say?" I stammered, pulling my wrist from his grip.
The man tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes.
"I said, I was just talking about you to my mother," he repeated, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to say to a complete stranger.
My mind spun.
I took a cautious step backward, my eyes darting around. People were passing us on the sidewalk—office workers rushing to lunch, security guards, a few students in uniforms. But nobody seemed to notice the drama unfolding between us.
He kept his gaze locked on mine.
"And who the hell are you?" I demanded.
His lips curved into a slow, almost lazy smile.
"I'm Lance Villanueva," he said, as though the name should mean something to me.
It took me a moment. Then it clicked.
I'd heard that name countless times on the news. Lance Villanueva. CEO of Villanueva Holdings, a massive conglomerate that owned shopping malls, resorts, tech startups, and half the billboards along EDSA.
He was one of those ridiculously rich businessmen people whispered about in salons and coffee shops. He was always popping up on social media gossip pages, usually pictured with models or at black-tie events.
But… why the hell was he talking to me?
I crossed my arms over my chest, my voice shaking.
"What do you want from me?"
Lance chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth.
"Relax, Miss Santos," he said. "I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, I just saved your life, didn't I?"
I blinked at him, still trying to process everything.
"That truck would've flattened you," he added, glancing over his shoulder toward the road.
I bit my lip, refusing to admit he was right.
Instead, I snapped, "Well, thank you, I guess. Now if you'll excuse me."
I tried to walk around him, but he gently caught my arm again.
"Maya."
The sound of my name in his mouth made me stiffen.
"How do you know my name?" I demanded.
He gave me a faint, almost apologetic smile.
"It's my job to know things," he said.
I pulled my arm free once more. "Well, you're creeping me out. Goodbye."
But before I could leave, he turned slightly and gestured behind me.
"Mama, nandito na siya." ("Mom, she's here now.")
My brows knitted together in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
I turned and nearly collided with an elegant woman in a red dress.
She was wearing diamond earrings so big they could have paid for my entire college tuition. Her hair was in a sleek bun, and her makeup looked like it was done by a professional stylist.
She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at me.
"Who is this, Lance?" she said in a cool voice, switching easily to English.
Lance slipped his arm lightly around my shoulders.
"This is the woman I've been talking about," he said smoothly. "The woman I'm marrying today."
My jaw dropped open.
"What?!" I yelled.
The woman blinked, clearly as stunned as I was. "Pardon me?"
Lance squeezed my shoulder, ignoring the way I tried to squirm out of his grasp.
"You thought I was joking, right, Mom?" he said, flashing a charming grin. "I told you I'd be getting married today."
The woman, Lance's mother looked like someone had slapped her across the face.
"Lance, what kind of nonsense is this?" she snapped. "You're not marrying anyone today!"
A man in a dark suit approached quickly and leaned toward Lance's mother, whispering urgently in her ear.
She listened, her eyes widening slightly. Then she sighed, pressing a manicured hand to her chest.
"Right now? Fine. I'll attend to it," she said to the man.
She gave Lance one last exasperated look. "We're discussing this at home."
With that, she turned on her stiletto heel and strode off toward a waiting black luxury car. A uniformed driver held the door for her.
Seconds later, the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into Manila traffic.
As soon as she was gone, I yanked my arm away from Lance.
"What the hell was that about?" I demanded, my voice rising again.
My emotions were stretched so thin, I felt like I was about to burst into tears again.
First Jules. Now this mysterious billionaire announcing to his mother that we were getting married.
I stared at him, feeling like I'd stepped into some twisted alternate reality.
"Are you crazy?!" I cried. "I don't even know you!"
Lance seemed completely unfazed.
"You seem startled," he said calmly, brushing imaginary dust off his suit sleeve. "That's a new reaction. Usually women get a bit more… excited."
I gaped at him. "Excited?! You just declared to your mother that we're getting married!"
He tilted his head, studying my face like I was an interesting puzzle.
"Listen, Miss Santos. I don't have time to explain everything right here. But I'm serious."
He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a sleek black business card.
He held it out to me.
"I have a proposition for you," he said. "A marriage. In exchange for anything you want."
I stared at the card as though it might explode.
My hand hovered uncertainly.
"A marriage? For money?" I choked out. "What do you think I am—a prostitute?"
Lance raised an eyebrow. "No. I think you're a woman who needs help. And I'm offering it."
My cheeks burned.
"You don't know anything about me!"
"Oh, but I do," Lance said softly. "I know your boyfriend, Jules Ramirez, just married your best friend inside that ballroom. I know he scammed you out of two hundred thousand pesos. I know you're currently homeless, jobless, and have nowhere to go."
My breath caught in my throat.
"How… how do you know that?"
Lance's dark eyes glinted.
"I have my ways," he said. "I keep track of people who interest me."
I shook my head wildly.
"This is insane. I'm not marrying a stranger for money. No matter how rich you are."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
"It wouldn't be real. Just a contract. For one year. You'd be my wife on paper. That's all."
I felt like my brain was short-circuiting.
"A contract?" I echoed weakly.
"Yes," he said. "And you name your price."
I blinked at him.
"You're serious?"
He nodded once. "Dead serious."
"Why?" I whispered. "Why me?"
Lance smirked. "You'll find out. If you're interested."
He slipped the business card into my trembling hand and gave me one last look.
"Call me if you decide you'd like to change your life," he said softly.
Then he turned, gesturing to a man who'd been standing quietly nearby the whole time.
"Marco. We're late for the meeting."
"Yes, Mr. Villanueva," the man said in a flat voice.
Seconds later, Lance climbed into a black SUV idling at the curb.
The engine purred to life. The car pulled away into Manila traffic, leaving me standing there, clutching his business card like it might save me from drowning.
I stared at the card, my hands trembling.
Printed in clean white letters, it read:
Lance Villanueva
CEO, Villanueva Holdings
I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling in my throat.
First Jules and Bianca. Now a billionaire offering to marry me for cash.
I pressed a trembling hand to my forehead, feeling sweat trickling down my temple despite the cold breeze coming off the hotel's aircon vents.
"Putang ina," I muttered under my breath, not even caring who heard me. ("Son of a bitch.")
This had to be the worst day of my entire life.