POV: Alina Maxwell
The silence between them was deep and heavy, like a chasm full of unsaid things. Alina sat across from Aiden King in what he called his "private office"—a space that felt more like a fortress, with towering windows framing a city she'd never truly belonged to. Was she really about to sell herself into silence for three years?
Her fingers were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. The contract between them looked clinical, cold — filled with words she barely understood but knew would change everything.
"Three years," Aiden said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet, and Alina lifted her eyes to meet his, noting the way the afternoon light streaming through the windows cast shadows across his face that made him look older, more serious, somehow untouchable in a way that made her wonder if she had imagined the vulnerability she thought she had seen in that alley just days ago.
"Three years of marriage," she repeated, the words foreign in her mouth. Across the desk, his expression shifted—was it relief or just the satisfaction of a deal sealed?
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, and Alina found herself studying the way his fingers drummed against the armrest in a rhythm that seemed almost nervous, though she couldn't imagine Aiden King being nervous about anything, least of all a conversation with someone like her.
"The terms are straightforward," he continued, reaching for the contract and flipping to a page that had been marked with several yellow tabs, his movements efficient and practiced in a way that made her realize he had probably prepared for this conversation long before she had walked through the door.
"You'll live in my penthouse for the duration of our arrangement. Public appearances will be required—charity events, business dinners, family gatherings. You'll be introduced as my wife, and you'll play the part convincingly." His eyes met hers across the desk, dark and unreadable, and she felt a shiver run down her spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning humming quietly in the background.
"In exchange," he said, his voice dropping to something that was almost gentle, though she suspected that gentleness was more about business strategy than any real concern for her feelings, "your student loans will be paid in full. You'll receive a monthly allowance that should more than cover your living expenses, and when our arrangement ends, you'll walk away with enough money to pursue whatever career you choose without financial constraint."
Alina nodded slowly, her mind racing as she tried to process the magnitude of what he was offering, the kind of financial security she had never dared to dream about, the freedom to become a teacher without worrying about whether she could afford groceries or rent or the thousand small expenses that had kept her awake at night for as long as she could remember.
"And the boundaries?" she asked.
"No romantic entanglements," he said bluntly, the words falling between them with the weight of stones dropped into still water, and Alina felt something inside her chest twist painfully, though she couldn't quite identify what it was—disappointment, maybe, or relief, or perhaps just the ache of acknowledging a truth she had been trying not to think about.
"I want to be clear about this, Alina," he continued, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk as he fixed her with a stare that seemed to see right through her.
"This is a business arrangement. Nothing more. I won't pretend to feel something I don't, and I won't expect you to, either. We'll share a living space, we'll appear together in public when necessary, but beyond that..." He trailed off, shrugging slightly.
"Beyond that, we live separate lives," she finished for him, and he nodded, something that might have been approval flickering in his eyes.
"Exactly." He paused, his fingers stilling against the armrest, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight that made her breath catch in her throat. "There's something else you should know."
"I'm in love with someone else," he said finally, the words coming out in a rush that suggested he had been holding them back for far too long, and Alina felt the air leave her lungs in a whoosh that left her dizzy and disoriented, as if someone had just told her that gravity had stopped working and she was about to float away.
"Her name is Veronica," he continued, his voice softer now, gentler in a way that made Alina's chest ache with a longing she couldn't name. "She's a doctor. She's working in Chicago right now, finishing her residency, but she'll be back eventually, and when she is..." He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. The implication hung in the air between them, heavy and unavoidable.
"Does she know?" Alina asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it, and she watched as pain flickered across Aiden's features, quick and sharp and immediately hidden behind that wall of professional indifference he wore like armor.
"She knows I have feelings for her," he said carefully, as if each word had been weighed and measured before being allowed past his lips. "She doesn't know about this arrangement. She can't know. Not yet."
Alina nodded, though she wasn't sure why, her mind spinning as she tried to process the full scope of what she was agreeing to—not just a fake marriage, but a fake marriage to a man who was in love with someone else, someone beautiful and accomplished and everything that Alina knew she herself was not.
"Why me?" she asked suddenly, the question bursting out of her before she could consider whether she really wanted to know the answer. "You could have chosen anyone. Someone from your social circle, someone who would fit into your world without any effort at all. Why choose someone like me?"
"Because," he said finally, his eyes returning to hers with an intensity that made her feel like she was drowning, "someone from my world would have expectations. They would want this to be real. They would think they could change my mind, make me fall in love with them instead." He shook his head slowly, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're practical. You understand that this is temporary, that it's not about emotion or romance or any of the fairy tale nonsense that most women seem to believe in. You need the money, I need a wife. It's simple."
The words hit her like a slap, cold and sharp and more painful than she had expected, and Alina felt her cheeks burn with a mixture of hurt and embarrassment that she hoped he couldn't see. She wanted to argue, to tell him that she wasn't as immune to fairy tale nonsense as he seemed to think, that somewhere deep inside her was a girl who had always dreamed of being chosen for something other than her practicality and her desperate need for financial security.
But she didn't say any of that. Instead, she nodded again, her throat tight with words she couldn't speak, and reached for the pen he had placed beside the contract.
"The wedding will be small," Aiden continued, his voice returning to that businesslike tone that somehow made everything feel both more real and less real at the same time. "Just immediate family and a few close friends. My grandfather insists on at least the appearance of tradition, even if the substance is lacking."
"Alina," Aiden said, and something in his voice made her look up, made her meet his eyes even though she felt like she might shatter if she had to maintain that connection for much longer. "You don't have to do this. If you've changed your mind, if this is too much to ask..."
She almost laughed at that, though she wasn't sure if it would have come out as laughter or something closer to a sob. Too much to ask? He was offering her everything she had ever dreamed of—financial security, the chance to pursue her career without the constant weight of debt dragging her down, a life free from the kind of grinding poverty that had defined her existence for as long as she could remember.
All she had to do was pretend to be married to a man who was in love with someone else, live in his house like a ghost, smile at his friends and family while knowing that she would never be anything more than a convenient solution to his problems.
"I haven't changed my mind," she said quietly, and before she could lose her nerve, she pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name in careful, deliberate strokes, each letter feeling like a small surrender, a piece of herself that she was giving away in exchange for the promise of a better future.
"Three years," he said again, reaching for the contract and closing it with a soft thud.
"Three years," Alina agreed.
The silence stretched between them, deafening in its completeness, until Alina finally stood, her legs unsteady beneath her, and walked toward the door without looking back, because she was afraid that if she did, she might see something in Aiden's eyes that would make her realize just how much she had already begun to lose.