"Can you believe it's already past midnight?" I muttered to myself, wiping the last greasy spot off the table.
"You still here?" called out Mr. Garrett from behind the counter. "Everyone else left hours ago."
"Yeah, I stayed to finish up. I could use the extra hours," I replied, stretching my aching arms.
"You're a hard worker, Ava. Take the rest of the bread on your way out."
"Thanks," I said, grabbing my coat and slipping a few rolls into my bag. "Saves me dinner."
Outside, the wind slapped me hard. I winced and pulled my collar up.
"Great," I mumbled. "Just what I need—ice-cold wind and no gloves."
The street was dead silent. My boots clacked on the pavement as I hurried toward the bus stop.
"Ava Leclair?"
I turned sharply.
A sleek black car had pulled up beside me, windows dark as ink.
"I said, Ava Leclair?"
I squinted as the back window rolled down, revealing a man in a black suit.
"Who wants to know?" I asked, inching away.
"I'm just the messenger," he said calmly, holding out an envelope. "This is for you. It's important."
"What is it?"
"Just read it. That's all I can say."
I hesitated, then reached out and took it. The window slid up. The car drove off without a sound.
"What the hell..." I murmured, staring at the envelope under the streetlight. This was suspicious. Something screamed at me to not open it.
I opened it.
"Dear Miss Leclair," I read aloud quietly, "You are invited to marry Mr. Damien Virelli... for the period of one year..."
I stopped. "Wait, what?"
I flipped through the letter again, eyes scanning every word.
"One million dollars... no questions... no leaving... no press..."
My hands trembled. Damien Virelli. All I knew about him was that he's one of the wealthiest and most powerful young men in Oaksea city. I'd only seen him on the papers and on television. A few days ago, he was on a television show where he got interviewed about how he made it to the top and he simply said: "Being ruthless brought me this far."
"One year. Just one year... I marry a stranger for a million dollars?"
I shook my head. Not just a stranger. Damien Virelli. The arrogant and cruel billionaire.
I dropped to the bench by the bus stop and pulled out a photo from my bag. Lily.
"God, Lily... what am I supposed to do?" I whispered to the photo. "Your hospital bills are eating me alive."
I rubbed my face. "No insurance, no savings, just a waitress uniform and unpaid rent."
I looked at the silver card again. "Do I really call this number?"
When I got back home and got into the bed. I didn't sleep. My head ached.
How did Damien Virelli know of my existence, much less offering to marry me for one year on contract?
What could be the motive behind this offer?
The sun rose. My phone was cold in my hand.
I needed to pay bills and save my sister's life. Whatever motive was behind this offer, I'll find out eventually. But by then, Lily would be alright.
I called.
A calm voice answered. "Miss Leclair?"
"Yes."
"You've accepted the offer?"
"...I have."
"Pack one small bag. Nothing more. Do not tell anyone. A car will arrive at six."
"Okay..."
When the call ended, I looked around my apartment.
"Thin walls, peeling tiles, broken heater... goodbye, I guess."
I packed a few clothes, grabbed my ID, and held Lily's photo to my chest. The contract said I'll get a million dollars after the wedding. With that, Lily will stay in a good apartment after she's out of the hospital.
At six, I heard the hum of an engine. The same black car.
The driver didn't speak. Just nodded.
We drove for about one hour.
"Where are we going?" I asked once.
Silence.
City lights turned to trees, then fields. The sky stretched endlessly gray.
We stopped at a private airstrip. A jet waited.
"Is that... for me?" I asked.
A woman in a navy-blue suit stepped forward. "Miss Leclair?"
"Yes."
"Come with me."
Inside the jet, I was the only passenger. She guided me to a seat.
"How long is the flight?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
I stared out the window the entire time. Reading the letter again. I read it five times. Maybe there was a clue somewhere that I'd missed. Was I someone I didn't even know I was?
Did any of this have to do with an identity I didn't know I possessed?
We landed on a lush island. A white house sat proudly on a cliff.
"This way," another woman said, meeting me at the steps. "You'll be taken to your room to prepare."
"For what? The wedding?"
"Yes. In one hour."
I blinked. "No dress?"
"Not necessary."
"Flowers?"
"Also not necessary."
I was handed a robe. The woman pointed to a door. "Change inside. Then wait."
An hour later, I stood in a marble room with ceilings that reached the sky.
"He's late," I muttered to myself.
Footsteps echoed. A tall man in a black suit stepped in.
He looked like he belonged on the front page of a business magazine—sharp cheekbones, ice in his eyes. My heart missed a beat as I saw him. His presence was magnetic. He didn't really look at me. A few men had accompanied him.
They were his body guards and they were all sharply dressed in grey suits. They stood at a respectable distance from him.
"You're Damien Virelli?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
The lawyer stepped forward. "Let's proceed."
I blinked. "Wait, no vows? No rings? No detailed explanation for why I'm signing the contract?"
"This is a legal agreement," the lawyer said. "Not a celebration."
Papers were signed.
"That's it?" I asked, turning to Damien.
He was already walking out.
"Seriously?" I muttered.
The lawyer handed me a copy of the contract. "Someone will show you to your room."
Another woman appeared. "Follow me."
Up to the third floor we went.
"This is your room. Meals arrive at set times. Do not go into the east wing. If you need anything, use the phone."
I opened my mouth, then closed it. She was already gone.
I walked to the desk, sat down, opened a drawer.
A notebook, some pens... and a photo.
I picked it up.
My stomach dropped.
"Who is this?"
The woman in the photo... she looked just like me.
Exactly like me.
"Same eyes... same face... but it's not me."
I turned the photo over. No writing.
My hand trembled. My head spun.
"Who is she? And why am I here?"