The scent of freesia clung to Selene Hart's skin like hope—faint, fading, and impossible to hold.
It was her mother's favorite flower. Lila's too.
But now it filled the tiny flower shop like an elegy.
She stood behind the counter, her trembling fingers wrapped around a length of fraying ribbon. The bouquet she was trying to finish was meant for a funeral—a white mix of lilies and freesias. A little mercy for someone else's grief. Her fingers kept slipping. The ribbon kept tangling. And her breath felt too heavy for her chest.
How many sympathy arrangements had she made lately?
Too many.
Not for customers—for herself.
Each stem she trimmed was a prayer. Each petal, a desperate wish. Every bouquet she wrapped was a quiet battle against a future she couldn't afford to face. Lila was getting worse. The doctors tried to sound optimistic, but Selene knew better.
She wasn't stupid. She'd seen the scans. She'd heard the quiet conversations outside the hospital room. The ones doctors thought she couldn't hear.
The cancer was winning.
And they were out of time.
The bell over the door jingled softly.
Selene flinched, quickly straightening and swiping a tear off her cheek.
Mrs. Conway from the bakeshop stepped inside with her usual warm smile and a dusting of powdered sugar on her apron. She took her weekly bouquet from the counter, leaving behind a few kind words, a tin of cookies, and a tip that Selene should've refused—but didn't.
The door closed.
The shop fell silent again. The only sound was the soft hum of the fridge in the back—like a fading heartbeat.
Selene leaned against the counter. For a moment, she closed her eyes.
Then her phone rang.
The screen glowed: Unknown Caller.
Her stomach flipped.
No one calls with good news anymore.
She answered with a shaky voice. "Hello?"
"Miss Hart?"
"Yes?"
"This is Westbridge Memorial. You need to come in immediately. There's been a complication with your sister's treatment."
The ribbon slipped from her fingers. It hit the ground like a noose unraveling.
---
The hospital hallway was too bright. Too white. Too cold.
Selene ran through it like a shadow trying to outrun grief.
Her apron was still on. Her coat only halfway over her shoulders. She hadn't even tied her sneakers. Her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat as she pushed through the doors of the oncology ward.
Nurses turned. None of them smiled.
Then she saw Dr. Koji standing outside Lila's room, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Doctor—"
"She's stable," he said, before she could collapse. "But her body isn't responding to the current treatment anymore. The tumor has progressed aggressively."
Selene swallowed. "Then… switch it. Start a new one."
He gave her that look—the one all doctors learn in medical school. Compassion laced with finality.
"It's a newer drug. Intensive. But it works. The survival rate improves significantly."
"Then give it to her."
"It requires immediate payment, Selene."
Her heart sank.
"How much?"
"For the first phase alone? Seventy-five thousand. Upfront."
She blinked. "That's... that's not possible."
"I'm sorry."
Sorry.
Everyone was always sorry.
Her father had been sorry when he gambled away the company's legacy. Her mother was sorry every time she couldn't afford groceries. She was sorry when she couldn't be both sister and parent to Lila, no matter how hard she tried.
Selene turned away.
She pushed through the hospital door and stepped into Lila's room like a ghost.
Her little sister lay curled under sterile white sheets. Her skin had turned pale, almost translucent. Her hair—what was left of it—clung to her skull in wisps.
But when Lila looked up, she smiled.
"Did you bring me lemon candy?"
Selene laughed wetly. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out the one wrapped candy she'd saved. Always one.
"You're predictable," Lila teased weakly.
"And you're annoying," Selene replied, brushing a hand over her sister's forehead. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that?"
"I like the drama."
Selene choked on a laugh. "You're evil."
"I learned from the best."
They sat in silence. Her hand around Lila's frail one. The machines beeped softly, counting moments, measuring life.
Selene stared at her baby sister and thought—
How do you tell someone that their life has a price tag?
And that you can't afford it?
---
It was night when Selene stepped out of the hospital.
She hadn't cried. Not yet.
The cold air hit her like a slap, slicing through her thin coat, dragging goosebumps up her arms. She turned toward the bus stop.
Then stopped.
A sleek black car was idling by the curb. Tinted windows. Engine purring like a predator.
A man in a black suit stepped out. Tall. Imposing. Familiar.
"Miss Hart," he said with perfect calm. "Mr. Blackwell will see you now."
Selene blinked.
"Excuse me?"
He handed her a thick envelope.
Inside was a single page of thick, embossed paper. At the bottom, written in stark ink, was a name she hadn't seen in five years.
Dante Blackwell.
Her breath caught.
No. No, it couldn't be.
She hadn't heard that name since the scandal that destroyed her family—since her father's downfall. Since her mother's breakdown. Since her last name had become a whisper no one dared say in polite company.
All because of him.
What did he want now?
---
The elevator doors opened into a penthouse office of glass and steel. Cold. Unforgiving. Like the man behind the desk.
Dante Blackwell didn't stand when she entered.
He didn't have to.
Selene stopped just past the threshold.
He was exactly as she remembered—tall, sharply built, ruthlessly elegant. Black shirt, no tie. Cufflinks glinting like knives. Hair neatly slicked back. And those eyes—gray as granite, colder than winter.
"Why am I here?" she said, her voice flat.
He didn't answer. Just slid a folder across the marble desk.
She opened it.
Her stomach dropped.
It was everything. Her sister's records. The hospital bills. Her job history. Even her side gig at the diner.
"You've been spying on me," she whispered.
Dante leaned back in his chair, calm as a king surveying a ruined kingdom.
"No, Selene. I've been waiting."
Her name in his voice made her flinch.
"You ruined my family."
"Your father stole from me."
"He made one mistake!"
"He signed a confession."
She glared. "You blackmailed him—"
"I have it framed, if you'd like to see."
Her hands trembled. "What do you want?"
He stood.
Walked around the desk.
And said the words that shattered her world.
"I'll pay for Lila's treatment. All of it."
She stared. Disbelieving. "What's the catch?"
His eyes met hers.
"Your hand in marriage."
Silence.
She laughed. A short, brittle sound. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
"You're insane."
"You need seventy-five thousand," he said. "I have it. You give me one year. As my wife."
"Why me?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he said, "We marry. You move into my house. Wear my ring. Smile for the press. After twelve months, we divorce. You get your freedom. And your sister."
"Why?"
"It's business."
"Bullshit. Is this revenge?"
His gaze flickered.
Maybe. Maybe not.
"All you need to do," he said coldly, "is sign."
---
She ran.
Back to the hospital.
Back to Lila's bedside.
She sat through the night with the contract in her lap, the pen clutched between white-knuckled fingers.
At 5 a.m., she signed.
---
The wedding took ten minutes.
A courthouse. A bored judge. No music. No family. Just ink, rings, and regret.
Dante didn't smile.
He didn't speak.
He simply slid the diamond onto her finger, cool and precise, like a
collar being fastened around her throat.
He leaned in.
And whispered, "Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwell."
His breath was warm.
His tone was ice.
Selene stood beside him like a statue, her entire world rearranged.
She had saved her sister.
But at what cost?