Selene's fingers curled tightly around the crumpled medical report. Her eyes skimmed the words again, though she already knew them by heart.
*"You must conceive within six months… or you may never be able to."*
The words echoed like a curse. The air in the clinic waiting room felt stiff, her chest too tight to breathe properly. She blinked rapidly, pushing back the burn in her eyes.
*Six months. That's all I have. Six months to figure out something people spend a lifetime preparing for.*
She stood slowly, stuffing the paper into her bag. The hallway outside was quiet—until a sharp voice cracked through the silence from an office nearby.
*"I won't be forced into a marriage just to fix your image!"*
Selene froze mid-step.
The voice was deep, angry—filled with frustration. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but something about the weight in those words made her pause. Another voice followed, calmer, older, trying to reason with him.
*"It's a contract, not a life sentence. You'll do this if you want to hold your place in the company."*
There was a beat of silence, then the door suddenly burst open. A tall man stormed out, jaw tight, eyes distant. Selene instinctively stepped back into the shadows, watching as he brushed past without noticing her.
*Marriage contract…?*
Her eyes narrowed slightly, thoughts beginning to spiral. *Who agrees to something like that in real life?*
Then a voice behind the door called out, *"Zenon, come back here!"*
Selene blinked. *Zenon.* The name was unfamiliar, but the situation was not. Desperation. Pressure. A race against time.
And now… possibly, an opportunity.
——
Selene lingered just outside the company building, the crisp afternoon breeze brushing against her skin. Her fingers remained curled around the report in her coat pocket, but her thoughts had long drifted elsewhere.
Then—his voice again. Muffled, but clear enough through the glass wall behind her.
He was pacing, phone pressed tightly to his ear, jaw clenched.
*"He thinks a contract marriage will impress the business tiers? He's out of his mind. I'm not some pawn to parade around for investors."*
A pause. Then a dry, bitter laugh.
*"I'm supposed to find a woman who won't catch feelings, won't stir up drama, and agrees to disappear after a year. Where the hell am I supposed to find that?"*
Selene's breath caught.
*One year… No attachments. Just a deal.*
A year was all she needed. She didn't want love. She didn't even have the luxury of dreaming about it. She needed a way to take control of her life before time ran out.
*Would he even consider me?*
Would she dare ask?
---
He didn't glance at her when he spoke.
"Are you stalking me, miss?"
Selene jolted slightly. She had thought he was still on the phone. Her daydream shattered like glass at her feet.
She'd been standing too long—too close. Clutching the medical report to her chest like it was some kind of shield. But it wasn't. Nothing could shield her from the weight of those amber eyes now piercing through her.
She opened her mouth to apologize, to step back, to pretend none of this ever happened.
Instead, the words tumbled out.
"I'll marry you."
Silence.
Her heart stopped. *What did I just say?*
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she cursed herself silently. *No, no, no… that's not what I meant to say—not like this!*
He turned to her then, fully. Slowly. His gaze trailed over her freckled face, her flower-patterned gown, and then back up again—measuring, unreadable. A slow smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.
A sound—low and sharp—escaped him. Not quite a laugh. A chuckle laced with something dark.
Menace. Amusement. A flicker of surprise.
Her eyes dropped to the small gold tag on his tailored black suit: *Mr. Vander.*
*The Vanders…* Her breath caught. One of the most powerful names across the business tiers. *So this is him...*
Her thoughts raced. *That's why they bowed in the hallway. That's why his voice silenced a room. He's not just rich—he's untouchable. Cold. Dangerous.*
His voice cut through her spiral like a blade.
"I'm allergic to color," he said, casually, his gaze dropping to the small floral design on her dress. "And not just to the fabric…"
His amber eyes lifted again, meeting hers with a slow, sharp edge.
"…but especially to women who wear it."
Then, without waiting for her reaction, he walked past her—cool, clean, detached.
Selene stood frozen, her heart still tangled in her throat.
What had she just stepped into?
---
As his tall figure disappeared around the corner, Selene stood frozen, jaw slack.
"*Allergic to flowers?*" she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Who says that? What kind of villain walks around allergic to women in floral dresses?!"
She huffed, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Tall, dark, rude... and built like a Greek god. Great. Just my luck."
Still flustered, and painfully aware of her empty stomach, Selene flagged down a bus, eyes glancing back once more at the building. *Marriage contract, huh?*
She shook her head and climbed aboard.
Ten minutes later, she slid into a small café booth—nothing fancy, just a quiet corner and a slightly wobbly table. She peeled off her coat and sighed, rubbing her face.
"Six months to make a baby and I'm stalking emotionally unavailable billionaires," she grumbled to herself. "Real classy, Selene."
The waitress dropped a laminated menu on the table. Selene scanned it, but her attention drifted. She pulled out her phone.
"Vendo? Vandy? What's even the guy's name again? Zen something?"
She tapped open Chrome.
*Vendy Vander... Vindo Vando...* Her brow furrowed. "Oh come on, he's a whole walking bank account. I should've caught that last name right."
Beside her, a kid slurping a milkshake burst out laughing. "You don't even know how to pronounce Mr. Vander's name?"
Selene blinked. "Thanks, kiddo. I think spoiled children are strangely helpful these days."
She grinned and typed properly this time: *Zenon Vander*.
Images filled her screen instantly—paparazzi shots, magazine covers, business summits.
"Damn," she breathed. "He's hot."
Clicking on a biography link, she muttered aloud as she scrolled:
"Zenon Vander. Age: 28. Height: 6'6"... *Pfft. Of course.* Net worth—*woah, okay, that's depressing.*"
She leaned closer. "CEO of Vander Global, investor, venture capitalist... blah blah—yawn."
Then she paused. "Wait. No scandals? No love interests?"
She raised a brow. "Either he's a ghost... or he eats PR agents for breakfast."
With a devilish smirk, she kept scrolling. "I better check his meds. If I'm risking my womb here, I need to make sure he doesn't have any billionaire-specific diseases."
She sipped her cheap coffee. "So far, he looks like a bag of health. A bag of rude, smug, ridiculously tall health."
Selene dropped her phone to the table and stared at the ceiling.
"Lord, if this is my plan B, please don't let plan C involve a farm, goats, and eternal singleness."
She chuckled to herself.
But beneath it all, her fingers slowly curled around her coat pocket—where the crumpled report still sat. And the laughter, though real, didn't quite reach her eyes.
---
Selene blinked awake, a soft nudge dragging her from a dream that had already slipped away.
"Miss… we're closing."
The girl behind the café counter gave her a sheepish smile.
Selene straightened, letting out a yawn that could rival a lion's. She rubbed her eyes, then stared in disbelief at the time on her phone. "What the—? It's almost midnight?"
She smacked her forehead lightly. "Selene, how the hell do you fall asleep in a public café like a stray cat?"
Gathering her things in a scramble, she muttered curses under her breath and headed for the door. The streets were quieter than she liked—no taxis, no buses, just a hollow breeze that swept through the night like it owned the road.
She stood outside, arms folded, scanning the empty street. "Great. Not even a cockroach rolling by, let alone a cab," she grumbled.
Her roommate, the ever-gracious Karen, would definitely lock her out. She knew it. "That banshee will bolt the door and claim it's for my safety."
She stared up at the sky. "Please, just one car. I promise to be less sarcastic tomorrow."
And as if summoned by divine sarcasm, headlights glared from the distance. A sleek black car rolled toward her. She squinted, shielding her eyes with her elbow. "Seriously? Does that thing come with a spaceship license?"
She waved her arms. "Hey! Taxi vibes? No?" But the car didn't slow. It cruised right past her like she was air.
She muttered, "Tch. Not even that expensive. Bet the tires are rented."
But then—brake lights.
The car stopped.
Her heart skipped.
The car reversed.
Her brain skipped.
"Oh no. Did he hear me?" she whispered. "God, don't let me get kidnapped because of my smart mouth."
The car pulled up beside her. She cautiously leaned down, just as the tinted window slowly whirred down.
"Can you afford it?" came the same deep, dry voice that haunted boardrooms and probably nightmares.
---
"Mr. Vander," she blurted out before she could stop herself.
His head tilted slightly, his fingers still resting on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead. That low, dark chuckle escaped his throat again.
"Seems like someone's been doing their homework."
Selene stiffened. Her heart skipped, panic setting in—*crap, he thinks I've been stalking him again.*
"I wasn't stalking you... I was—"
He cut in sharply, his tone dropping into something firmer. "Stay away from the lights."
The seriousness in his voice made her freeze. She glanced down and saw how her dress shimmered under the glow. A quiet groan left her lips as she stepped back into the shadows, her flowery gown reluctantly leaving the spotlight.
She gave him a look, dry and sarcastic. "Remind me again—what exactly are you allergic to? Light or women in florals?"
He didn't answer. His hand moved to the ignition.
Realizing he was about to drive off, panic flared again. "Slip of tongue!" she blurted, rushing toward the car. "Okay? I need help. Just… a ride home. Nothing else. No weird stares. No stalking accusations. Please."
She closed her eyes for a second, bracing for rejection.
"Take it off."
Her eyes flew open, and she looked down at her shoes, already lifting a foot before he stopped her.
"No. The gown."
His voice was cool, unapologetic—and that's when he turned to finally look at her.
For a second, the air thinned between them.
Selene stood frozen, her mouth opening and closing without a single word coming out. His amber eyes scanned her freckled face, her wide black eyes, and that confused expression like she'd walked into a dare she didn't fully understand.
She clutched her bag tighter, stomach flipping. *What kind of man says that with a straight face?*
But he didn't smile. He was serious. Calm. Untouchable.
And for a moment, Selene couldn't decide if she wanted to curse him… or be him.