The week after Dad's funeral moves like fog-heavy, shapeless, and impossible to escape. I wake up, help Mom, make Liam breakfast, follow up with the people handling the paperwork, check the bills, and stare at job listings until my vision blurs. Everything feels like it's happening around me instead of with me. I'm present, but not really living. Grief sits in my chest like an unmoving weight, and yet the world keeps demanding things I don't have the strength to give.
By Friday morning, I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open and my head in my hands when my phone buzzes.
Nova, my best friend from college.
I found something, her message reads.
Don't freak out. Just come to this address. Wear something presentable.
I stare at the text for a long second, unsure whether to feel grateful or terrified. Nova is the one person who always tries to help, even when her ideas are... unconventional. She's impulsive, dramatic, and refuses to let me drown in my own sadness. But she also has a habit of throwing me into situations I'm not emotionally prepared for.
I sigh and text her back.
Is it an admin job? Office work? Anything normal?
Her reply comes too fast.
Just come. Trust me.
Which basically means it's not normal.
But bills don't care about my comfort zone, and debt doesn't wait until I'm emotionally stable. So I change into the best outfit I own-simple black trousers and a cream blouse that doesn't make me look like I'm falling apart-and tie my hair back before telling Mom I'm stepping out.
The address leads me to a building I've only seen from a distance.
A towering glass structure that looks like the type of place where people own yachts and speak in investment terms I don't understand.
"Nova," I mutter under my breath, "what have you done?"
Inside, everything smells expensive. The marble floor is polished to a mirror shine, and the air feels too clean, too cold, too far from the life I'm living right now. A receptionist greets me with a polite smile and directs me to the forty-second floor.
My heart starts thudding with each elevator ding as we rise.
What kind of job interview happens in a suite at the top of a skyscraper?
When the doors open, I step out into a hallway lined with dark wood panels and soft lighting. It doesn't look like an office. It looks like a luxury hotel. There's only one door with a golden number plate-4201.
I raise a shaky hand and knock.
A moment passes before the door swings open, revealing Nova. She looks too excited, like someone who knows they're about to be yelled at but believes the outcome is worth it.
"I swear," I whisper, stepping inside, "this better not be illegal."
"It's not illegal," she says too cheerfully. "Maybe unusual. But legal."
"Nova-"
"Just breathe. I told you I'd help. And I am."
The suite is huge-double-height windows, a view of the entire city, furniture so elegant I'm afraid to touch anything. And sitting on the far end of the living area, in front of a glass wall, is a man I recognize even though we've never met.
Broad shoulders. A tailored charcoal suit. Dark hair styled with effortless precision. The kind of presence that makes everything around him feel smaller.
Asher Sterling.
The name hits me like a jolt.
He's the billionaire whose face appears in business articles, charity galas, "world's youngest CEO" lists. I know his name the way people know the weather forecast-constant, everywhere, impossible to ignore.
He's looking out the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of water. Even from behind, he radiates a cold, controlled energy that feels intimidating.
I turn to Nova, eyes wide.
"You brought me to him? What job could I possibly-"
Before I finish, Asher Sterling turns.
And everything in me stills.
His gaze locks with mine-sharp, assessing, unreadable. Eyes the color of storm clouds, but colder. He doesn't greet me or offer a smile. He simply observes, like he's evaluating whether I'm a problem or a solution.
"Ms. Wynn," he says finally. His voice is calm, low, and impossibly steady. "Sit."
He gestures to the sofa across from him.
I shoot Nova a glare that promises revenge, but my legs move on their own. I sit, feeling about two inches tall, while Nova slides onto the seat beside me with way more confidence than she should have.
Asher sets his glass down.
"I assume your friend explained the position."
Nova straightens. "I did!" she lies boldly.
My entire body tenses.
"No, she didn't," I say before she can fabricate more details. "I have no idea what kind of job this is. I was told to dress nicely and show up."
His gaze flicks to Nova, unimpressed.
Nova winces. "Okay, so maybe I didn't fully explain it. I didn't think she'd come if I told her."
"Explain it now," I say, crossing my arms.
Nova takes a deep breath, bracing herself.
"Elara... you're going to be his wife."
My mouth falls open. "His what?!"
Asher doesn't react. Not a raised eyebrow. Not a flinch. Nothing. He sits like a statue carved from ice.
Nova rushes on. "Not a real wife. A temporary one. A fake one. A contract. A mutually beneficial arrangement. And completely legal!"
"I-no. Absolutely not. Are you insane?" I stand up, but Nova tugs my wrist.
"Just listen!"
"No. Nova, I came for a real job, not-whatever this is."
Asher speaks, cutting through our argument with crisp precision.
"It is a real job, Ms. Wynn. And it pays more than you'll earn anywhere else without a degree."
I freeze.
His voice is calm, but the weight behind his words is impossible to ignore.
"Sit," he says again.
Something about his tone makes it difficult to disobey. I sit, heart pounding, palms sweating.
"Why... would anyone need a fake wife?" I manage to ask, though my voice sounds thin.
He leans back slightly, considering how much to share.
"My grandmother," he says finally, "is ill. She believes I'm incapable of forming meaningful connections. She wants to see me settled before she..." He pauses, the smallest break in his otherwise flawless composure. "Before things get worse. She's stubborn. And she is also the majority shareholder of my company."
I swallow.
"Her condition for transferring her shares to me," he continues, "is that I marry someone she approves of. Someone who seems genuine. Someone who is not part of this world."
I blink. "And you chose me?"
"No," he says bluntly. "Nova gave me your profile."
I turn slowly toward Nova, disbelief flooding me.
"You gave him my what?"
"My best friend is smart, responsible, kind, and looks like someone a grandmother would instantly love," she says in one breath. "And she desperately needs a job. I connected the dots!"
Connected the dots? She practically redrew the entire universe.
I look back at Asher. "Why not hire an actress? Someone professional?"
"Actresses are trained to lie," he says simply. "My grandmother would see through it."
"And I won't?"
"You aren't trained to be anything." His gaze sweeps over me. "You're honest in a way that can't be manufactured."
It should feel like a compliment, but his tone makes it sound like an observation. A fact. A decision already made.
I press my trembling hands between my knees.
"What exactly would this... arrangement involve?"
"No intimacy," he says immediately. "No expectations. No romantic involvement. No physical requirements outside of public appearances." He looks right at me, voice steady. "You would live with me. Attend certain events with me. Act as though we are building a relationship. Nothing more."
I exhale shakily.
"And your grandmother believes you're in a relationship now?" I ask.
"She believes we met three months ago," he says without hesitation. "Which means you'll need to know the story we've created."
My head feels too light. My thoughts too tangled.
"And how long does this last?"
"Six months," he replies.
Six months.
Of pretending to be someone's wife.
Someone like Asher Sterling.
Nova nudges me. "Elara, the money-"
"How much?" I interrupt, unable to stop myself.
Asher folds his hands. "Ten thousand a month. Plus living expenses. Plus coverage for your family's financial needs during the contract."
My breath stops.
That amount would fix everything.
Every bill.
Every debt.
Mom's stress.
Liam's schooling.
The mortgage.
The weight crushing me every day.
It's too good. Too big. Too unreal.
And that's what makes it terrifying.
"Why me?" I whisper.
For the first time, something softens in his expression-not warmth, not emotion, but a flicker of something like understanding.
"Because you don't want anything from me," he says quietly. "And that may be the first honest advantage I've ever had."
I stare at him, heart beating too fast.
Nova squeezes my hand. "You don't have to say yes. But at least think about it."
Asher rises slowly, and the room feels smaller when he stands.
He steps closer, stopping a respectful distance from me, but his presence is overwhelming.
"I won't force you," he says. "But I need an answer within twenty-four hours."
My pulse thunders in my ears. "Why so fast?"
"Because my grandmother wants to meet you this weekend."
I swallow hard.
"This is insane," I whisper.
"Yes," he agrees calmly. "But it solves your problems, and it solves mine."
He holds my gaze, unblinking.
"Will you take the job, Ms. Wynn?"
My answer trembles on the edge of my tongue.
Between logic and desperation.
Between fear and survival.
And the truth is terrifying.
Because for the first time since my dad died, I feel something spark inside me-
a shift, a possibility, a path I never imagined.
I don't say yes.
I don't say no.
I stand, my hands unsteady, and meet the eyes of the man who might change the entire trajectory of my life.
"I need to think," I whisper.
Asher gives a single, accepting nod.
"Twenty-four hours," he repeats.
And as I leave the suite, with Nova trailing behind me, my heart feels caught between two frightening realities:
The life I'm barely surviving...
and the one waiting for me if I dare to say yes.