For a moment, Amelia wondered if exhaustion had finally pushed her into hallucinating.
Luca Moretti stood in front of her in perfect suit, unreadable expression, power radiating off him like heat from asphalt and she felt suddenly, painfully underdressed.
"This must be a mistake," she said, gripping the audition form. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for the modeling—"
"I said cancel it," Luca repeated, glancing at the coordinator behind him. His tone was smooth, but final. "I'll handle her."
Handle her?
Handle WHAT?
The coordinator nodded instantly, of course he did. Luca Moretti could have walked in and asked for the building and they'd hand it over without blinking.
Amelia stepped back. "No. Absolutely not. I don't know who you think you are, but—"
"Luca Moretti," he reminded calmly. "And I know exactly who I am. I also know when someone's desperate."
Her stomach lurched.
"What makes you think I'm desperate?"
He held her gaze.
"You're wearing hospital tags on your wrist," he said quietly.
"And carrying a scholarship termination letter in your bag."
She froze.
He noticed that?
In the chaos of their collision?
In the two seconds she dropped her things?
His attention was unsettling, almost surgical.
Her throat tightened. "That doesn't give you the right to assume anything."
"No," he agreed. "But it gives me the right to offer you something."
She hated how her heart stuttered.
"And what exactly could you offer me?" she asked, crossing her arms.
His answer was immediate.
"A solution."
She blinked.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer that matters."
Luca stepped closer, not enough to touch her, but close enough that she felt the shift in gravity.
Close enough that the air tightened.
"You have problems," he said.
"I have a proposal. Let's discuss it in private."
"No," she said instantly. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Good," he said. "You shouldn't."
Her brows lifted.
"Then why did you ask?"
"I wanted to see if you were stupid."
She gaped. "Excuse me?"
He slipped his hands into his pockets, completely unbothered.
"Reckless people don't interest me. You hesitated. You assessed the situation. You pushed back." His eyes scanned her slowly, intentionally.
"It confirms what I suspected."
"What?"
"You're not like the other women who chase money," he said.
"You're not looking for glamour. You're looking for survival."
Her pulse thudded.
"And I need someone exactly like that."
Unease crept up her spine.
"What do you mean?"
Luca studied her a second longer, then motioned toward the hallway.
"There's a lounge down the hall. Public. Glass walls. Cameras everywhere. We'll talk there."
She hesitated.
His gaze softened, barely.
"Nothing will happen to you," he added.
"I don't do chaos. I don't do surprises. And I don't…."
His jaw tightened.
"…hurt people without reason."
Not exactly comforting. But honest.
And honesty from a man like him felt rare.
After a moment, Amelia exhaled shakily and nodded.
"Fine," she said. "Ten minutes. That's all I can give."
"That's all I need."
The lounge was quiet, dimly lit, and expensive enough to make her feel like she should tiptoe. Luca ordered nothing. Sat perfectly still. Every inch of him was controlled, composed.
Amelia felt like a messy scribble beside him.
"So," she said, forcing confidence into her voice. "Your 'proposal'?"
Luca leaned back, eyes never leaving hers.
"I need a wife."
She choked on her own breath.
"A what?"
"A wife," he repeated as casually as if he were requesting a new pen.
"This is a joke," she muttered. "It has to be."
"No. I don't joke."
He clasped his hands together. "A temporary marriage. A one-year arrangement."
Her mouth fell open.
"You're insane."
"If I were insane, the board wouldn't be trying to replace me," he said sharply.
She stiffened.
"The board?"
He nodded once.
"They think I'm unfit to remain CEO. They're pushing for a vote. A marriage, they believe one that appears stable, clean, and grounded will silence the rumors."
Amelia stared at him, stunned.
"So… I'm supposed to help you fix your corporate image?"
"Yes."
"And in return?"
"One million dollars."
Her blood pressure dropped.
"Wh—what?"
"One year," he repeated.
"One million. Enough for tuition. Enough for your mother's treatment. Enough to buy a new life if you want."
Her breath shuddered.
He had done his research.
He knew exactly where to hit.
Exactly what she needed.
Exactly how trapped she was.
Amelia stood abruptly.
"No," she said. "I'm not selling myself. Not for you. Not for anyone."
She headed for the door.
Luca didn't move.
Didn't raise his voice.
He simply said, softly:
"Your mother's hospital called you eight times today."
She froze.
He continued.
"On my way here, I received a message from Dr. Clarkson."
Her heart stopped.
"What message?"
Luca's expression softened, not cruelly, but quietly.
"She needs an immediate procedure," he said.
"Something your insurance won't cover."
Amelia's knees nearly buckled.
No.
Not again.
Not another emergency she couldn't fix.
"How do you know that?" she whispered.
"Because I checked," Luca said simply.
"I needed to know if you were the right person for this arrangement. And now I do."
He stood and approached her slowly.
"You don't want my world," he said.
"And I don't want your heart."
His voice dropped.
"This is a transaction. Nothing more."
"But why me?" she whispered, shaking.
"Because you don't love me," he said.
"And you never will."
Her breath caught.
"That makes you safe."
The world tilted beneath her.
Her life was collapsing.
Her mother needed help.
And here he was, offering salvation with strings that could choke her.
She closed her eyes.
"One year?" she whispered.
"One year," he confirmed.
"No feelings?"
"None."
"No lies?"
"Only the ones we agree on."
She lifted her chin, her heart pounding.
"And if I say yes… when do we start?"
Luca's eyes locked onto hers.
"Now."