The number on the paper blurred as Emma's eyes filled with tears.
$500,000.
Five hundred thousand dollars for a chance—not even a guarantee—that her sixteen-year-old sister might live.
Emma's hands trembled as she stared at the treatment cost estimate, the fluorescent hospital lights making the numbers swim across the page like tiny daggers. Each digit represented another impossibility, another door slammed in her face, another miracle she couldn't afford.
"Emma?"
Lucy's voice was barely a whisper, weak and papery thin, so different from the vibrant girl who used to blast music in their tiny apartment and dance while making breakfast. Emma quickly crumpled the paper behind her back, forcing her face into something that might pass for a smile.
"Hey, Luce." She moved to her sister's bedside, settling into the worn plastic chair that had become more familiar than her own bed. "How are you feeling?"
Lucy's lips curved into a tired smile that broke Emma's heart. At sixteen, she should have been worrying about prom dresses and college applications, not whether she'd live to see seventeen. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin had taken on a grayish pallor that the doctors said was "normal" for leukemia patients.
Normal. As if any of this was normal.
"Like I got hit by a truck." Lucy tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough that rattled her thin frame. Emma reached for the water cup, holding the straw to her sister's lips. "Did... did the insurance approve it?"
The question pierced through Emma's chest like a physical wound. She'd been dreading this moment, knowing it would come, and still she wasn't prepared.
"Still waiting to hear back," she lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.
Lucy's brown eyes—those beautiful eyes that used to sparkle with mischief and dreams—dimmed with understanding. She was only sixteen, but months of fighting for her life had aged her in ways that had nothing to do with years.
"Emma, I know we don't have the money." Another tear slipped down Lucy's pale cheek. "I heard you on the phone yesterday with the bank."
Emma's throat tightened. "Lucy, don't—"
"I don't want you to destroy your life for me." Lucy's voice cracked, and Emma felt something inside her chest crack along with it. "Maybe we should just... accept that—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Emma grabbed her sister's hand, squeezing it tightly enough that she could feel Lucy's pulse—weak but there, still fighting, still alive. "You're going to get that treatment. You're going to beat this. You're going to go to college and fall in love and become the artist you've always dreamed of being." Her voice broke, but she pushed through. "I will find a way. I promise you."
Lucy's lip trembled. "But how?"
I don't know, Emma wanted to scream. I've sold everything. I've begged everyone. I've exhausted every option. I'm drowning and there's no shore in sight.
But instead, she pressed a kiss to Lucy's forehead, breathing in the antiseptic smell that had replaced her sister's usual vanilla shampoo. "You let me worry about that. You just focus on getting stronger, okay?"
The IV machine beeped steadily beside them, counting down seconds of Lucy's life like a metronome marking time they couldn't afford to lose. Emma stayed for another hour, reading aloud from Lucy's favorite book until her sister drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Only then did Emma allow herself to fall apart.
She made it to the bathroom before the first sob broke free. Gripping the cold porcelain sink, she stared at her reflection—twenty-five years old and looking forty, dark circles under her eyes, her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing the same jeans she'd worn for three days because she couldn't afford to waste quarters at the laundromat when every penny counted.
When did her life become this?
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket with shaking hands.
FINAL NOTICE: Rent overdue. 7 days to vacate.
Emma's knees nearly buckled. She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the cold tile floor, and let herself cry for exactly two minutes. That's all she could afford—two minutes of breaking down before she had to pull herself together and figure out her next impossible move.
The job interview. She still had the job interview at Kane Industries this afternoon. Marketing coordinator position. It wasn't much, but it was something. A starting point. A tiny glimmer of—
No. She couldn't hope. Hope hurt too much when it got crushed.
The lobby of Kane Industries was everything Emma wasn't—polished, expensive, intimidating in its casual display of wealth.
Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings like frozen tears. The marble floor gleamed so perfectly that Emma could see her reflection: a girl in a worn coat that had been nice five years ago, clutching a resume with a coffee stain on the corner, looking completely and utterly out of place.
"Can I help you?"
The receptionist's smile was professional but cold, her manicured nails clicking against her keyboard as her eyes traveled from Emma's scuffed shoes to her off-brand handbag in one dismissive sweep.
"I'm here for the marketing coordinator interview." Emma straightened her spine, refusing to shrink. "Emma Hart."
The receptionist's perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch—just enough to make Emma feel like she'd announced she was there to apply for Queen of England.
"That position was filled yesterday."
The words hit Emma like a slap. "What? I received a confirmation email this morning—"
"There must have been a mistake." The receptionist's voice dripped with false sympathy. "Mr. Kane decided to go with someone more..." She paused, her eyes flicking over Emma once more. "Experienced."
Someone who belongs here, Emma heard in the silence. Someone who looks the part. Someone who isn't you.
The rejection shouldn't have hurt this much. Emma had been rejected by dozens of companies, turned away by countless landlords, denied by every bank and loan officer in the city. She should have been numb to it by now.
But this... this felt like the universe's final answer. The last door slamming shut.
"I see." Emma's voice came out steadier than she felt. "Thank you for your time."
She turned to leave, blinking back the tears that burned behind her eyes, when the elevator across the lobby dinged.
And everything changed.
He walked out like he owned the world—because he did.
Six-foot-three of pure, commanding presence, broad shoulders filling out a black suit that probably cost more than Emma's entire year of rent. Dark hair perfectly styled, sharp jawline, and eyes the color of a winter storm. Cold. Calculating. Breathtaking in the way a glacier was breathtaking—beautiful and deadly and completely untouchable.
Alexander Kane.
The Ice King himself.
Emma had seen his picture in magazines and business journals during her desperate job searches, but photos didn't capture the sheer force of him. The air itself seemed to shift when he moved, an invisible ripple of power that made every person in the lobby straighten their spine and hold their breath.
He swept through the space without looking at anyone, his expression carved from the same marble as the floors—cold, perfect, unfeeling. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Even the receptionist who'd just dismissed Emma now sat frozen, her professional mask slipping into something closer to reverence.
Alexander Kane didn't notice any of them.
Until his eyes landed on Emma.
For a moment—just a single heartbeat—time stopped.
His gaze traveled from her face down to the resume still clutched in her hand, then back up to meet her eyes. Something flickered in those steel-gray depths. Something that made Emma's breath catch and her pulse spike and her skin prickle with awareness she didn't want to name.
She lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. She'd been through hell; she could handle one arrogant CEO's stare.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Sir!" A man in glasses rushed after him, tablet in hand, slightly out of breath. "Your grandfather is calling again. He says it's urgent. About the clause—"
"Tell him I'm busy." Alexander's voice was deep and cold enough to frost the air between them. He still hadn't looked away from Emma.
"But sir, it's about the marriage requirement. He's threatening to—"
"My office. Now." The words were sharp enough to draw blood.
The assistant swallowed and nodded, falling into step behind his boss. Alexander finally broke eye contact with Emma, striding toward the private elevator with the same purposeful intensity that probably built his empire.
Just before the elevator doors closed, his eyes found hers one more time.
This time, there was something else in his gaze. Something that made Emma's stomach flip and her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a pull she didn't understand and absolutely didn't want.
Recognition? Curiosity? Challenge?
The doors slid shut, and he was gone.
Emma released a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
"Miss, you need to leave." The receptionist's voice snapped her back to reality, now laced with irritation instead of false sympathy. "This is a place of business, not a tourist attraction."
Right. Because staring at billionaire CEOs like a stunned deer was definitely on Emma's agenda for the day.
She walked out of Kane Industries with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn't much considering her hands were shaking and her heart was still doing strange acrobatics in her chest.
The bench across from the building was cold metal that bit through her thin coat, but Emma sat anyway. She couldn't go back to the apartment—it wouldn't be hers for much longer anyway. She couldn't go back to the hospital—seeing Lucy's hopeful face when Emma had nothing to offer would destroy them both.
So she sat and stared at the gleaming glass tower that housed Kane Industries and wondered what it felt like to have so much power that you could change someone's life with a single word and never even think about it twice.
Her phone buzzed incessantly in her pocket. Seventeen missed calls from the hospital billing department. Three voicemails from her landlord, each one angrier than the last. One text from Sophia that simply said: How'd the interview go?
Emma couldn't even type a response. What was there to say? That she'd failed again? That she was out of options? That she was watching her sister die and couldn't do a damn thing about it?
The sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would have been beautiful if Emma had any capacity left to appreciate beauty. Instead, she just felt numb.
Numb and defeated and so utterly, completely done.
"Rough day?"
Emma's head snapped up.
A well-dressed man stood before her—late thirties, expensive suit, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The same man who'd been chasing Alexander Kane through the lobby.
The assistant.
"I'm sorry?" Emma's voice came out rough from unshed tears.
"James Miller." He extended his hand with a professional smile. "I'm Mr. Kane's executive assistant."
Emma stared at his hand but didn't take it. "If you're here to have me arrested for loitering, just save us both the time and call security."
"Nothing quite so dramatic." James lowered his hand, his smile never wavering. "Mr. Kane would like to speak with you."
Emma blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's regarding a business opportunity." James pulled out a business card—heavy cardstock, embossed gold lettering, probably worth more than Emma's shoes. "One that could be mutually beneficial."
"Mr. Kane doesn't even know who I am."
"Emma Hart. Twenty-five. Marketing degree from NYU. Currently unemployed after being laid off from Crawford Media three months ago. Younger sister Lucy, sixteen, currently in treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia at St. Mary's Hospital." James's voice remained pleasant, almost gentle, as he recited facts about Emma's life like he was reading a grocery list. "You've applied to forty-seven jobs in the past three months. Been rejected by forty-six. And as of this afternoon, rejected by forty-seven."
Emma's blood ran cold. "How do you—"
"Mr. Kane is very thorough when it comes to potential business partners."
"I'm not a business partner. I'm nobody."
"Nevertheless." James gestured to a sleek black town car that had somehow materialized at the curb without Emma noticing. "He'd very much like to speak with you."
This was insane. Getting into a car with a stranger who'd apparently stalked her entire life history was every true crime podcast warning come to life.
But then again, what did Emma have to lose?
Her sister was dying. She'd be homeless in a week. Every door in the city had slammed in her face. If there was even a fraction of a chance that Alexander Kane—billionaire, CEO, man who could buy and sell her life a thousand times over—wanted to offer her something, anything...
"What kind of business opportunity?" she asked carefully.
James's smile widened just a fraction. "The kind that changes lives, Miss Hart. I promise you, this conversation will be worth your time."
Emma looked at the car, then back at James, then at the imposing glass tower where Alexander Kane ruled his empire from the sky.
Lucy. I'm doing this for Lucy.
She stood up. "If this is some kind of trafficking scheme, I should warn you that I have pepper spray."
She didn't, but they didn't need to know that.
James chuckled. "Noted. Shall we?"
Emma got into the car. The door closed behind her with an expensive thunk that sounded like fate sealing itself shut.
James slid into the driver's seat and handed her a bottle of water—fancy imported kind that Emma had never even seen in stores. She took it with shaking hands but didn't drink. Couldn't. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots.
They drove through the city in silence. Emma watched Manhattan blur past the tinted windows—the life she'd built, the life that was crumbling, the life she might never get back.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a building that made Kane Industries look modest.
Glass and steel stretched into the darkening sky like a needle trying to pierce heaven. The lobby visible through floor-to-ceiling windows dripped with more wealth than Emma had seen in her entire life combined.
James opened her door. "Penthouse. Top floor."
Emma stepped out onto the sidewalk, tilting her head back to look up at the tower. Somewhere up there, Alexander Kane was waiting.
The Ice King who'd looked at her like he saw something. Someone.
"Miss Hart?" James's voice was patient. "Mr. Kane doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Emma swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry despite the water bottle still clutched in her hand.
Whatever this was—business opportunity, elaborate prank, fever dream—it was her only option left.
She walked through the golden revolving doors into the most expensive-looking lobby she'd ever seen, her reflection multiplied in the mirrored walls. A girl who didn't belong, walking into a world that would probably chew her up and spit her out.
The elevator that James led her to required a key card. He swiped it, and the doors opened to reveal an interior lined with actual wood paneling and a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than a car.
"Penthouse," James said again, pressing the button marked 'PH.'
The elevator began to rise, and with each floor that passed, Emma's heart beat faster.
What am I walking into?
The elevator dinged softly. The doors opened.
And Emma stepped into Alexander Kane's world.
[END CHAPTER 1]
Word Count: 2,847 words
AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS:
Hello, beautiful readers!
Welcome to "Contract Wife: 365 Days to His Heart"!
You've just met Emma at her absolute lowest—desperate, broke, watching her little sister die. And you've caught your first glimpse of Alexander Kane, the Ice King who somehow noticed the one girl who doesn't belong in his world.
But WHY did he notice her?
What's this "marriage requirement" his assistant mentioned?
And what exactly is waiting for Emma in that penthouse?
Chapter 2 drops tomorrow—and trust me, the proposition Alexander makes will SHOCK you.
If you're already hooked (and I think you are):
--Add this story to your library so you never miss an update
-- Comment below - What do you think Alexander wants with Emma?
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Updates: DAILY at 6:00 PM EST
Question for you: Do you think Alexander planned this meeting with Emma, or was their lobby encounter pure chance? Drop your theories below!
The penthouse scene is coming tomorrow, and oh honey... it's going to be INTENSE.
See you in Chapter 2!
xoxo,
Harshpreet singh