Mia's POV
My hands shook as I stared at Marcus Webb's text.
I know who you really are. And I'm going to destroy you both.
Seventy-two hours. Three days until my lies exploded across Manhattan.
The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the marble floor.
Christian's voice cut through my panic from the top of the stairs. Pick it up.
I looked up. He stood on the landing, tie loosened, his expression unreadable.
Pick up your phone, Mia. We don't break things here.
I bent to retrieve it, my wedding dress rustling. When I straightened, Christian was descending the stairs, his eyes never leaving my face.
Let me see it, he said, holding out his hand.
I hesitated.
Now.
I handed him the phone. He read Marcus's text, his jaw tightening.
He's bluffing, Christian said. He suspects, but he doesn't have proof yet.
Yet, I whispered. But in three days
In three days, you'll be so convincing as my wife that his investigation won't matter. Christian handed back my phone. But first, we set ground rules.
The doorbell rang.
Christian checked his watch. Right on time.
Who's here at midnight? I asked.
My lawyers. He walked to the door. Hope you're not tired, Mrs. Steele. We have work to do.
Three men in expensive suits filled Christian's living room, carrying briefcases and laptops. They set up at the dining table like they were preparing for war.
The lead lawyer—a sharp-eyed man named David—opened a leather folder and pulled out a document so thick it could double as a weapon.
The marriage contract, he announced, sliding it across the table to me.
I stared at the stack of papers. This is longer than most novels.
Marriage to Christian Steele is more complicated than most novels, David said without smiling. Please read carefully. You'll be signing each page.
I picked up the contract. The first page alone made my head spin.
This Agreement, entered into on this day between Christian Alexander Steele (hereafter 'Husband') and Mia Catherine Chen (hereafter 'Wife'), establishes the terms and conditions of their contractual marriage arrangement...
Start with page three, Christian said, sitting down beside me. Close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. That's where it gets interesting.
I flipped to page three and started reading.
SECTION 1: LIVING ARRANGEMENTS
Wife will occupy the second-floor guest suite. Husband's bedroom, office, and private study are strictly off-limits. Wife may not enter these spaces without explicit permission.
I'm not allowed in your bedroom? I asked.
Why would you need to be? Christian's voice was flat. This is a business arrangement. We maintain separate lives.
SECTION 2: FINANCIAL TERMS
Husband will provide Wife with a monthly allowance of $10,000 for personal expenses. Wife will receive a credit card for necessary purchases related to her role as Mrs. Steele (clothing, beauty services, etc.). All purchases over $5,000 require prior approval.
Ten thousand dollars a month. More than I made in six months at Dad's restaurant.
That's too much, I said.
That's what my wife costs, Christian replied. Keep reading.
SECTION 3: PUBLIC APPEARANCES
Wife agrees to attend all social functions, charity events, and business dinners as requested by Husband. Wife will present herself as a devoted, supportive spouse at all times. Affection in public settings is required and non-negotiable.
My stomach flipped. Define 'affection.'
Hand-holding. Arm around your waist. Brief kisses for photographs. Christian's eyes met mine. Nothing you can't handle.
But the way he said it made heat creep up my neck.
SECTION 4: CONFIDENTIALITY
Wife agrees to absolute secrecy regarding the true nature of this arrangement. Wife may not discuss the contract with family, friends, or any third party. Violation of this clause results in immediate termination and forfeiture of all financial compensation.
I can't tell anyone? My voice cracked. Not even my dad?
Especially not your father, Christian said. He thinks you married for love. Let him keep believing that.
But he'll want to visit. To see me
Tell him you're busy. That you'll visit him next month. Make excuses. Christian's tone was merciless. You chose to protect him from the truth. This is what that choice costs.
I swallowed hard and kept reading.
SECTION 5: ROMANTIC INVOLVEMENT
This marriage is strictly professional. No romantic relationship will develop between Husband and Wife. Both parties maintain complete emotional independence. Physical intimacy beyond what is required for public appearances is prohibited.
The words shouldn't have stung. But they did.
You're basically my employee, I said quietly.
Exactly. Christian leaned back in his chair. I pay you to perform a service—playing my wife convincingly. You perform well, you get your compensation. You fail, the deal is void.
David cleared his throat. There's also Section 6, regarding termination conditions—
She doesn't need to worry about that, Christian interrupted. She's not going to breach the contract.
His certainty should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like a cage snapping shut.
I forced myself to keep reading through sections on media interactions, social media restrictions, and privacy clauses. By the time I reached the end, my head was pounding.
COMPENSATION TERMS:
Upon successful completion of six-month contract period:- All Chen family debts paid in full- $500,000 transferred to Wife's personal account- Quiet divorce with non-disclosure agreement- All parties resume separate lives with no further contact
No further contact. Six months from now, Christian Steele would be a stranger again.
The thought shouldn't have bothered me.
Any questions? David asked.
A million. But only one mattered.
What if I can't do this? I whispered. What if I'm not good enough to fool everyone?
Christian's hand covered mine on the table. The touch was warm, firm, unexpected.
You will be, he said. Because failure isn't an option for either of us.
His thumb brushed across my knuckles—just once—before he pulled away.
Sign the contract, Mia.
David handed me a pen.
I stared at the signature line. My hand hovered over the paper.
This was it. The moment I officially sold the next six months of my life.
Your father's restaurant has a balloon payment due in thirty days, Christian said quietly. If it's not paid, the bank forecloses. He loses everything.
My hand stopped shaking.
I signed my name. Mia Catherine Chen.
Then again. And again. Twenty-three pages. Twenty-three signatures binding me to this impossible arrangement.
When I finished, David collected the pages efficiently. Congratulations, Mrs. Steele. Your contract is now in effect.
The lawyers packed up and left.
Christian walked them to the door, shaking hands, all business.
Then he returned to where I sat, still holding the pen like a lifeline.
Elena will be here at seven AM, he said. She'll go over your schedule, take you shopping, begin your training. Get some sleep.
He started toward the stairs.
Christian?
He paused, not turning around.
Why are you helping me? I asked. You could have called the police. Had me arrested. Instead you're paying my family's debts and giving me money for a bakery. Why?
He was quiet for a long moment.
Because you remind me of someone, he said finally. Someone who made sacrifices for people who didn't deserve it.
Who?
My father. His voice was rough. He spent his whole life trying to make my stepmother happy. Gave her everything. And she destroyed him anyway.
He turned then, and the pain in his eyes made my breath catch.
Don't make the same mistake, Mia. Don't sacrifice yourself for people who would never do the same for you.
My dad would
Your father is the exception. But your mother? Your sister? His smile was bitter. They'll drain you dry and never look back.
He climbed the stairs and disappeared.
I sat alone in the massive penthouse, wearing a stranger's ring, bound by a contract I barely understood.
My phone buzzed.
A calendar notification from Elena Rodriguez: 7:00 AM - Wardrobe Assessment & Etiquette Training
Below it, a text from the same number.
Welcome to the Steele family, Mrs. Steele. Tomorrow, we begin your transformation. Don't disappoint Christian. He doesn't handle disappointment well. - Elena
The message should have scared me.
Instead, I looked up at the stairs where Christian had disappeared.
You remind me of someone.
What had happened to his father? And why did Christian look at me like I was already doomed to repeat his mistakes?
Another text came through.
From Christian himself.
Your bedroom is second door on the right. Everything you need is already there. Sleep well. Tomorrow will be difficult.
I climbed the stairs on shaking legs.
The guest bedroom was enormous—all white and cream, with a bed bigger than my entire Brooklyn apartment. Someone had already unpacked my small suitcase. My few belongings looked pathetic scattered across the expensive furniture.
On the bed lay a white silk nightgown with a note.
Mrs. Steele wears Valentino to bed. Get used to it. - E
I picked up the nightgown. The fabric was so delicate I was afraid to touch it.
In my old life, I slept in ratty t-shirts and sweatpants.
In this new life, even my pajamas cost more than my rent.
I changed quickly and climbed into the massive bed. The sheets were soft as clouds.
But I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about Christian's words. This marriage is strictly professional.
Kept remembering his hand on mine. His thumb brushing my knuckles.
The way his eyes had dropped to my mouth at the altar before the kiss.
Physical intimacy beyond what is required for public appearances is prohibited.
But what counted as required? Where was the line?
And why did part of me want to cross it?
My phone lit up one more time.
A text from an unknown number.
Day One of your investigation, Mrs. Steele. I'm watching you. I'm watching him. And I will find the proof I need. Sweet dreams. - M.W.
Marcus Webb.
The timer was ticking.
And somewhere in this cold, beautiful penthouse, Christian Steele was lying awake in his own bed, planning how to save us both.
Or destroy me trying.