Micah thought about it for a long time.
It was this—or nothing.
Nothing meant watching her mother fade away slowly in a hospital bed. Nothing meant regret she would never forgive herself for.
She lifted her head and met his cold gaze.
"Okay, sir," she said quietly. "When do I sign the contract?"
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly.
"Anytime you're ready," he replied.
"Alright. Thank you," she said, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest. "I'll get your contact from the doctor and reach out to you."
Without waiting for a response, Micah turned and walked back into the hospital, her legs trembling with every step.
That evening, she told Helen everything.
Every single detail.
Helen stared at her in disbelief. "Micah… is this not dangerous? You don't even know this man."
"I know," Micah said softly. "But I'll do anything as long as I get the money for my mum's treatment."
Helen sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're talking about carrying someone's child. Living with him. Being his wife—even if it's fake."
Micah swallowed. "I don't have a choice."
Helen hesitated, then asked the question Micah had been avoiding.
"What if you get attached to the baby? What if you can't give the child up?"
Micah's chest tightened. "I… I hope I won't."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on them both.
After nearly an hour of talking, doubting, and going in circles, they finally agreed.
Micah would sign the contract.
Later that night, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
"Micah," a deep voice said when she answered. "It's Martin."
Her heart skipped. "Yes?"
"Come to my place," he said. "I need to introduce you as my fiancée."
Her breath caught. "Tonight?"
"Yes."
Before she could argue, the call ended.
Martin's grandfather was nothing like Micah expected.
He was sharp-eyed but warm, his voice calm and thoughtful. He watched Micah closely as they spoke—how she answered politely, how she listened more than she talked.
"She's gentle," the old man finally said, nodding in approval. "And she seems kind. I like her."
Micah forced a smile, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
With his blessing given, everything moved frighteningly fast.
The contract was signed.
The marriage date was set.
There was no turning back.
The wedding was small and quiet, held on a peaceful beach far from the noise of the city.
No crowd. No celebration. Just witnesses, the priest, and the sound of the waves crashing softly behind them.
Micah stood beside Martin, dressed in white, her heart pounding violently in her chest.
This was not how she had imagined marriage.
The priest's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Micah," he said, "do you take Martin as your husband, to love and to care for him, till death do you part?"
Silence fell.
Micah opened her mouth to speak—but her eyes drifted past the priest.
Her breath hitched.
Standing among the few guests was a face she knew far too well.
Her blood ran cold.
It was him.
Micah's boyfriend.