I didn't have time to cry.
The hospital receptionist was already giving me that look—the one she saved for people who couldn't pay their bills but still had the audacity to show up with hope. I tightened my grip on the folder in my hands, filled with designs I wasn't sure would sell and debt notices that definitely wouldn't wait.
I stepped up to the desk and forced a smile. "Hi, I'm here to check on Lily Carlisle, Room 506?"
The receptionist didn't smile back. "Miss Carlisle, we've already extended the payment deadline twice. I'm sorry, but if the next installment doesn't come through by Friday—"
"I know." My throat tightened. "I just… I'll figure it out."
Behind her, the hallway lights flickered. Everything in this place was sterile—beige walls, sharp-voiced nurses, and that faint scent of bleach masking things it couldn't clean. I hated it. I hated that Lily's laugh didn't echo down these halls like it used to. I hated that I couldn't fix her. I hated that she was sick and I was… powerless.
Just as I walked away and about to enter Lily's room my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Unknown number.
I hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
A smooth male voice answered. Crisp. Cold. "Emma Carlisle?"
"Yes?"
"This is William Hart. I represent Mr. Jason Blackwood. He requests your presence this afternoon. Four o'clock. Blackwood Tower, 32nd floor."
I blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"He has a business proposition. Non-negotiable timing."
Then the line went dead.
Blackwood.
The name hit like a slap. Jason Blackwood—CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, heir to the Blackwood dynasty, the man who once ordered twelve bespoke suits and told me they were "passable" like he was being charitable. I'd done one freelance gig for his company six months ago—minor event styling. Barely even saw him. He hadn't spoken to me directly once.
So why the hell was he summoning me now?
I checked the time; it was two-thirty, meaning I had close to an hour and a half before having to go see what Mr Blackwood needed from me. After spending thirty minutes with Lily and doing some sketching, I left the hospital. Getting to Blackwood Enterprise is nearly an hour's drive from the hospital, but luckily it's not peak hour yet, so I got there just in time.
Blackwood Tower rose like a knife into the sky. All glass and steel and intimidation. I stood in the elevator, feeling stupid in my worn flats and borrowed blazer, gripping the strap of my thrifted bag like a lifeline. The number ticked up—29, 30, 31—
The doors opened into silence. No reception desk, no assistant. Just a long hallway, black carpet, and a single glass door at the end.
I knocked once.
"Come in."
The voice was low. Calm. Dangerous.
I stepped in.
Jason Blackwood stood behind a desk, the office the size of my entire apartment. His suit was charcoal gray, tailored like it was sewn onto him. No tie. Collar unbuttoned. He didn't look up right away—just kept signing something with a pen that probably cost more than my rent.
I cleared my throat.
His gaze lifted. Cool, unreadable gray eyes locked with mine.
"You came."
"I didn't think I had a choice."
He studied me. I wondered what he saw—cheap makeup, a three-year-old blouse, someone on the edge of breaking but too proud to show it.
"Sit."
"I'd rather stand until I know why I'm here."
His lip twitched. Not a smile. More like... amusement. "Still difficult."
"You're still vague."
Damien leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "I need a wife."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"A legal one. Paperwork. Ceremony. One year. Then we annul it. Quietly."
My mouth opened. Then shut. "This is some kind of joke, right?"
"No."
"Why me?"
"You're unmarried. No family interference. And you've already signed an NDA with my company. Clean background, no scandals, and—" his eyes dropped briefly to my bag, "—clearly in need of money."
I swallowed hard. "So this is charity? Am I some sort of charity case to you, Mr Blackwood?"
"No. It's business. You'd be compensated. Handsomely."
"How much?"
"Three hundred thousand up front. Another two hundred thousand when the marriage ends."
My knees almost gave out. That kind of money could cover Lily's treatments. It could buy time—maybe even hope. But still, I forced my voice to stay steady.
"And why do you need a wife so badly, Mr. Blackwood?"
He didn't flinch. "My inheritance is conditional. Marriage by the end of this quarter. My board wants stability. So does the press."
"And you thought… let's grab the first desperate woman I can find?"
His eyes darkened. "I didn't say desperate. I said convenient. There's a difference."
God, he was insufferable. But the numbers were real. The offer was real. I could walk out of here, dignity intact and broke—or I could say yes and keep my sister alive.
I stared at him. "No intimacy?"
"None."
"Public appearances?"
"Occasional."
"And after the year ends?"
He shrugged. "We part ways. You keep the money."
I looked down at my shoes. The left toe was scuffed. The hospital bills in my bag suddenly felt heavier.
"And if I say no?"
"Then you walk out and pretend this conversation never happened. Your choice."
I didn't move.
Lily's face flashed behind my eyes—pale, smiling weakly as she tried to pretend the treatments didn't hurt. I couldn't let her die because I was too proud to say yes.
Closing my eyes, I exhaled. I opened my eyes again before speaking, "Fine. I'll do it."
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Not warmth. Just... confirmation.
"I'll have the papers drawn up. We'll marry Friday."
"That soon?"
"I don't like delays."
He stood up. I was standing behind the chair and turned to leave, every step heavier than the last.
"Miss Carlisle."
I paused, hand on the door.
"One condition," he said. "You don't fall in love with me."
I turned slowly. Met his eyes. Let my voice cool.
"That won't be a problem."
And I left without looking back.
But the door clicked louder than I expected.
Like it knew it had just closed on the rest of my life.
I walked out of Blackwood Tower in a daze, the city around me buzzing like background noise I couldn't tune into. Traffic blared, phones rang, people laughed into coffee cups. But all I could hear was Jason Blackwood's voice in my head.
"One condition, you don't fall in love with me."
As if that was even on the table.
The man didn't have a heart. He had ice in his veins and dollar signs in his eyes. And yet here I was—Emma Carlisle, proud and private—agreeing to marry him.
For money.
No, for Lily.
The hospital was too bright. I hated the way it pretended to be warm, like colored walls could hide how cold it felt to live here. I passed nurses I knew by name now, waved at the night shift receptionist who offered me her untouched sandwich last week. My feet took me to Room 506 on autopilot.
I knocked gently.
"Come in," came Lily's voice, too soft, too hoarse.
She was propped up on pillows, a knit hat pulled over her buzzed hair, IV tubing snaking into her hand. But she still smiled when she saw me. Always did.
"Hey, Em. You look… like you saw a ghost."
I laughed weakly. "That obvious?"
"You're pale. And your eye does this weird twitch when you're stressed."
"I don't have a twitch."
"You absolutely do."
I sat on the edge of her bed, brushing a crumb off her blanket. "How're you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a small bus. But Dr. Shen says the new meds might help. If we can afford the next round."
There it was. The unspoken monster in the room. Always looming.
"I have it covered," I said quietly.
Lily blinked. "Wait. You do?"
I nodded, trying to smile. "A new… client. Big one. Pays upfront."
"Em, that's amazing! What's the job?"
My throat stuck.
I couldn't lie to her. But I couldn't tell her the whole truth either—not yet. Not while she was hooked up to machines and fighting to keep food down.
"It's kind of… unconventional," I said.
Her eyes narrowed. "Unconventional like designing a fashion line for dogs, or unconventional like selling a kidney?"
"Neither." I hesitated. "It's… kind of personal."
Lily stared at me for a long moment. "You're not in trouble, are you?"
"No. I promise."
She nodded slowly, but the worry in her eyes lingered. "You always do this. Protect me like I'm made of glass."
"You're not glass," I said. "You're steel. You just… need a little backup sometimes."
Her lips quirked. "You better not be doing anything shady."
"Would I do something shady?"
"You once forged a school permission slip just to sneak me into a free art museum."
"That was for your education," I said with mock indignation.
Lily giggled, but it faded fast, replaced by a soft wheeze. I handed her the water cup and helped her take a sip.
After a moment, she asked, "How big is the client?"
"Big."
"Like… Jason Blackwood big?"
I froze.
Her eyes widened. "No. No way. Jason Blackwood?"
I raised my eyebrows. "You know who he is?"
"Please. Everyone does. He's hot in a sociopath kind of way. Super rich. His super married to his work. And definitely allergic to fun. You're working for him?"
"Something like that," I murmured.
She eyed me suspiciously. "You're being weird. Are you sure you're okay?"
I nodded. "I'm just… tired. And hungry."
Lily softened. "Then sit here. I'll share my pudding cup. But only if you promise not to sell any more organs to pay for it."
"No promises."
I took the pudding, opened it, and handed her the first bite. She rolled her eyes but smiled.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes—just the beeping machines and distant hospital chatter in the background. I watched her eat slowly, savoring every spoonful like it was something precious.
And it was.
Everything about her was precious.
I'd do anything to keep her safe.
Even marry a man who didn't believe in love.
Even pretend to be someone's wife.
Even give up every ounce of pride I had left.
Because this wasn't just my life anymore.
It was hers, too.
And I wouldn't let her slip through my fingers.
Not now. Not ever.