I couldn't move.
Lance Villanueva was so close, I could feel the warmth radiating off his body. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne, clean soap, and rain-dampened cotton.
My back pressed into the cold wood of the door. My chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked breaths.
"What… what are you trying to do to me?" I choked out, glaring up at him through blurry eyes.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with an expression that was both amused and patient, like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Why are you shaking?" he asked quietly. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"
"Yes!" I snapped. "I don't know you! You lock me in a room and get all up in my face of course I think you're going to hurt me!"
He let out a short laugh, low and rich.
"You're interesting, Miss Santos," he said. "Most people would be begging to stay here. And you're clawing at the door."
"Open it. Right now," I demanded, slamming my palm against the door behind me.
He simply crossed his arms over his chest.
"Sit," he said, nodding toward the chair across from his desk.
"I'm not sitting anywhere!" I shot back.
He raised one brow.
Without saying a word, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a small butter knife, sliding it across the desk toward me.
My eyes widened.
"What the hell is that for?!" I gasped, pressing further into the door.
He smirked.
"A weapon. In case you decide I'm dangerous. Use it if you feel unsafe. I promise I won't fight back."
My mouth fell open.
"Are you insane?"
"Possibly," he admitted, shrugging. "Now. Sit down."
For a few seconds, I stood frozen in place. My breathing was ragged. I stared at the butter knife gleaming on the polished wood.
Was this some kind of mind game?
I slowly pushed off the door and edged around the side of his massive desk. I kept my eyes locked on him the entire time, like he was a wild animal that might lunge at me any second.
Finally, I lowered myself into the plush leather chair opposite his.
Lance settled back into his seat, one ankle resting casually over his knee.
"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said.
I glared at him.
"Start talking."
He picked up a slim folder from the edge of his desk and slid it across to me.
"Read it."
I hesitated, then flipped open the cover. My eyes scanned the words printed inside.
CONTRACTUAL AGREEMENT OF MARRIAGE BETWEEN: LANCE VILLANUEVA AND MAYA SANTOS
My vision blurred for a second. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus.
"What the hell is this?" I whispered.
"A contract," he said matter-of-factly. "For marriage. Between you and me."
I looked up, my voice rising.
"I can read, thank you! My question is WHY?"
He drummed his fingers against the wood.
"I need a marriage," he said simply.
I stared at him, incredulous.
"And you just… pick random strangers off the street for that?"
He tilted his head.
"You're not random. You're Maya Santos. Twenty-four years old. Grew up in Manila. Graduated from UST. Your parents died in a car crash when you were nine. You were scammed out of your entire life savings by your boyfriend, who's now married to your best friend. And now you have nowhere to go."
My mouth went dry.
"How… how do you know all that?"
He didn't blink.
"I make it my business to know everything about people I'm interested in."
A chill swept down my spine.
"Well, guess what—I'm not interested in marrying you!" I snapped.
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine.
"I'm not asking for love, Miss Santos. I'm asking for a business transaction."
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest.
"And why exactly do you need a fake wife?"
Lance let out a slow breath, as though debating how much to tell me.
"My mother is… persistent," he said finally. "She's determined to marry me off to one of the families she considers 'suitable.' Arranged marriages. Deals between old money and new. You know how it is."
I blinked.
"No, actually. I don't know how it is because I'm not a billionaire."
He smirked.
"Point taken. Let's just say: if I don't marry someone of my own choosing soon, my mother will pick a wife for me. And if I present a wife even temporarily she'll back off. At least for a while."
"So… you want me to be your human shield?" I spat.
He chuckled.
"Precisely."
I stared at him like he'd grown two heads.
"That's insane."
"Not really," he said. "It's quite practical."
I slammed the folder shut.
"Well, sorry. I'm not interested. Find someone else."
I pushed the folder across the desk.
He didn't even touch it.
Instead, he said quietly, "Name your price."
I froze.
"My… what?"
"Name. Your. Price," he repeated. "Whatever you want. Money. A place to live. A job. Legal help with your ex. Anything. Just tell me what it'll take to get you to sign that contract."
My throat felt tight.
"You think I'm some desperate prostitute who'll just marry you for money?" I hissed.
"No," he said calmly. "I think you're a woman who's been dealt a shit hand in life. And who deserves a chance to fight back."
That hit me like a punch to the chest.
I sat back, my arms trembling.
He watched me in silence.
Then he leaned forward, voice low and even.
"I'm not forcing you. But this is a limited offer. I need this sorted by tonight. My mother's expecting an announcement tomorrow. If you say no, I'll find someone else."
I swallowed hard, my mind spinning.
"And if I say yes?" I whispered.
He folded his arms across his chest.
"Then you'll sign the contract. You'll move into my house. You'll act like my wife for one year. No strings attached. And at the end, we part ways. Clean slate."
"And what about… physical stuff?" I blurted before I could stop myself.
Lance's lips twitched.
"That's negotiable," he said. "This is a contract marriage, not a real one. It's up to you."
I dropped my gaze to my lap.
I could feel my pulse hammering against my temples.
I thought of Jules and Bianca. Of my empty bank account. Of sleeping on the street.
Slowly, I lifted my chin.
"How much?" I croaked.
Lance smiled faintly.
"How much do you want?"
I hesitated.
"Two hundred fifty thousand pesos," I whispered. "Enough to get my life back. And to sue that bastard for what he did to me."
Lance arched one brow.
"That's it?" he said. "I was expecting a couple more zeroes."
My mouth fell open.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"Let's make it two million pesos instead," he said softly. "Consider it… hazard pay."
I gasped, staring at him in shock.
"Two… two million?"
He nodded once.
"Final offer. But you have to sign tonight."
I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth.
Tears stung my eyes.
Two million pesos…
I could pay back my debts. Hire a lawyer. Maybe even start fresh.
But was I really going to sell myself into a fake marriage with a stranger?
I swallowed hard.
"Okay," I whispered. "I'll do it."
Lance's lips curved into a slow smile.
"Excellent," he said. "Let's get the paperwork started."