A L Y S S A

"W-What?" I whisper, my throat dry as dust.

"You heard correctly," Mr Valentino says, leaning back, eyes never leaving mine. "This is not a job interview, Miss Hart. It's a proposal."

A proposal.

It feels like some twisted joke. Like, there are cameras hidden in the walls, and someone's going to jump out and yell "Gotcha!" any second now.

"Why?" It's all I can manage to say, because none of this makes sense.

Mrs Valentino's lips curve into too calculated to be a smile. "Because you need money. And we need a wife for our son."

The chill that runs down my spine is like ice water. "But... you don't even know me."

"We know enough," Mr Valentino replies, his tone calm, factual. Like this is math, not madness. "Your mother is sick. The bills are overwhelming. You've exhausted every option. But you haven't given up. That makes you... suitable."

My fingers curl against the armrests of my chair, digging in hard just to keep myself steady. Suitable. Like I'm being measured for parts.

"This isn't real," I whisper, barely hearing myself over the pounding in my ears.

"It's very real," Mrs Valentino says. Her voice doesn't waver. "We'll pay off all your mother's medical expenses. In return, you will marry our son, Stephano."

Stephano.

When I was researching them, I didn't even think to look into them having any children.

I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting any of this. My head feels too full, my chest too tight.

Do they really want me to marry their son?

I force myself to speak, even though my voice shakes. "And... what happens after?"

Mr Valentino doesn't hesitate. Not even a second. "The contract lasts two years. You provide an heir. After that, you're free."

An heir.

Not a wife. Not a partner. Just a vessel.

My heart thunders. I should get up. I should walk out. Laugh in their faces and slam the door behind me.

But I don't.

Because Mom is dying, and every other door is locked shut.

My voice cracks when I finally manage, "I... I need time. To process... to think..."

"You have until 4 PM this afternoon to decide if you don't decide now." Mrs Valentino says, her words clipped, final. "After that, the offer expires."

This afternoon. Meaning I have hours to decide if I'll sell myself to the Valentinos...

After that, she places an envelope on the table and slowly slides it across to me. The folder sits on the table between us like a loaded gun; thick, dark, ominous, and I don't touch it. Not yet.

I can feel their eyes on me. Mrs Valentino looks at me with calm detachment, like she already knows how this ends, while Mr Valentino leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, curiosity and focus clear on his face.

"There are, of course, conditions," Mrs Valentino says.

Of course there are. There's always a catch.

I lean back slightly, bracing myself for whatever comes next, remaining silent as I wait for her to go on.

"You will be married to our son, Stephano Valentino, by the end of this week. The ceremony will be private. Legal. No press."

My head spins. This week? Married? I blink at her, trying to process the words. "This week?"

Mrs Valentino doesn't flinch. "There's no time to waste. He will agree to the terms. You don't need to concern yourself with his opinion."

His opinion. As if it's irrelevant. As if the man I'm supposed to marry doesn't even get a say. I can't tell if that makes me more insulted or more terrified.

"You will live with him in the Valentino estate in Eastcliff," Mr Valentino continues, unfazed. Her tone is smooth, businesslike. "Your sole purpose for the duration of the two-year contract is to produce an heir or two. Preferably a male heir. Once that's accomplished, your obligations will be considered fulfilled."

My voice scrapes up from somewhere dry and small. "And then what?"

"You'll be released from the contract with a full financial settlement," Mr Valentino answers. His voice is softer this time, but it doesn't make the words any less heavy. "We'll also set up a trust to cover your mother's lifelong care, regardless of whether she recovers."

My throat is tight, and my mouth is dry. "And if I can't... have a child? Or if I due, and it's not a male...? And what will happen to the child afterwards?"

Mrs Valentino exhales deeply, her eyes deeply focused on me. "Stephano is twenty-seven. Young, healthy. The assumption is that the issue would not lie with him. As long as you produce a child for him, the deal will still stand. The child will become a Valentino. And so he will remain with his father. Whether or not you would like to leave or stay."

The implication stings, sharp and humiliating.

Mr Valentino cuts in, gentler. "We won't force artificial means. But if two years pass and no child is conceived, the contract ends. No penalty. However, the trust for your mother would not be renewed."

I swallow hard, trying to process that. "So it's a baby or nothing."

"Precisely." He answers, and the words sit like lead in my chest.

I look down at the folder again, but still don't open it. My thoughts are racing, overlapping, tangling together. None of this feels real.

Mrs Valentino closes her own copy of the file and folds her hands neatly. "You're being offered a clean escape from drowning, Miss Hart. We are not asking for your love. We're asking for your cooperation."

"And compliance," I mutter before I can stop myself.

A flash of amusement passes over Mr Valentino's face. "You'll find we're not as controlling as our reputation suggests. So long as you hold up your end, your freedom within our home is your own."

Home. As if I'll ever feel at home in a place like that.

"As for tonight," Mrs Valentino says, standing, "a car will be sent to pick you up at six. Someone will come to help with your hair, your makeup-..."

"That won't be necessary," I interrupt.

The room goes quiet. My words seem to echo against the glass walls.

Mrs Valentino raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I don't need a stylist," I say, more firmly this time. "If I'm going to meet your son... this man I'm apparently marrying, I'd rather he meet me, not some polished version of me your staff puts together," I answer, my voice shaky, but still I don't look away.

Mr Valentino considers me carefully. "He will judge you regardless."

"Let him," I say, surprising even myself.

The Valentinos exchange a look.

Curiosity passes between them, then Mrs Valentino gives the smallest of nods. "Very well. No stylist. But the car still comes at six."

"I don't even know what he's like," I mutter, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"He's... complicated, our boy," Mr Valentino says, matter-of-fact. "He doesn't want this. But he knows the cost of disobedience."

"And what does that mean?" I ask slowly.

"It means," Mrs Valentino says, "you are not his prisoner. But you are not his partner either. This arrangement is not romantic, and knowing Stephani, it most likely never will be."

I look down again. This time, my fingers brush the folder.

None of this feels real.

It feels like a dream I'm going to wake up from. Or a nightmare.

"Open the envelope." Mr Valentino then instructs, then I look down at the table and slowly pick it up from the desk. It's a small envelope, rectangular, and feels somewhat heavy. I slowly open it, my eyes widening as soon as I see what's inside.

Money.

"That's $5,000. Cash." Mrs Valentino informs me, and I look back at them with nothing but disbelief...

A L Y S S A

"This is a gesture of faith," Mr Valentino says, his voice smooth and assured, like he's explaining an investment opportunity instead of handing me a sum of money that could alter the course of my life. "A retainer, if you will. Consider it a taste of what we're offering. Spend it on your mother. Or don't. It's yours."

The envelope sits in my hands, closed now, but I can still feel what's inside it. I can feel it like pressure against my palms, against my chest, against the part of me that still wants to believe I didn't just agree to sell my future in exchange for survival. My pride is screaming, loud and frantic, telling me not to take it, telling me that once I do, there's no pretending this was hypothetical, no pretending I still have one foot outside the door.

But pride doesn't keep hospital machines running. Pride doesn't make pain go away. Pride doesn't sit beside my mother's bed at night and whisper that she can rest now, that everything will be okay.

So I close the envelope with a hand that trembles despite my effort to stop it, and I slide it into my purse as carefully as if it might burn through the lining. I lift my gaze back to them and nod once.

"I accept," I say.

The words sound strange in my mouth, like they belong to someone else, someone braver or more foolish than I am.

Mrs Valentino's expression softens, just slightly, and Mr Valentino's mouth curves upward in something that looks like satisfaction. They exchange a glance that feels intimate, as though they've just completed a deal that was never truly in question.

"Thank you, Alyssa," Mrs Valentino says. "We will be in touch."

And just like that, it's over.

No signatures. No paperwork slid across the table. No formal closing to the conversation that has just reshaped my entire life. Just expectation hanging in the air, thick and quiet, like something waiting to be fulfilled.

I stand slowly, my legs stiff, my body lagging behind my thoughts as if it needs extra time to catch up. I manage a nod that feels awkward and out of place, then turn toward the elevator without another word.

I do not look back.

The elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me inside a narrow mirrored box that reflects a version of me I barely recognise. Pale. Eyes too wide. Lips parted like I've forgotten how to breathe properly.

What just happened?

The question circles my mind as the elevator descends, the numbers lighting up one by one. I wait for panic to hit, for my chest to tighten, for tears to come. None of it happens. There is only a strange quiet, a blank stretch inside my head where thoughts should be colliding. It feels like something in me has gone still out of self-preservation, as though shutting down emotion is the only way I can keep standing upright.

I open my purse and pull the envelope back out.

The cash is real. I slide my thumb over the bills, half expecting them to fade into nothing, to reveal this whole thing as a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and stress.

Five thousand dollars.

The number alone feels unreal. More money than I have held at one time in years. Enough for another round of treatments. Enough for another stretch of hope.

I fold the envelope again and press it briefly against my chest before tucking it away, like a secret I am not ready to look at for too long.

The elevator doors open.

The lobby is just as polished as before, marble floors gleaming beneath my feet, the receptionist offering me the same polite nod as if I hadn't just walked out of a meeting that has effectively sold my future. I step outside, and the city crashes back into me all at once.

Horns blaring. People rushing past. Voices overlapping. Life is moving forward without hesitation.

Everything looks the same.

But nothing is.

I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking, not toward any particular destination, just away. The cold air bites at my cheeks, stinging enough to remind me that I am still here, still in my body. It helps. A little.

It is nearly midday.

Six hours until the car comes.

Six hours until I meet the man I am supposed to marry.

Six hours until this thing I have agreed to takes on a face.

By the time I reach my apartment, my head feels full again, thoughts stacking on top of each other in ways that make it hard to breathe. I unlock the door and step inside, letting it slam shut behind me with a sound that echoes through the small space, too loud, too final.

I stand there with my coat still on, purse clutched tight to my chest, afraid that if I set it down, I will lose the only proof that this is real. My legs feel stiff, my body unwilling to move forward.

This is real.

I said yes.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and when I take it out of silent mode, I see the missed calls immediately. Carmen. Too many of them.

As if summoned, the phone starts ringing again.

I hesitate, staring at her name on the screen, then answer.

"Hey."

"Alyssa!! Why weren't you picking up my calls?!" she shouts. "I've been trying to reach you all morning! I was about to call hospitals!"

I pull the phone away from my ear. "Good morning to you, too." I let out with a deep sigh.

"You disappeared," she says. "What happened?"

"I had an interview."

There is a pause, then her tone brightens instantly. "Really? That's great. How did it go?"

"It was... different."

The shift is immediate. "Different how?"

"I'm home," I say instead. "Can you come over?"

Another pause. "I'm on my way."

Ten minutes later, she bursts through the door like a storm, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail of red hair, cheeks flushed, eyes scanning me like she's checking for injuries.

"Okay," she says. "Talk."

I don't answer. I just moved toward the coffee table and set my purse down, pulling the envelope out and placing it in front of her.

Her gaze follows it. She stops moving.

"What is that?"

"Open it."

She hesitates, then does, and when she sees what's inside, her breath catches.

"Alyssa," she says quietly. "How much is this...?"

"Five thousand dollars." I let out as I keep my eyes on her.

She looks up at me, eyes wide. "From who??"

"The Valentinos."

Her reaction is instant. She stiffens, then looks at me like I have lost my mind. "What? How? Why would they give you this much money? They hired you and paid you up front?"

I sink onto the couch, exhaustion crashing into me all at once. "I didn't work for them."

Her voice rises. "Then what did you do?"

I close my eyes for a moment, then open them and meet her gaze.

"They want me to marry their son."

The silence that follows feels endless. Until finally she responds.

"What?!"

"Two years," I say. "A contract. A child. Then I'm free."

She stands abruptly. "No. No, absolutely not. This is insane!! This is how people disappear!! Have you never watched a crime documentary in your life?!"

"They're paying for my mom's care," I say. "All of it."

Her mouth opens, then closes again.

"And you're actually considering this...?" she says.

"I already said yes."

She stares at me, horror and worry battling in her eyes.

"Alyssa," she whispers. "What have you done...?"

I look down at my hands, at the envelope still sitting on the table between us.

"I did what I had to."

And even as I say it, I know this is only the beginning.

A L Y S S A

"I didn't sign anything," I rush to say. "It was just... a conversation. This was just motivation to get me to agree..."

"Agree to what?!" She waves the money in the air. "This is not just a conversation. This is blood money. I've heard things, Alyssa... the Valentinos are dangerous people... I don't want you anywhere near them!"

I drag my hands down my face as I stand to my feet. "I know how it sounds, okay? Believe me, I know. But they weren't threatening me. They were... professional. Cold, but... polite. Like it was a business transaction."

She stares at me like I've completely lost it. "Polite? Alyssa, they're the Valentinos. Polite is just another weapon for people like them. What did they say? Tell me why they gave you $5000?"

The words feel heavier when I have to form them aloud.

"They want me to marry their son."

Carmen blinks. Once. Twice. "I'm sorry.... what?"

"Two years. I marry their son, Stephano. I give them a child, and then I'm free."

Her mouth falls open. She looks at me like I've confessed to joining a cult. "You're not serious."

"They offered to pay off Mom's medical bills. All of them. And they'll fund her care permanently, till she gets better. Plus, I get a settlement when the contract's done."

She then places the money on the table, then she grabs a throw pillow and smacks me square in the shoulder.

"Hey!" I shout, staring back at her with shock.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?! You're not going through with this! Alyssa, this is insane! This is how women end up in Netflix documentaries!" She says, and I let out a dry laugh, though it comes out closer to a choke.

"I told them I'd meet him this afternoon. That's all. Just... meet him."

She drops the pillow, staring at me like she's trying to shake sense into me with her eyes alone. "So... you're actually thinking about it?"

"I'm thinking about mom," I say, my voice quiet. "She's dying, Carmen. And I'm out of options. This isn't just about me anymore."

The silence between us is heavy, and for a moment, I watch as her features relax. Finally, Carmen exhales and sinks onto the couch beside me. Her fingers worry the edge of the pillow in her lap. "Okay. Okay. I'm not saying I like it. Because I don't. This whole thing is shady as hell. But maybe..." she pauses, reluctantly, "...maybe this is your way out. I mean, $5,000 just for showing up? That's not nothing."

"I know," I whisper.

"You said they weren't creepy or anything?"

"No. Not creepy. Just very... direct. Like they'd already decided everything before I even walked in the room."

She frowns. "Did they say anything about what happens if you don't..." she lowers her voice to almost a whisper, "...get pregnant?"

"They said I'd still be let go. But Mom's trust wouldn't be extended."

"So it's baby or bust."

"Basically."

Carmen scrubs her hands over her face. "Jesus Christ help us."

I stare at the check again. My stomach knots tighter every time my eyes land on it, like it's a hook dragging me somewhere I can't escape.

"I feel like I've already stepped into something I can't back out of."

She doesn't argue with me. She just watches me, her silence louder than words.

"I need you to do something for me," I say, turning toward her.

Her eyes snap to mine. "Anything."

"If something happens to me... if I disappear, or you don't hear from me... You go to the police, and you tell them everything."

Her mouth opens. "Alyssa..."

"I'm serious," I cut her off. "I don't care what it looks like. You take the money, you take my laptop, and you tell them everything."

Her jaw tightens, but she reaches over and grabs my hand. Her grip is warm, firm, steady in a way I don't feel. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"You don't know that."

"I won't let it."

I want to believe her. God, I want to.

My eyes burn, tears threatening, but I force them back down. I can't cry. Not yet.

"This is crazy," I whisper. "I can't believe I'm actually going through with this."

"You're not alone, I'm right here, okay?" Carmen says. Her voice is fierce now, unwavering. "You're not doing this without backup."

I nod. It helps. Not much, but enough to take a full breath.

"I have to get ready," I murmur.

She looks me up and down, unimpressed. "I hope you're thinking of changing."

A laugh escapes me, brittle but real. "I think I look fine. If he hates it, that's his problem."

"You know," she mutters, standing, "if he turns out to be hot, I'm going to be really conflicted about this."

"I don't care what he looks like," I say. "I just want him to sign the damn papers and leave me alone."

Carmen gives me a long, meaningful look. "That's not how this ends, Alyssa. If you get a child, you're stuck with him forever..."

I glance away. I know she's right. Somewhere deep down, I know.

But I'm already in it.

And the clock is ticking.