"I said... Miss Ivy."

His voice reached me across the office, low but clear. It wasn't loud, yet it made me look up immediately.

My throat went dry.

"I... yes, sir?" I said, my voice coming out softer than I expected. It shook a little as I stepped forward.

I tried to move normally, but I was suddenly aware of everything my steps, my hands, the way people around us had gone quiet.

Up close, he looked even more imposing than I remembered.

He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled his suit neatly. The charcoal fabric sat perfectly on him, paired with a clean white shirt and a navy tie. Everything about him looked put together, like he paid attention to even the smallest details.

His shoes were polished, catching the light as he shifted slightly.

Then I met his eyes.

They were dark and steady, fixed on me in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. Not harsh, not unkind... just focused.

Like he was really seeing me.

I felt suddenly self-conscious under that gaze.

My heart started beating faster.

He stepped closer.

Then closer again.

He wasn't rushing. Just walking toward me like he already knew I wouldn't move.

I wanted to look away, to focus on something else, but I couldn't.

Everything else in the office faded into the background. The phones, the typing, the quiet conversations, of it all became distant.

"You handled that well," he said.

It took me a second to realize he was talking about me.

A compliment.

From him.

"Th-thank you, sir," I said, holding my folder tighter. My fingers felt cold, even though my chest was warm and tight from how fast my heart was beating.

He didn't look away.

Not even for a second.

He just stood there, looking at me like he was trying to understand something.

I could feel it. His attention.

It made it harder to breathe normally, harder to think straight.

And then-

"Ivy!"

I flinched slightly as Mr. Odum's voice broke in.

I turned as he hurried toward me, Tania right behind him, flipping through a thick folder.

"I want you to send an email to-"

He stopped when he saw who I was standing with.

The change in him was instant.

His posture straightened, and his voice dropped.

"Oh... sir, I didn't realize..." he said, suddenly unsure.

He paused, then waved his hand quickly.

"Never mind. Go on... carry on. Whatever I wanted can wait."

"O-okay, sir," I replied.

He gave me one last look before walking off.

Tania followed, but she glanced back at me once, her eyes curious, almost questioning.

Then they were gone.

The office noise slowly came back, but it didn't feel the same.

I became aware of a few people pretending not to stare, their attention lingering just a little too long before they looked away. Whispers would probably follow later. I could already imagine it.

I turned back to him.

He was still looking at me.

"Let's go," he said.

I nodded quickly and followed him without asking any questions.

The hallway felt longer than usual as we walked. My heels clicked softly against the floor, each step sounding louder to me than it probably was.

My thoughts wouldn't settle.

Where are we going?

Did I do something wrong?

Why did he call me?

I tried to think back to everything I had done that morning, searching for any mistake I might have made, but nothing stood out.

Still, the feeling wouldn't leave.

He didn't say anything, and the silence between us only made me more nervous.

We passed a few employees along the way. Each one greeted him respectfully, their voices polite, careful.

"Good afternoon, sir."

He acknowledged them with a small nod, never slowing down.

No one spoke to me.

No one even tried.

We reached the elevator.

The doors reflected a faint image of us as we stood there. I caught a glimpse of myself-my slightly tense posture, the way I held my folder a little too tightly.

He stepped in first.

I followed.

The doors closed behind us with a soft sound that felt louder than it should have.

The space suddenly felt small.

Too quiet.

Too close.

I became aware of the distance between us. Not far, but not close enough to touch either.

"I've seen you," he said.

I looked up at him.

"I've watched you. Your work. The way you carry yourself. The way you handle pressure."

My breath caught.

I didn't expect that.

I didn't even know what to say.

"I also..." He paused slightly. "...have a problem."

I swallowed.

"A problem, sir?"

"Yes."

The way he said it made it sound important.

Serious.

"I want you to solve it."

"Me?" I asked, confused.

"Yes. You."

My grip on the folder tightened. My fingers pressed into the edges as my mind started racing.

Why me?

Out of everyone in the office... why me?

Then I spoke without thinking.

"I just... I hope whatever happened last night doesn't change your perspective of me," I said quietly. "I'm usually not like that."

The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back.

But it was too late.

They hung there between us.

He looked at me for a moment.

"I don't mix personal matters with business," he said. "So you have nothing to worry about."

Some of the tension in my chest eased.

But not all of it.

Because he was still looking at me.

Not in a way I could easily explain.

Then he said-

"I want you to be my wife."

Everything inside me stopped.

"...I'm sorry?" I whispered.

"For six months," he added, like it was a normal thing to say.

My heart skipped.

Married?

For six months?

To him?

The words didn't make sense in my head.

"I... I don't understand," I said, my voice dry.

"You don't have to understand everything right now," he said. "Just listen."

I nodded slowly.

My hands were shaking a little now.

"This will be a contract marriage," he continued. "Six months. No complications. No interference with your personal goals. You will be compensated."

Compensated.

The word settled heavily in my mind.

This wasn't something casual.

This wasn't a suggestion.

It was an offer.

A serious one.

"This is not a joke," he added. "I don't make jokes about important decisions."

I looked at him again.

Everything about him still looked perfectly arranged, from his tie to the way his sleeves sat neatly at his wrists. There was a faint scent of cologne, something subtle but noticeable.

I became aware of how close we were again.

The quiet.

The weight of what he had just said.

"Why me?" I asked.

He didn't answer immediately.

For a moment, it felt like he was studying my face, like he was trying to decide how much to say.

Then-

"Because you're exactly what I need."

The words were simple.

But they stayed with me.

The elevator slowed.

I felt it before it came to a stop.

My heart was still beating too fast.

The doors opened.

Light came in from the hallway outside.

But I didn't move.

I couldn't.

My mind was still trying to catch up.

Marriage.

Six months.

Him.

Nothing about this felt real.

And yet, it was happening.

I tightened my hold on the folder, grounding myself in something physical.

Because deep down, I knew.

The moment I stepped out of that elevator...

I wouldn't just be walking into another part of the building.

I would be stepping into something I couldn't take back.

Something that would change everything.

And for some reason, even with the fear sitting in my chest...

A small part of me knew I wasn't going to say no.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.

 He stepped out first, tall and steady. His charcoal suit fit him perfectly, and the faint scent of his cologne followed him like a quiet shadow. He turned toward me and offered a small, almost imperceptible smile, then held out his hand.

  "This way."

 I hesitated, my heart pounding. My fingers hovered for a second before slowly placing my hand in his. His grip was firm but careful. Somehow, it steadied me, even though my chest felt tight and my thoughts were scattered.

 We walked down the hallway together. The floor gleamed softly under our steps, reflecting the warm light from recessed fixtures. Abstract paintings hung on the walls, but I barely noticed them. My mind was still reeling from his words in the elevator, looping over and over.

 Finally, he stopped in front of a large office. He opened the door and gestured toward a chair.

 "Please, sit."

 I lowered myself slowly. The gesture was small, but it made me feel slightly more at ease, as if he wanted me to feel some control in the moment.

 Before I could speak, he waved his hand, and a servant entered with a silver tray. Two cups of steaming tea rested on it. He placed one in front of me and one in front of himself. The gentle aroma of the tea filled the room, floral and light, cutting through the tension that had settled in my chest.

 Then he nodded at the servant, who bowed slightly and left.

I wrapped my hands around the cup, letting the warmth settle into my palms. It grounded me slightly, made the room feel more manageable, though my stomach still felt like it had knots.

He sat across from me, hands folded neatly on the desk. His eyes met mine, calm and deliberate.

"Ivy," he began, voice soft but clear, "what I'm about to say is serious. I need you to think carefully about it."

I nodded, my stomach twisting. My heart raced.

"I want you to be my wife. For six months. Under a contract."

I froze.

Six months. Contract. Married. To him.

The words echoed in my mind. I felt my fingers grip the cup a little tighter. I tried to steady my breathing.

"Why... why me?" I asked softly. "Why would you choose me out of everyone? You saw how miserable I was last night... why me?"

He leaned back slightly, hands still resting lightly on the desk. "Because I've seen you," he said. "I've watched you work. I've seen how you handle pressure, how you adapt. You fit exactly what I need. You're intelligent, composed, and capable."

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling slightly. "But... does it really matter? I'm just... me."

"You underestimate yourself," he said. "This isn't about appearances. It's about suitability. You meet the requirements. You are exactly what I need."

My cheeks warmed. Fear and curiosity twisted together in my chest. The idea of agreeing to this arrangement was terrifying, but part of me... couldn't help but be intrigued.

He leaned forward slightly. "Now, Ivy... the compensation."

My heart jumped. I hadn't expected this to come next.

"For six months," he said, measured and calm, "you will be paid fifty thousand dollars. That's the entire duration of the contract. Not for being a real wife. Not for love. Just for fulfilling this role."

I blinked. Fifty thousand dollars. My salary couldn't even reach that in six months. My chest tightened.

"This is a generous sum," he continued. "It ensures your comfort. It reflects the importance of your role. You are not being forced. This is your choice, freely made. Consider it carefully."

I sipped my tea, letting the warmth settle in my hands. Somehow, it grounded me. I noticed the way he sat, the way his posture stayed composed, the faint rhythm of his breathing, the small crease of his cuff showing beneath his jacket sleeve. Everything about him was deliberate, precise, controlled.

"You will have support," he said. "You can bring someone you trust to events, to gatherings, to any occasion. If you feel uncomfortable, you do not have to attend. But if you are confident, you will have someone by your side."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, elegant card. Thick, smooth, formal. He placed it gently in front of me.

"This is for a gala tonight," he said. "It's an important event you will need to attend if you accept. Bring someone you trust. If you're unsure, don't come. If you are confident, bring someone who makes you comfortable."

I touched the card, my fingers brushing the smooth surface. Fifty thousand dollars. Six months. A gala. My chest tightened again. Every beat reminded me of the decision I had to make.

"You have until the end of today to decide," he said. "Think carefully. This isn't something to rush. If you accept, everything you need to succeed will be provided."

I nodded, holding the cup once more. The warmth settled in my hands, and somehow made the choice feel a little less impossible.

Finally, I whispered, "I... I need some time."

"You have it," he said, quietly. "Decide carefully. Your choice affects both of us. I trust you will consider it wisely."

He rose from his chair. The soft click of his shoes echoed as he walked toward the door. I stayed seated, my heart pounding, eyes fixed on the card. The number. The invitation.

The office felt still, peaceful even, but I knew nothing would feel the same again.

I held the cup longer, letting the warmth sink in. Sunlight spilled across the desk, and the invitation card gleamed under it. I felt a mixture of fear and anticipation deep in my chest.

I realized then that this wasn't just a simple decision.

It wasn't just about money or events.

It was about stepping into something that could change everything about my life.

I set the cup down slowly, my fingers brushing the edge. I leaned back in the chair slightly, trying to think clearly.

What did it mean to be married to him? Even for six months?

Would it change how I felt around him? Would it change me?

And what would everyone else think?

My chest tightened again. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.

But even with all the fear twisting in my stomach, part of me... didn't want to refuse.

I stared at the card again, at the smooth surface and the bold invitation letters. Fifty thousand dollars. Six months. A gala.

I didn't know how to feel. Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Curious.

All of it at once.

I knew, deep down, that the moment I made a choice whatever that choice was nothing in my life would ever be the same again.

The Weight of Yesterday

I sat there, still holding the cup of tea, but I wasn't really in that room anymore.

My body was there. My hands were warm from the cup. The sunlight still touched the desk.

But my mind... had gone somewhere else.

Far away.

Back to a time when life was soft. When things were simple. When I still believed everything would be okay.

I closed my eyes slowly.

And just like that... I was ten years old again.

My father's laugh used to fill the house.

It was loud, warm, and full of life. The kind of laugh that made you feel safe without even thinking about it.

He was a firefighter.

To me, he wasn't just a firefighter. He was a hero. My hero.

I remember the way he would come home, tired but smiling, his uniform smelling faintly of smoke. He would lift me up into his arms like I weighed nothing at all.

"Did you miss me, little star?" he would ask.

And I always nodded, even if he had only been gone for a few hours.

Because I always missed him.

The day everything changed... didn't feel different at first.

It was just another normal day.

Until it wasn't.

There was a fire.

A bad one, a building burning so fast that people couldn't get out in time.

My father didn't hesitate. He never did.

He went in.

They said there was a little girl trapped inside.

He found her. He saved her.

He carried her out.

Everyone said he was brave.

Everyone said he was a hero.

But...

When he went back in again...

The building didn't hold.

It collapsed.

And it took him with it.

I remember the silence that came after.

The kind of silence that doesn't just sit in a room... it presses into your chest.

It was heavy.

Too heavy for a ten-year-old heart.

My mother didn't scream when she heard the news.

She didn't cry at first either.

She just... stood there.

Like the world had stopped moving.

Like she had forgotten how to breathe.

Then she collapsed.

Right in front of me.

That was the first time her heart failed her.

And it never truly recovered.

My mother was strong before that.

So strong.

She was a fashion designer.

Her shop in San Francisco was beautiful.

Bright fabrics. Soft lights. Dresses hanging like dreams waiting to be worn.

She loved what she did.

But more than that...

She loved my father.

Deeply. Completely.

Losing him broke something inside her that no one could fix.

Not doctors.

Not time.

Not even me.

Years passed, but things didn't get better.

They got quieter and harder.

The shop... the place she built with her own hands...

Was taken away.

Demolished.

Gone.

Just like that.

I remember standing there, holding her hand, watching the place disappear piece by piece.

It felt like watching her heart break all over again.

By the time I graduated high school, I already understood something most people my age didn't.

Life doesn't always give you time to breathe.

Sometimes it just keeps taking.

And taking.

And taking.

I got a job.

A small one.

As a secretary.

It wasn't what I dreamed of.

But dreams didn't matter anymore, survival did.

My mother's hospital bills kept growing, her condition kept getting worse.

And I...

I was desperate.

People don't understand desperation until they feel it.

It's not just fear.

It's not just worry.

It's like drowning slowly... while trying to smile like you're okay.

Rumors started.

Ugly and cruel ones.

They said I was sleeping with my boss.

That I was doing things just to get promoted.

It spread fast.

Faster than I could defend myself.

Faster than I could explain.

I told the truth.

I begged people to believe me.

But no one listened.

No one cared.

Then it reached the news.

And my mother saw it.

I still remember that moment.

The way her eyes looked at me.

Confused and hurt.

Like she didn't recognize me anymore.

She tried to speak...

But the words never came.

She collapsed again.

This time...

She didn't wake up.

The doctors said it was too much for her heart.

Too much shock.

Too much pain.

She slipped into a coma.

And just like that...

I lost her too not completely, but enough to feel like I was alone. Life after that was... quiet.

But not peaceful.

Just empty.

I resigned from my job.

I couldn't stay there.

Not after everything.

Not after the whispers.

The stares.

The judgment.

I tried to explain.

To the people close to me.

To anyone who would listen.

But the truth didn't matter anymore.

Once people believe something bad about you...

It's hard to change their minds.

Then I met him.

Lucas.

He was kind.

Gentle in a way I didn't expect.

He didn't look at me like I was broken.

He looked at me like I was still... me.

He helped me.

He stayed with me at the hospital.

He talked to my mother, even when she couldn't respond.

He told me things would get better.

That I wasn't alone.

For a while...

I believed him.

But life has a way of reminding you...

That hope can be fragile.

I opened my eyes slowly.

The office came back into view.

The sunlight.

The desk.

The cup in my hands.

And the card.

Fifty thousand dollars.

Six months.

A contract.

My fingers tightened around the cup.

My chest felt heavy.

Everything I had been through...

Every loss...

Every struggle...

Every moment of being alone...

It all led me here.

To this choice.

I looked down at the card again.

Then I whispered, softly...

"My mom needs this."

My voice shook, but I didn't stop.

"She needs me."

Tears slipped down my face quietly.

I didn't wipe them.

I just let them fall.

"I don't have a choice..."

And in that moment...

I knew.

This wasn't about pride.

It wasn't about fear.

It wasn't even about him.

It was about her.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

Slowly...

I reached for the card.

"I'll do it."