The Secret Billionaire's Contract Bride

"Just try the roast chicken, Annette. I made it just the way you like it."

Annette looked down at the plate her adoptive mother, Tamara Hayes, had pushed in front of her. It was piled high with food-far more than they ever had on a Tuesday night. A whole roasted chicken, mashed potatoes drowning in gravy, green bean casserole. It smelled like a holiday, which was the first warning sign.

Her stomach, already tight from a long shift at the boba tea shop, clenched. "I'm not very hungry."

"Nonsense," Tamara said, her smile stretched a little too wide. "You work so hard, sweetie. You need to eat." She scooped another spoonful of potatoes onto Annette's plate.

Annette glanced at her adoptive father, Wayne Tucker. He was focused on his plate, sawing at his chicken with a deliberate slowness, avoiding her eyes. The second warning sign.

"It's just so wonderful to have everyone together," Tamara continued, her voice syrupy. "It reminds me of when you were little. You were always such a good girl, Annette. So thoughtful. Always thinking of your family first."

Annette picked up her fork, the metal cold against her fingers. She knew this script. The feast, the compliments, the trip down memory lane. It was the preamble to a request. A demand. It always was.

"Is there something you need, Tamara?" she asked, her voice flat. She was too tired for the performance tonight.

Wayne finally looked up, clearing his throat. "Your mother is just saying it's good to have you home."

"What he means," Tamara said, dropping the sweet act instantly, "is that a friend of his, a very important friend, has a son. He just got back from a tour in Japan. Very successful."

The air in the room grew thick, heavy. Annette could feel the blood draining from her face. "No."

"We haven't even asked you anything yet," Tamara snapped, her good mood vanishing like smoke.

"You don't have to," Annette said, placing her fork down. "I'm not going on a blind date."

"It's just a coffee!" Tamara's voice rose. "Is that so much to ask? After everything we've done for you?"

"My salary goes into this house," Annette shot back, her own voice rising to meet her mother's. "My savings paid for Charles's community college application fees. What more do you want from me?"

Wayne slammed his fist on the table. The plates and glasses jumped. "Don't you dare use that tone with your mother! You don't know what's going on!"

"Then tell me!"

He deflated slightly, his anger replaced by a practiced, weary sadness. "It's your brother, Annette. He's in trouble." He paused for effect. "His student loans, some medical bills he never told us about... it's bad. Fifty thousand dollars bad."

The number hit Annette like a physical blow. Her breath caught in her chest. Fifty thousand. She knew Charles had debt, everyone did, but she had no idea it was that much. She looked from Wayne's face to Tamara's. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Tamara's eyes were already welling up with tears. It was a stunningly fast transition. "We didn't want to worry you! But the collection agencies... they won't stop calling. Charles can't sleep. He's losing weight. He's going to fall apart."

Annette's heart seized. Charles. Her sweet, quiet brother who always tried to shield her from the worst of their parents. The thought of him suffering, alone, made it hard to breathe. This was their checkmate. They knew she would do anything for him.

"This man," Tamara said, pressing her advantage, her voice thick with fake tears, "the one we want you to meet. His family is very wealthy. For them, fifty thousand dollars is nothing. A drop in the bucket. If you could just... make a good impression."

The image of her older sister, Eleanor, flashed in Annette's mind. Eleanor, who had also "made a good impression" on a wealthy man. Eleanor, with her beautiful house, her expensive car, and the long-sleeved blouses she wore even in the summer to hide the bruises.

"No," Annette said, the word coming out sharp and final. "I will not sell myself. I'm not going to end up like Eleanor."

The name was a lit match in a gas-filled room.

"How dare you!" Tamara shrieked, her face contorted with rage. "You selfish girl! Your brother's life is falling apart, and all you can think about is yourself! We gave you a home! We fed you! This is how you repay us?"

"Annette," Wayne said, his voice low and sorrowful, the good cop to Tamara's bad cop. "We know it's not fair. But this is the only way to help Charles. The only way."

Annette felt the walls of the small dining room closing in on her. She was trapped. Every argument she made, every refusal, would be twisted into an accusation of selfishness, of not loving her brother enough.

Tamara, sensing victory, pulled out her phone. She fumbled with the screen for a moment before a video of Charles appeared. He was in his bedroom, the shadows under his eyes dark like bruises. He was trying to smile for the camera, but it was a brittle, fragile thing. "Hey guys," he said, his voice thin. "Just checking in. Everything's fine."

It was the lie that broke her. Seeing him try to be strong for them, while they were using his pain as a weapon against her.

A single, hot tear escaped and slid down Annette's cheek. She couldn't watch him suffer. She couldn't be the reason he fell apart. She had no choice. She never did.

She closed her eyes, took a ragged breath, and the fight went out of her. Her voice was a hoarse whisper when she finally spoke. "When and where?"

Across the table, she heard Tamara let out a small, triumphant sigh. She and Wayne exchanged a look.

"Saturday. Two o'clock. The Daily Grind Café on Lexington," Tamara said quickly, her voice bright and businesslike now. "And wear that blue dress. The one that makes you look nice."

Annette didn't answer. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the linoleum floor. She walked out of the dining room and down the hall to her bedroom, shutting the door on the sound of their relieved chatter.

She leaned her back against the cool wood, her body sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in them, finally letting the silent, choking sobs take over.