A Fake Marriage With The Real Tycoon

Alayna sat in the back of a yellow taxi, watching the streetlights blur past through rain-streaked windows. She had slipped out of the hospital two hours after Haskell left, unable to sit still any longer. She needed clothes for her mother. Insurance cards. Whatever cash she could scrape together. Haskell's jacket was still wrapped around her shoulders—she'd been too dazed to return it before he disappeared, and now it felt like borrowed armor.

The ride back to Queens was a blur of streetlights and the rhythmic swish of the taxi's windshield wipers.

Her apartment was small, cramped, and for the first time, it felt like a cage. The air was stale. On the tiny kitchen counter sat a vase with a single, dried rose. A cheap gift from Caiden from months ago.

She snatched the vase and threw the dead flower into the trash with a violence that surprised her. It felt good, like the first act of a long-overdue purge.

She needed clothes for her mom, her insurance card, any cash she had. She pulled an old shoebox from under her bed where she kept her important papers. Her bank book was inside.

She flipped it open.

Balance: $312.58.

Not even enough to cover the first night's co-pay at the hospital. A wave of nausea washed over her. She slid down the side of her dresser until she was sitting on the floor, the bank book clutched in her hand. The numbers stared up at her, a testament to her failure.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn't pay the bills.

She pulled out her phone. Her thumb hovered over Haskell's name, which she'd saved from the business card. But her pride, stubborn and fierce, wouldn't let her press it.

Her finger moved to another name. Caiden.

She knew it was a mistake. She knew he was a liar and a monster. But he was a rich liar. And a small, desperate part of her needed to hear it from him one last time. She needed him to fail this final, crucial test.

She pressed call.

It rang five times before he picked up. The background was loud—thumping bass, shouting, and a woman's high-pitched giggle near the receiver. A party. Of course.

"Hey, babe," he said, his voice slurring slightly.

"Caiden," she said, keeping her voice low and steady. "I need your help."

"What's up? Everything okay?" He sounded distracted.

"It's my mom. She's in the hospital. She's... she's really sick. I need money. A lot of money. For surgery." The words felt like swallowing glass.

There was a pause on his end. "Oh, shit, babe. I'm so sorry to hear that. But... I'm totally broke. I just paid my rent. I'm literally living on instant noodles right now."

The lie was so bald-faced, so insulting, she almost choked. The man with the Patek Philippe watch was living on noodles. The woman giggled again in the background.

"Can't you ask your friends?" she pushed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Anyone?"

"You know how it is," he sighed, a masterclass in false sympathy. "Everyone's broke. Why don't you ask your manager at the restaurant for an advance? They do that, right?"

Click.

He hung up.

She stared at the phone in her hand, her entire body shaking. Not with sadness. With pure, unadulterated rage. He hadn't even asked how her mother was doing.

The last shred of affection, the lingering ghost of two years of memories, evaporated. It was gone. In its place was a cold, hard vacuum.

She gathered a few things for her mother, her movements jerky and efficient. She had to get back to the hospital. She would sell her laptop. She would take out a loan. She would do whatever it took.

She had just stepped out of her apartment building when her phone buzzed. An unknown number.

"Ms. Heath?" A calm, professional male voice. "My name is Jax Mercer. I'm Mr. Knight's executive assistant. He asked me to follow up on the patient assistance program. May I meet you?"

Thirty minutes later, Alayna sat across from Jax Mercer in the hospital's coffee shop. He was tall, with a clean-shaven head and an impeccably tailored dark suit. He placed a leather-bound folder on the table between them.

"The Knight Foundation can cover your mother's treatment in full," he said, his voice matter-of-fact. "This includes transfer to a specialist oncology center, all surgical costs, and a full course of immunotherapy."

Alayna stared at the folder. "I don't understand. Why would you—"

"Mr. Knight has his reasons," Jax said. "What matters is the terms. This is structured as a no-interest loan, to be repaid at your convenience. No deadline. No hidden clauses." He slid a sleek black smartphone across the table. "This is for secure communication with Mr. Knight and myself. He prefers encrypted channels."

She looked at the phone. It felt like a lifeline and a leash all at once.

"What does he want in return?"

Jax's expression remained neutral. "He'll discuss that with you personally. For now, his only concern is your mother's care."

She swallowed her pride. It tasted like ashes, but it was a small price to pay for her mother's life.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "Tell him... thank you."

Back in the quiet of her mother's hospital room, watching her sleep, Alayna felt a new resolve harden within her. She would pay back Haskell Knight. Every single penny.

And she would make Caiden Ellis pay, too. But not in money.

She pulled out her laptop and opened a new spreadsheet. The title was simple: Expenses - C.E.

She started typing. October 2021, Basketball tickets, $180. November 2021, Textbooks for HIST 301, $245. December 2021, Nike Air Jordans, $220.

Each entry was a nail in his coffin. Each dollar amount was a piece of her life, her sweat, her sacrifice, that he had stolen. The list grew longer and longer, a meticulous accounting of his deception.

Her new phone buzzed. A message from Haskell.

Rest.

Just one word. But it felt more caring than two years of Caiden's empty "I love yous."

She lay down on the lumpy visitor's sofa, staring at the ceiling. The game was over. A war was just beginning.

*In the notes app on her phone, she typed a new plan. Phase one: Play the victim. Go dark emotionally. Keep him comfortable, keep him blind. *

It was her promise to herself.

Just then, a text from Caiden came through on her old phone. Hey babe, sorry about before. Don't worry too much. I'll come see you tomorrow, okay?

A cold smile touched Alayna's lips. Perfect.