Billionaires Pretend Wife To Be

I skidded the sedan into the hospital parking lot. I didn't bother to park correctly. I didn't bother to lock the doors. The nurse was waiting for me at the desk, her face etched with exhaustion. She didn't need to say a word. I knew. I didn't run down the hallway. I flew. When I reached Leo's room, the door was ajar, and the steady, ominous beep-beep of the monitoring equipment assaulted my ears. I paused at the threshold, one hand pressed against the cold metal of the doorframe, trying to brace myself for the sight. I had seen Leo sick a thousand times, but never like this. He was dwarfed by the machinery now. Thin, clear tubing snaked everywhere, down his nose, into the delicate veins of his arms. A clear plastic mask covered his small face, fogging slightly with each shallow, assisted breath. His skin, already pale, was faintly tinged with a grayish blue. My chest constricted, and a raw sob escaped me, swallowed instantly by the relentless beeping. This is what pride costs. This is what you almost lost because of a ridiculous, pointless slap. I stumbled to his bedside, ignoring the stern-faced nurse and the quiet male doctor who were adjusting a drip. I reached out a trembling hand, finding a tiny, untubed patch of his forehead, and rested my palm there. "Leo, my heart," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "I'm here. I'm so sorry I was late. I'm here." Dr. Alan Reed, Leo's primary oncologist, a man whose kind smile usually offered a balm of reassurance, stepped forward, his expression grave. "Elara. I'm glad you came quickly. We've stabilized him, but it was touch and go," Dr. Reed said, his voice flat with professional exhaustion. "He suffered a pulmonary crisis. We had to move him to this high-dependency unit temporarily." I barely registered the medical terminology. All I could focus on was the tubes holding my brother's life force hostage. "But he's... he's okay now, right? He's going to keep fighting?" I looked up at the doctor, tears blurring his kind, tired face. Dr. Reed sighed, running a hand over his graying temples. He gestured to the corner, indicating we needed privacy. I followed him instantly, my legs rubbery. "Elara, we have to talk about the treatment protocol. I hate to do this right now, but we are out of time. The current chemotherapy is failing. We've known it for weeks. We are at the end of the line with what we can offer here." My stomach dropped into a void. "No. No, don't say that. The new drugs. The trial protocol you mentioned weeks ago. The one we talked about, it has a seventy percent success rate! We just need to... we need to get the funding. I just need a little more time to get the money." Dr. Reed's empathy was clear, but his response was rooted in stark, financial reality. "Elara, the hospital's grace period for that specific type of experimental treatment ends tomorrow. It's not just the drug cost; it's the specialized nurses, the round-the-clock monitoring, the transport. It is a multi-million dollar undertaking that has to be paid upfront." He looked down at his clipboard, avoiding my eyes. "I know you're working multiple jobs. We've seen your efforts. But your father's medical debts and the cost of this new regimen... they are incompatible, Elara. We cannot start the new protocol unless we have a definitive financial guarantee or the full amount transferred. Without it, we revert to palliative care. Do you understand?" Palliative care. The phrase sounded like a death sentence pronounced over my ten-year-old brother. "Please," I whispered, the plea turning into a choked sound that was barely human. I grabbed his hand, clutching it desperately. "Please, Dr. Reed. You know him. You know how much life he has in him. Just start the treatment. Just the first round! I promise I'll get the money. I had a way, I just... I ruined it. I'll fix it. Just give me one more week." He gently disengaged his hand, his eyes filled with professional pity, the most crushing emotion of all. "Elara, I am his doctor, not a loan officer. My hands are tied. I desperately want to see Leo become the astronomer he talks about. But I can't start a resource-intensive treatment that we can't sustain. You have until tomorrow morning to find a financial solution, or we have to start preparing him for comfort care." He turned and walked away. Money, not medicine, was the ultimate gatekeeper of life. I walked back to Leo's bedside, my tears now quiet, the silence more terrifying than the noise. I sat in the chair, pulling it close, and leaned my head near his. "Oh, Leo-bug," I murmured, my voice shaking. "My brilliant, brave Leo. I was so stupid. I had my chance, and I let my stupid, wounded pride get in the way. I slapped a billionaire, Leo. Me, a barista." I managed a weak, bitter chuckle. "Can you believe the nerve?" I reached under the blanket and found his cool hand. "It was Alessandro, sweet pea. The boy who promised to come back for me. And he did. He showed up tonight. He is so stunning now, Leo, the kind of handsome that makes you catch your breath, but everything that was beautiful inside of him is gone. He didn't even look like he remembered me. He was offering ten million dollars to marry him for a year." I squeezed his hand. Needing air and motion, I slipped out of the room, leaving a quick note for the nurse that I was just stepping out for a minute. I needed a cheap coffee and some advice that wasn't filtered through desperation. I called Mia, my best friend, as soon as I hit the ground floor. She answered instantly, her usual loud laugh blessedly subdued. "Elara? What the hell happened? I called you four times. Are you okay?" I tried to keep my voice even, but it cracked on the first word. "Mia. It was terrible. Leo... he crashed tonight. I'm at the hospital. He's stable now, but the treatment, the expensive one, has to start tomorrow or... or we lose him." Mia gasped. "Oh, God, Elara. I'm coming down there right now-" "No, wait. Listen to me. The reason I was late is because I met Alessandro. And it wasn't a friendly reunion. It was a business proposal. A contract." I paused, breathing deeply. "He wants a one-year marriage of convenience. He needs me to fulfill a clause in his grandfather's will. He offered me ten million dollars upfront to save Leo and clear the debt. No cheating, no feelings, no pregnancy. Just a year of acting." Silence stretched on the line, only broken by the distant sound of Mia shuffling on the other end. "Mia? Say something." "Ten... ten million dollars, Elara? To marry him?" Her voice was stunned. "This is the most ridiculous, soap-opera nonsense I have ever heard in my life. The sheer arrogance of that man, using you like that... I want to track him down and scratch his eyes out." "I know! That's what I did! I told him he was a piece of calculated garbage, and I slapped him, Mia! Slapped the future CEO of Conti Tower!" I covered my mouth with a trembling hand, half hysterical. "You... you did what?" Mia burst out laughing, a short, sharp sound of disbelief. "Okay, that's my girl. But wait, you walked away from the money, didn't you?" "Yes! I left the contract on the table. He was so cold, Mia. He was always handsome, right? The kind of dark, brooding look that makes you look twice. But now? The way he looked at me, like I was something disposable he was buying off the clearance rack." Mia's voice sobered instantly. "Listen to me, Elara. I get it. I hate his guts too. But this isn't about you anymore. This is about Leo. What is one year of swallowing your pride compared to a lifetime with your brother? The worst he can do is be aloof for 365 days. The worst you can do is watch Leo waste away because you were too proud to take the one thing that can save him." Her bluntness cut through my shame. She was right. The slap felt pathetic now. "I know. I know," I whispered. "I just... I needed to hear it." I hung up, feeling a hollow resolve settle in my gut. I had to call him back. I had to accept. I walked toward the hospital cafeteria, needing the cheap comfort of stale bread and burnt coffee before I faced that phone call. My pride was a joke. I walked back to the quiet of a waiting area, pulled out my phone, and typed the unfamiliar number. I stared at the screen for a long moment, watching the digits glow, the promise of ten million dollars staring back at me. For Leo. My thumb hovered over the call button, the cold pit in my stomach settling into a firm, desolate resolve. I pressed 'Call.' I raised the phone to my ear, waiting for the sound of his cold, perfect voice. I was ready to surrender. ‎