Billionaires Pretend Wife To Be

The phone connected with a single, sharp click. It felt less like a dial tone and more like the snapping shut of a trap. "Conti," the voice answered, a deep, low command, stripped of any typical greeting. He hadn't even let it ring twice. He was waiting. My breath hitched, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, which felt like a piece of dry marble. I was still shaking slightly from Dr. Reed's ultimatum and the searing image of Leo struggling against the ventilator. "It's Elara Vance," I stated, injecting a forced coolness into my voice. I would not beg. "I'm calling about your... proposal." There was a beat of silence on the line, heavy and expectant. "I assume you've reviewed your options, Ms. Vance," he finally responded, his tone utterly devoid of triumph. He spoke as if I were a late delivery he had finally tracked down. Ms. Vance. He refused to use my first name unless he was insulting me. "But I want one thing made crystal clear: the entire sum, ten million, is transferred to an escrow account accessible to Dr. Reed's office for Leo's treatment before I sign anything." "Of course," he agreed instantly. "The contract specifies immediate transfer upon signature and notarization. I've already contacted my legal team. They'll be waiting." "Where?" I asked, rubbing my temples. The headache was back, a jackhammer behind my eyes. "Conti Tower, sixty-second floor, Legal Annex. Now. I'll send the car for you in thirty minutes. Do not be late, Ms. Vance." He didn't wait for my agreement. The line went dead. I stared at the screen for a full minute. Thirty minutes. He didn't offer a polite suggestion. He issued a deadline. The man was a creature of calculated efficiency, and I was just another line item on his calendar. The thirty minutes felt like five. The black Mercedes S-Class that collected me at the hospital entrance was immaculate, the leather smelling expensive and new. When the silent driver deposited me on the sixty-second floor of Conti Tower, I stepped out. The view of Seattle sprawling below was mesmerizing. Alessandro was waiting in a large conference room, not his primary office. He was flanked by two impeccably dressed lawyers. His jaw still showed a faint, stubborn bruise where my hand had landed. The sight of it gave me a fleeting, bitter satisfaction. "You're on time," he noted, his gaze sweeping over my worn sweater and jeans. His expression suggested he was comparing me to a flaw. "We are here to execute a binding legal agreement." "You're trading your inheritance for a disposable prop. I'm trading my life for my brother's. Let's stick to the terms." I picked up the revised contract. I spent the next twenty minutes reading every clause, every line, ignoring the lawyers who shifted impatiently and Alessandro, who simply watched me, his chin resting on his hand. The silence was thick, broken only by the rustle of paper. One year. No cheating. No pregnancy. Absolute confidentiality. Public display of affection is required at all official functions. "Clause 7.B," I said, looking up. "The 'Public Display' requirement. Define 'affection'. Does this mean I have to endure your touch?" Alessandro leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. For the first time, his cold gaze seemed to sharpen, acknowledging me not as an asset but as a potential challenge. "It means whatever the social situation demands. Holding hands. A kiss on the cheek. Perhaps, on occasion, a kiss that convinces my grandfather, or the press, that we are a genuinely devoted couple," he explained, his voice dropping slightly. My stomach fluttered, an unwelcome, traitorous response. He was physically magnificent, I couldn't deny it. But the thought of his perfect, cold mouth on mine sent a shiver of dread mixed with something else. "You won't enjoy it any more than I will," I said dismissively, trying to suppress the flicker of unexpected tension. "But I will play my part. I am a convincing actress when the stage is high enough."Alessandro's eyes didn't leave mine. "Good. Then we understand each other. I expect absolute professionalism. If you fail to convince my grandfather, the contract is voided, and you forfeit access to the fund." "The fund is ready?" The notary slid a tablet toward me, showing a bank transfer confirmation. "The initial transfer to the specified medical account has been processed, Ms. Vance. The funds are legally designated and accessible for Leo Vance's care." I didn't bother to check the amount. The fact that Dr. Reed could now access the funds was all I needed to know. My relief was a tidal wave, momentarily washing away all the shame. I picked up the expensive silver pen, but before I signed, I looked at Alessandro one last time. "Sign the papers, Elara." I scrawled my name. Sold. As the papers were collected, Alessandro stood. He reached across the table, a surprisingly slow, deliberate movement, and placed a heavy, golden envelope containing a credit card onto the contract where my signature had just dried. "This is your operational account. Unlimited funds, only to be used for the duration of the year. This is your allowance. Buy what you need. You will be moving into the Conti Manor tomorrow. You need clothes, jewelry, and a public image. Start shopping immediately." He didn't thank me. He didn't apologize. He simply gave me my marching orders and my payment. "Get your belongings from your house, and say your farewells. The performance begins now." He walked out, leaving me in the suffocating space. I walked out of there immediately, heading to the car stationed outside, I needed to see Leo. After minutes of staring out and watching the city pass in a blur, the car stopped at the hospital. I dashed out, heading towards Leo's room. I walked to the bed, watching as Leo's eyes fluttered open. The mask was gone, replaced by a nasal cannula, and his color was better. "Ellie?" he whispered, his voice thin but recognizable. "I'm here, sweetie," I said, kissing his hand gently. "I fixed it. Everything is fixed. You are getting the best medicine in the world, starting tomorrow. You are going to fight this thing, and you are going to win." His eyes, bright and curious, fixed on mine. "How, Elara? The big price tag." I took a deep breath. This was the hardest part. The lie. "I found a way, Leo. A very old, very generous family friend wants to help us. They offered us a place to stay while you recover, a huge house, so you can be comfortable while you're getting well. We're moving to a much better home tomorrow. You're going to have the best view of the stars from your window, I promise." Leo's small face broke into a fragile smile. "A big house? Like the ones on TV?" "Even bigger," I promised. "It's a fresh start, Leo. A new chapter." He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out. "A new chapter... with a telescope?" "With the biggest telescope you can imagine, Leo-bug," I choked out, fighting back new, happy tears. "Now sleep. Your body needs rest. I'll come back tomorrow morning to move you to your new room, and then we'll pack up the old house." I kissed him one last time, my mission solidified. I had sold myself to the devil, but I had saved my angel. It was late when I finally got back to my own small house. I stripped off the clothes I hated and stood in the shower, trying to wash off the scent of Conti Tower and the icy touch of Alessandro's gaze. My phone buzzed on the counter. I dried my hands and glanced at the screen. It was an unfamiliar number. Unknown Number (Alessandro): Be ready at 9 AM tomorrow. I am sending a driver with a selection of clothing and a makeup artist to prepare you for the first meeting with my grandfather. This is not optional. You must look the part. And Elara, leave your battered luggage behind. My team will take care of your old belongings later. You are now Mrs. Alessandro Conti, even if only on paper. Act like it. I dropped the phone onto the plush bathmat. Mrs. Alessandro Conti. The title felt strange. The thought made my stomach clench. This is going to be an Oscar-worthy performance, and if I failed, Leo paid the price. I ran a hand through my wet hair. Tomorrow, the performance begins. And I had no idea how to explain any of it to a ten-year-old boy who saw the stars, but not the contracts. ‎