Contract Marriage With My Secret Zillionaire Husband

The autumn wind blew across the lake. Dahlia pulled her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs, shivering on the wooden bench. A few gray pigeons landed near her boots. She sighed. She dug a piece of stale bread out of her pocket, crushed it, and dropped the crumbs. An old man in a gray tracksuit walked slowly toward the bench. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane. "May I sit?" the man asked. Dahlia nodded. She slid over to the edge of the bench. The man sat down. He pulled a battered metal thermos from his pocket. His hands shook slightly as he unscrewed the cap and took a sip of hot water. "The wind is biting today," he said. His voice was raspy but warm. Dahlia didn't want to talk. But the man's calm energy made the tight knot in her shoulders loosen. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, the man asked a simple question about her day. Dahlia didn't know why, but the dam broke. Maybe it was because he was a stranger. "I just told my mother a massive lie," Dahlia blurted out. She let out a bitter laugh. "I told her I have a new boyfriend to stop her from worrying. Now I need to magically produce a husband to get everyone off my back." The old man listened. He didn't interrupt. His eyes were sharp and clear. He nodded slowly. "Life forces us into corners. But sometimes, a window opens when you least expect it." Suddenly, the man's face turned completely gray. He dropped his thermos. He clutched his chest. His breathing turned into rapid, wet gasps. Dahlia jumped up. Panic spiked in her veins. "Do you need an ambulance?" she yelled, reaching for her phone. Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the screen. The memory of her father's sudden collapse flashed in her mind, sending a jolt of pure panic through her chest. She quickly dialed 911. She gave the dispatcher their exact location by the lake. "My name is Dahlia Mcdonald," she said into the receiver, her voice shaking. She recited her phone number. "Please hurry. He looks like he's having a heart attack." She stayed on the line, acting as a witness just in case he lost consciousness. The man waved his hand frantically. He dug into his tracksuit pocket and pulled out a small orange pill bottle. He popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed hard. He took three deep breaths. The color slowly returned to his cheeks. "Just an old problem," he wheezed. Voices echoed from the paved path behind the trees. People were shouting a name. The man's eyes darted toward the sound. He grabbed his cane and forced himself to stand. The old man looked at her tired, defeated posture. A profound sadness flickered in his clear eyes. He thought of his own family, of the heavy burdens placed on young shoulders. "You are a good kid," he said firmly. "I hope you find someone who truly deserves you. I just wish my own grandson could find a kind girl like you to share his life with." Dahlia forced a polite smile. She thought he was just being kind. The man turned and walked quickly into the trees. Despite his limp, he carried himself with an odd sense of authority. Dahlia watched him disappear. Her heart rate finally slowed down. She walked back to her apartment. She opened her laptop and worked until her eyes burned. The next morning, a sharp ring shattered the silence. Dahlia shot up in bed. She grabbed her phone. The caller ID showed Seattle General Hospital. She answered. A nurse's panicked voice filled her ear. "An elderly patient named Augustine is in critical condition. He is demanding to see you."