One Year with the Billionaire.

Olivia's Pov I hadn't slept in three days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ashton Blackwell's business card on my nightstand and heard his cold assessment of my life. He was right about everything. That was the worst part. "You look like death." Sophie slid a coffee across the café table where I'd been staring at my laptop for the past hour. "Please tell me you're not still thinking about the psycho billionaire's offer." "I can't stop thinking about it." I pulled up my bank account. Negative four hundred and seventy-three dollars. "The foreclosure notice came yesterday. Official this time. We have until Friday." "Move in with me. Marcus can take the couch until he graduates." "And then what? I still owe three hundred thousand dollars. They'll garnish my wages for the rest of my life." I closed the laptop before I threw it. "I'm thirty-one years old, and I have nothing. Worse than nothing. I have debt that's breeding more debt." Sophie grabbed my hand. "Don't do this. You don't know this guy. He could be dangerous." "He's offering me a way out." "He's offering you prostitution with a marriage license." "It's not like that." But wasn't it? Selling myself for money, just in a legal package. "There wouldn't be anything physical. Separate bedrooms. It's just... playing a role." "For an entire year with a stranger who manipulated you at your lowest point." Sophie squeezed harder. "Liv, this is how horror movies start." My phone buzzed. Unknown number. "The clock is ticking. Have you made your decision? - AB" "Is that him?" Sophie tried to grab my phone. I pulled it away and typed back: *How did you get this number?* *I'm a billionaire. I get what I want. Including answers.* "God, he's arrogant." But my fingers were already moving. *I need guarantees. Legal protection. This can't come back on Marcus.* The response was immediate: "Come to my office. Now. We'll go through the contract with my lawyers." Sophie read over my shoulder. "Don't you dare." "I have to." I stood up, gathering my things. "Marcus has one semester left. If we lose the house, he'll have to drop out and work full-time. Everything Mom sacrificed, everything I've worked for-it all disappears. I can't let that happen." "There has to be another way." "If there was, don't you think I would've found it by now?" I hugged her. "I'm not stupid. I'll read every word of that contract. But if it's real, if he's actually offering what he says..." "Then you're selling your soul." "Maybe." I headed for the door. "But at least my brother gets to keep his." ***************** Blackwell Industries occupied the top fifteen floors of the tallest building in the Financial District. The elevator ride to the penthouse level took forty-five seconds and felt like falling upward. A severe-looking woman in her late twenties met me. "Miss Chen? I'm Natalie Price, Mr. Blackwell's executive assistant. Follow me." She led me through a maze of glass and steel to a corner office that had better views than most people's dreams. Ashton sat behind a desk that probably cost more than my car used to be worth, flanked by two lawyers who looked like they billed by the breath. "Olivia. Sit." He gestured to a chair across from him. "These are my attorneys, David Chen and Rebecca Torres. They've prepared the full contract." David slid a document across the desk. It was seventy-three pages long. "You expect me to read all this now?" "I expect you to read it, ask questions, and negotiate terms." Ashton leaned back. "This is a business deal. Treat it like one." I opened the first page. The legal language made my head spin, but certain phrases jumped out. "Public displays of affection as reasonably required... Separate living quarters within shared residence... Non-disclosure agreement extending beyond termination of marriage..." "What does this mean? Non-disclosure extending beyond termination?" I looked up at Rebecca. "It means you can never discuss the true nature of this arrangement. Not with family, friends, therapists, or journalists. Ever." She tapped the clause. "Violation results in full repayment of all compensation plus penalties." "So I have to lie to everyone I know for the rest of my life?" "You have to maintain discretion," Ashton corrected. "There's a difference." "Not really." I kept reading. The financial terms were staggering. Five hundred thousand in debt forgiveness, paid directly to creditors within one week of marriage. Two million dollars upon completion of the twelve-month term, deposited in an account in my name. An additional one million for startup capital for my bakery, accessible after six months. "Three and a half million dollars." My voice sounded distant. "For one year." "For playing a role convincingly," David said. "There are performance clauses. If the marriage appears fraudulent to the board or media, compensation is voided." "How do you measure convincing?" Ashton stood and walked to the window. "We'll need to be photographed together regularly. Attend events. Show appropriate affection in public. My grandmother will expect regular dinners. The board will scrutinize everything." He turned back. "You'll need to be believable as someone I'd actually marry." "And in private?" "We maintain separate lives. You'd have your own wing of the penthouse. Your own schedule. As long as you're available when needed publicly, what you do privately is your business." "What about dating? Can I see other people?" "Absolutely not." His voice went cold. "Any hint of infidelity destroys the entire arrangement. Same for me. We're both committed to the role for twelve months." I flipped through more pages. Medical coverage. Allowance for wardrobe and appearance maintenance. Even a clause about therapy and counseling services available at his expense. "You've thought of everything." "I always do." He returned to his desk. "Page forty-seven covers the dissolution. After twelve months, we file for quiet divorce citing irreconcilable differences. You get your settlement. We both sign additional NDAs. Our lawyers handle everything." "And your inheritance?" "Becomes permanent six months after marriage. The full year is to avoid suspicion." He watched me carefully. "Any other questions?" "Yeah." I met his eyes. "Why does this feel like I'm signing my life away?" "Because you are. Just temporarily." He pulled out a pen. "The question is whether temporary security is worth temporary sacrifice." I thought about Marcus, about the house, about working three jobs until I collapsed. About my mother's hospital room and the bills that kept coming months after she died. "If I do this, I want one addition to the contract." "Name it." "Marcus's tuition. All of it. And living expenses until he graduates and finds a job." I held Ashton's gaze. "That's non-negotiable." He smiled, the expression transforming his face into something almost human. "David, add an education clause. Full coverage for Marcus Chen's remaining undergraduate expenses plus six months living expenses post-graduation." "That's going to add another two hundred thousand," David warned. "Add it." Ashton slid the pen across the desk to me. "Anything else?" I picked up the pen. It was heavy, expensive, the kind of thing I'd never own. "Just one question. What happens if one of us actually catches feelings?" The room went silent. Ashton's smile disappeared. "That won't happen." "But if it does?" "Then that person suffers quietly and professionally until the contract expires." His eyes were cold again. "This is business, Olivia. Not romance. Don't confuse the two." I clicked the pen open. "When do we start?" "The moment you sign, we're engaged. Wedding in three weeks." He stood. "Welcome to the Blackwell family, future Mrs. Blackwell." I signed my name on the line and watched my old life disappear. "One more thing," Ashton said as I set down the pen. "We're having dinner with my grandmother tonight. She'll want to celebrate our engagement." "Tonight? But I just signed. I haven't even told Marcus yet." Ashton checked his watch. "You have four hours. I suggest you come up with a convincing love story. Eleanor's old, not stupid."