Emma's Point of View
The small apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. I stared at the eviction notice taped to the counter. Bold, unforgiving letters. Two weeks to find a miracle—or a new place to live. My heart clenched, but I refused to cry. Not after everything Cameron put me through.
Cassie's voice rang from the other end of the line, sharp with concern. "You're not thinking about going to that party, are you?"
"I am," I replied, pulling on the heels she'd lent me months ago. They pinched, but I couldn't let that stop me. "What else am I supposed to do, Cassie? Sit here and wallow?"
"Getting drunk isn't going to fix anything, Emma."
"No," I said, grabbing my purse. "But it'll shut my brain up for one night."
Cassie sighed heavily, but I didn't wait for her response. I hung up and left. The chilly New York air wrapped around me as I stepped out, heading toward the club where my life was about to change forever.
---
The music was deafening, a mix of bass and lights that made my head spin before I even had a drink. The air was filled with perfume, sweat, and desperation. People danced like their lives depended on it, and for one night, I wanted to be one of them.
At the bar, I ordered something strong and downed it in one gulp. It burned, but the sting was welcome. I leaned back, letting the world blur around me.
"Rough day?" a deep voice asked, cutting through the noise.
I turned to see him—Ethan. Everyone in the city knew his name. CEO of Meadow Textile, heir to a fortune, and the kind of man who could make headlines by just breathing. He looked out of place here, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the chaos around us.
"You could say that," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
He smirked, a crooked thing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let me guess—bad breakup, lousy job, or both?"
"Does it matter?" I shot back, annoyed by his arrogance. "Why are you even talking to me?"
He shrugged, his confidence unwavering. "You looked like you needed another drink."
I should have walked away. Instead, I stayed. Hours blurred into minutes, and one drink turned into three. We talked—well, he talked, and I listened. He had a way of drawing you in, making you forget that you were drowning.
---
The next morning, the sunlight streaming through my window was unforgiving. My head pounded with a deep headache as I pieced together fragments of the night before. The last thing I remembered was Ethan leading me out of the club, his hand firm but oddly gentle on my arm.
A flash of his smirk crossed my mind, and I groaned. What had I done?
Before I could wallow in shame, there was a knock at the door. I stumbled to open it, half-expecting Cassie. Instead, I found a courier holding an envelope with my name written in bold, clean script.
"Sign here," he said, thrusting a pen at me.
I complied, confused, and tore open the envelope once the door closed. Inside was a contract. The words blurred as I read them, but one name stood out—Ethan. My stomach dropped.
---
Ethan's Point of View
She showed up at my office hours later, clutching the contract like it might explode. Her brown eyes—fierce, despite the panic—locked onto mine.
"What is this?" she demanded, slamming the papers onto my desk.
I leaned back, unbothered by her outburst. "It's exactly what it looks like. A proposal."
"A contract marriage?" she spat, disbelief lacing her tone. "You can't be serious."
"I am," I said simply. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"
Her face drained of color, and I knew I had her. My father's threats replayed in my mind—marry or lose everything. Emma was my way out, and I wasn't about to let her slip through my fingers.
"How did you even find out?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
I shrugged, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "I have resources."
Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of my desk. "You don't even know me."
"I don't need to," I replied coldly. "This isn't about love or trust. It's a business arrangement. Three years. You play the role of my wife, and in return, you'll never have to worry about money again."
Her laugh was bitter. "And if I say no?"
I leaned forward, meeting her gaze with steel. "Then I'll make sure you regret it."
---
Emma's Point of View
His words cut deep, but I refused to flinch. "You think you can just buy me?"
"No," he said, his tone chilling. "I'm offering you survival."
The way he talked settled over me like a storm cloud. He wasn't bluffing. Ethan was the kind of man who got what he wanted, no matter the cost.
"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But don't think for a second that I'll make this easy for you."
His smirk returned, sharper this time. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
---
Later That Night
Cassie paced my tiny apartment, her face a mix of anger and disbelief. "You can't be serious, Emma. A contract marriage? With *him*?"
"I don't have a choice," I said, sinking into the couch. "It's this or end up on the streets."
"There's always a choice," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You don't have to sell your soul."
"It's not my soul," I whispered, touching my stomach. "It's my baby."
Her expression softened, but the worry remained. "He's dangerous, Emma. You've seen the headlines. He chews people up and spits them out."
"I know," I said, my voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill. "But I'll survive. For my child."
Cassie sighed, sitting beside me. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
---
Ethan's Point of View
The wedding was a quiet affair. No guests, no celebration—just a cold, legal exchange. Emma looked beautiful in her simple dress, but her eyes were hard. She didn't trust me, and that was fine. Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford.
As we signed the papers, I glanced at her, wondering if she had any idea what she was getting into. Probably not. But it didn't matter. She was mine now.
For better or worse.