The silence in the high-end French restaurant was suffocating, punctuated only by the soft clink of silver against porcelain from distant tables. Across from me, Lawyer Huan sat with the posture of a man who had never known the indignity of a rumbling stomach or a past-due notice.
The contract between us looked innocent held in a leather binder. But to me, it was a death warrant signed in gold.
"Sign it, Ms. Willow," Huan said, his voice as smooth and at the same time cold as the marble floors. "The clock is ticking on the ICU's patience. We both know the hospital won't keep your grandmother on life support out of the goodness of their hearts."
My throat tightened, the air in the room suddenly too thin to breathe. I stared at the lines of legalese, the words blurring into a mess of ink. Sign it, and she lives. Refuse, and you're an orphan all over again.
"I... I need to be sure," I whispered, my fingers trembling as they hovered over the fountain pen. "You said there are rules. A hundred of them?"
Huan flipped to the back of the binder. "Indeed.
He continued, "Mr. Harrington is a man of order. Party A: Mr. Harrington, reserves the right to terminate this three-year arrangement at his discretion. You, Party B, do not. If you attempt to leave, if you fail to fulfill your duties as a 'wife,' or if you breach the non-disclosure agreement, you will be liable for a one-hundred-million-dollar penalty."
One hundred million. I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. I was a girl who worked three part-time jobs and still ate ramen for dinner five nights a week. They might as well have asked for the moon.
"And the compensation?" I asked, my voice cracking.
"Three hundred thousand dollars per month, deposited into a restricted account. Additionally, Mr. Harrington has already pre-paid the next six months of your grandmother's specialized care at the Saint Jude Private Hospital. Everything is contingent on your signature."
I closed my eyes, and for a second, I wasn't in a five-star restaurant. I was five years old, standing in the rain as my mother screamed that I was a "curse" before walking away and never looking back. I was ten, asking Grandma why my father never came to find us, only for her to pull me into her flour-dusted apron and tell me that she was all the family I'd ever need.
Grandma. She wasn't my blood. She was a woman who had found a discarded, broken child and decided to be her world.
The memory shifted, turning dark and violent.
The screech of tires. The smell of burning rubber. A year ago, I had stepped into the street, distracted by a textbook, and Grandma had moved with a strength no seventy-year-old should possess. She had shoved me onto the sidewalk, her body taking the impact of the speeding black sedan.
The sound of her bones snapping still echoed in my nightmares.
"Ms. Willow? We don't have all day."
I opened my eyes. The guilt was a physical weight, a stone in my gut that never went away. This was my fault. Every tube in her body, every beep of the heart monitor—it was all because of me.
I grabbed the pen. I didn't read the rest of the rules. I didn't care if the devil himself was on the other side of this deal. I signed my name in a jagged, desperate scrawl.
"Excellent," Huan said, snapping the binder shut. "One final reminder, Ms. Willow. Rule Number One: You are never to fall in love with him. Mr. Harrington is not looking for a partner. Keep it professional, and you might survive the three years."
"Love him?" I looked at the empty chair. "I've never even met the man. Don't worry, Mr. Huan. I'm not in the habit of loving people randomly!"
That's better, better that way.
---
The Hospital: Room X-13:
I barely made it through the hospital doors before the panic set in. The smell of antiseptic always made my stomach turn, a constant reminder of the year I'd spent haunting these hallway.
"Spring! There you are!"
Dr. Arin met me outside the ICU, his face pale. "We've had a complication. Her intracranial pressure is spiking. If we don't get her into the O.R. within the hour to drain the fluid, the damage will be permanent."
"Then do it!" I grabbed his arm, my nails digging into his white coat. "You have the insurance info, you have the account—"
"The funds haven't cleared the administrative block yet, Spring. It's a quarter of a million dollars for the emergency surgical team. The hospital board won't authorize the theater without the deposit."
"They're going to let her die over a wire transfer?" I screamed, my voice echoing off the sterile walls. "She saved my life! She's all I have!"
"I'm sorry. My hands are tied."
I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I fumbled for my phone, my vision blurred by hot, angry tears. I dialed the number for Assistant Lin, the contact Huan had given me.
"Hello?"
"Please," I sobbed into the receiver, sinking to my knees in the middle of the hallway. "This is Spring. I just signed. I'm his wife now, right? Please, I need an advance. My grandmother is dying. Right now. I need two hundred and fifty thousand dollars or they won't operate."
There was a long, agonizing silence. "I... I will have to check with the President, Ms. Willow. He is in a meeting."
"Tell him I'll do anything! Tell him he can add a thousand more rules! Just save her!"
I hung up and buried my face in my hands. I felt the eyes of the nurses on me, the pitying glances of strangers. I had sold my soul an hour ago, and yet I was still begging. I looked at my hands—the hands Grandma used to hold when I had nightmares. They were stained with the ink of the contract.
Please, August Harrington. If you have a soul, use it now.
---
The Harrington Tower: 88th Floor:
August Harrington looked like an executioner.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the skyline of the city spread out beneath his expensive Italian leather shoes. In his hand, he held a crystal glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it.
A soft knock. Assistant Lin entered, his head bowed. "President. Ma... Madam called. Spring Willow."
August didn't turn around. His jaw tightened, a sharp, dangerous line. "Is she already complaining about the house rules?"
"No, sir. She's at the hospital. Her grandmother has gone into emergency heart failure. She's begging for an advance on her salary to pay for the surgery. She sounded... devastated, sir."
August's lips curled into a cold, mirthless smile.
He set his glass down on the desk, right next to a silver-framed photograph. The woman in the photo was radiant, her hair like spun silk, her smile full of a life that had been extinguished too soon.
Winter...
His chest flared with a familiar, burning agony. A year ago, the world had ended. A year ago, Winter had been taken from him in a chaos of shattered glass and twisted metal. And according to the investigators, it was all because of a girl who had stepped into traffic like a fool.
Spring Willow!
He had spent millions to find her. He had tracked her down, discovered her desperation, and built a cage specifically for her.
"Devastated, is she?" August's voice was a low growl. "She doesn't know what devastation is. Not yet."
"Should I deny the request, sir?"
August turned, his eyes like chips of blue ice. "No. Give it to her. Every cent. I want her to know that her grandmother's heart only beats because I allow it. I want her to feel the weight of every dollar I spend on her."
He walked over to his desk, picking up the silver frame and tracing the edge with his thumb.
"She thinks she's entering a marriage of convenience," August whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "She thinks she's found a way to save what she loves. She has no idea that she just walked into her own execution."
He looked at Lin, his expression turning terrifyingly blank.
"Send the car for her at 4:00 p.m. Tell the surgeons to keep the old woman alive at any cost. I want Spring Willow to have absolutely no excuses when I start breaking her."
"Yes, President."
As the door closed, August looked back out at the city. The sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows across the streets.
"Cursed daughter of a vanished man," he murmured, his eyes dark with obsession. "You survived the accident, Spring. But you won't survive me."
---
The Hospital: 3:55 p.m.-
The surgery light finally turned green. Dr. Arin stepped out, stripping off his surgical mask. He looked exhausted, but he gave me a small, weary nod.
"She's stable, Spring. The pressure is down. She's a fighter."
I collapsed into a plastic waiting room chair, the breath leaving my body in one long, shaky sob. She was alive.
I looked at the clock. 3:58 p.m.
I stood up, wiping the salt from my cheeks and smoothing down my cheap, wrinkled dress. I walked to the hospital entrance, my legs feeling like lead. A sleek, black Rolls-Royce was idling at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the harsh afternoon light.
A driver stepped out, opening the rear door with robotic expression.
"Ms. Willow? Mr. Harrington is expecting you."
I looked back at the hospital one last time. I was leaving the only person who had ever loved me to go to a man who had bought me for the price I didn't yet understand.
I stepped into the car. The leather smelled like expensive tobacco and coldness. As the door clicked shut, I realized the lock didn't make a sound.
The door was closed.
---