The heavy parchment was already warping under the freezing rain. Yet, the bold words printed at the top remained terrifyingly clear: Prenuptial Agreement and Contract of Marriage.
Clara stared at the folder, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The storm battered her fragile frame.
But the man standing before her, Richard Sterling, didn't flinch. His gaze was as cold and unrelenting as a hurricane.
"You're completely insane," Clara whispered. Her trembling voice was nearly swallowed by the roaring wind. "I don't even know you. What is this? A sick joke?"
She stumbled backward, hugging her soggy cardboard box like a shield. Her exhausted brain couldn't process this. Less than an hour ago, she was fired. Now, a billionaire was proposing on a flooded street.
Richard slowly pulled the folder back. His dark eyes swept over her.
She was a mess. Her uniform was soaked, her hair plastered to her face, and dried blood stained her fingers. Yet, beneath the pathetic exterior, he saw a feral spark in her eyes. It was the look of a cornered animal refusing to die.
Perfect, Richard thought. She is the safest candidate.
Just four hours ago, Richard sat in the suffocating heat of Mr. Winston's elite notary office.
Across from him sat his uncle, Howard Sterling. The older man wore a sickeningly smug smirk that made Richard's blood boil.
"Read the final clause, Winston," Howard ordered, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Let my nephew understand his place."
Mr. Winston adjusted his glasses. He looked at Richard with profound regret before reading the late patriarch's absolute will.
"The primary heir, Richard Sterling, must be legally married before his twenty-eighth birthday. This condition is legally incontestable."
Richard's jaw had clenched tight. His traditional grandfather believed a man couldn't run a billion-dollar empire if he couldn't run a household.
Howard and the corrupt board had intentionally buried this clause. They waited until today Richard's twenty-eighth birthday to spring the trap.
If the clock struck midnight and Richard wasn't married, the Sterling Group would fall to Howard. His uncle would tear his father's legacy apart.
Richard needed a wife. Instantly.
"Listen to me," Richard's deep baritone cut through his dark memories, snapping his attention back to Clara. "I don't have time for games. I need a wife tonight. This is a strictly business transaction."
Clara let out a bitter, hollow laugh.
"Why me? With your money, you could buy any high-end escort in the city!" she fired back.
"Because I despise women who act," Richard replied smoothly. "And the way you looked ready to kill me earlier? That wasn't acting."
He took a slow step closer. His imposing frame and the scent of expensive cedarwood completely swallowed her space.
"Besides, your phone has been lighting up," Richard said, his gaze dropping to her pocket. "A hospital calling. Someone you love is dying, and you just lost your job to pay for it."
Clara's breath hitched. It felt like a physical blow to the chest.
"That's none of your business," she hissed. Her lower lip trembled violently.
"It is my business. Because I'm the only man on earth who can save them tonight," Richard countered ruthlessly.
He reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a sleek leather checkbook. With a flick of his gold pen, he signed a blank check and held it right in front of her face.
"Write your number. Surgery, VIP care, the best imported meds. I'll pay it right this second."
Clara stared at the elegant signature. Her heart pounded frantically against her ribs.
Fifty thousand dollars. That was the deposit she needed by tomorrow morning. It was an impossible sum. Now, salvation was literally being handed to her in a thunderstorm.
But she had to sell her freedom to a cold, ruthless stranger.
"What are the terms?" she whispered.
A dark glint of triumph flashed in Richard's eyes. He had her.
"Simple. You become my legal wife on paper. You play the devoted partner in public. In return, you don't pry into my life, and I won't touch you. One year. Then we divorce, and you walk away a multi-millionaire."
Before Clara could process the sheer weight of his offer, her phone shrieked. It was the hospital's emergency ringtone.
With numb, shaking fingers, she answered.
"Family of Rose?" a nurse's frantic voice spilled from the speaker. "She's crashing. We need to move her to the ICU immediately, but the system locked her file. We need twenty thousand dollars in ten minutes, or she won't make it!"
All the blood drained from Clara's face. Her knees buckled under the weight of the terror.
"I'll pay! Just save my mother, please!" she sobbed.
The line went dead.
Clara slowly looked up. Richard stood there like a monolith, waiting. He offered no pity, only an ironclad way out.
Without another thought, she dropped her box into the mud. She snatched the gold pen from his fingers and slammed the contract onto the hood of his luxury car.
With trembling hands, she slashed her signature across the dotted line. She signed her soul away.
"Pay the hospital," Clara demanded, her voice entirely hollow. "Now."
Richard took the contract. "David will wire it immediately. Get in."
He turned on his heel to open the passenger door. Suddenly, he froze.
His sharp eyes caught a subtle, unnatural flash of light from the pitch-black alleyway across the street.
A figure stood in the shadows, quickly lowering a long-lens camera.
Richard's jaw tightened, a lethal coldness washing over his features. Uncle Howard wasn't wasting any time.
The bloodhounds were already here. The war had just begun.