The smell of fresh coffee was the only thing keeping me upright.

Not the cheap pre-ground kind, but the real deal—dark roast beans from a small roastery three towns over, brewed in the dented French press I’d sworn I’d replace five years ago.

The café was quiet for a Monday morning. Too quiet.

I leaned my elbows on the counter, staring out through the big front windows at Main Street. The August sunlight spilled across the cobblestones, glinting off the polished hood of a passing vintage car. Usually that view gave me comfort—the postcard-perfect charm of our New England coastal town—but today it only reminded me that I was running out of time.

The eviction notice, folded in my apron pocket, felt like a lead weight. I’d read it three times already this morning, the words blurring into one another: Final Notice of Foreclosure. The due date circled in red: Friday.

Four days left.

A bell jingled above the door, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Morning, Em.” Daniel, my best friend and our café’s chef, came in balancing a crate of eggs against his hip. His dark hair was sticking up at odd angles, the way it always did when he skipped brushing it in favor of more coffee.

“You look like you didn’t sleep again,” he said, setting the crate on the counter.

“I didn’t,” I admitted. “You try sleeping when you’ve got a clock ticking in your ear.”

Daniel frowned. “We’ll figure something out.”

“We’ve been trying to figure something out for months,” I reminded him, pouring him a mug of coffee. “Unless you’ve got a rich uncle hiding in your pantry, the only thing left to do is—”

“Don’t say it.” His tone was sharp.

I bit my lip. I didn’t need to finish. We both knew the only option was closing up shop.

He sipped his coffee in silence, eyes drifting to the framed photos on the wall—the ones of my parents, George and Marie Carter, from before Mom passed. Dad had built this café with his own hands, years before I was born. I’d grown up here, learned to count change at this very counter, spent summer evenings wiping tables while the smell of baking bread drifted from the kitchen.

The thought of losing it felt like losing Mom all over again.

The bell over the door jingled again. This time, it wasn’t a familiar face from town.

A tall man stepped inside, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that didn’t belong anywhere near our weathered floorboards. His hair was dark, cut short, and he wore sunglasses despite being indoors. Every instinct screamed outsider.

“Can I help you?” I asked, smoothing my apron.

He took off the sunglasses, revealing sharp gray eyes. “Emma Carter?”

I stiffened. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is William Cole. I’m an attorney.”

My stomach twisted. “If you’re here about the foreclosure—”

He held up a hand. “This isn’t about that. I’m here on behalf of a client. He’d like to speak with you privately about… a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Daniel straightened beside me. “She’s not interested.”

William’s eyes flicked to him, then back to me. “Perhaps you should hear the proposal before deciding. My client is prepared to resolve your financial troubles—permanently.”

I almost laughed. “What, in exchange for my soul?”

“No,” William said calmly. “In exchange for marriage.”

The room went silent. Even the espresso machine seemed to stop humming.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My client is seeking a discreet arrangement. You would be compensated—generously—in return for a legal marriage. He will cover your debts, including the café’s mortgage, and provide additional financial security. The terms will be outlined in a contract.”

I stared at him. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Daniel stepped in front of me. “She’s not some pawn in whatever game you’re playing.”

William’s expression didn’t change. “This is not a game. My client has reasons for making this offer, and he selected Miss Carter specifically.”

The words lodged in my chest. “Why me?”

“That’s a question for him,” William replied. “If you’re willing to meet, I can arrange it for this afternoon. At the Knight Building, Manhattan.”

The name hit me like a splash of cold water. The Knight family was practically royalty in New York’s business world. Billionaire magnates, old money, and more gossip headlines than I could count. If William was telling the truth, then his client—

“Your client is Adrian Knight?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

William’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “He is.”

I exchanged a glance with Daniel. His brow was furrowed so deeply it could’ve been carved in stone.

“This is insane,” I said. “Why would a man like Adrian Knight need to marry someone like me?”

“That,” William repeated, “is for him to explain.”

---

Two hours later, I was in the passenger seat of William’s sleek black town car, the café temporarily closed with a Back in Two Hours sign taped to the door. Daniel had argued until the moment I left, warning me about scams, stalkers, and God knew what else. But curiosity—and desperation—won out.

The drive into Manhattan felt surreal. The city swallowed us whole, skyscrapers rising like glass giants, horns blaring in the thick traffic. My hands clenched my worn leather purse until my knuckles went white.

William’s voice broke the silence. “There’s no obligation. If you don’t like what you hear, you’re free to walk away.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Because that’s how billionaires work.”

He didn’t respond.

When we finally pulled up in front of the Knight Building, my breath caught. It was all steel and mirrored glass, thirty floors high, the kind of place that screamed power before you even stepped inside. Security guards in crisp uniforms flanked the entrance.

Inside, the air was cool, scented faintly with lemon polish. The marble floors were so shiny I could see my reflection—messy bun, faded jeans, and all.

We rode the elevator to the top floor. William led me through double glass doors into an office so large it could’ve swallowed my entire café. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city. A massive mahogany desk stood at the far end, and behind it—

He was taller than I’d expected. Broad shoulders, lean frame, black hair swept back with the kind of effortless precision that probably took a stylist an hour. His eyes—piercing blue—locked on mine the moment I entered.

“Miss Carter,” he said, his voice low, smooth. “I’m Adrian Knight.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. This was the man whose face graced business magazines, whose fortune could probably buy the entire town where I grew up. And he was looking at me like I was the only person in the room.

“I understand William’s explained the basics,” he continued, coming around the desk. “I’ll get to the point. I need a wife. You need money. We can help each other.”

I crossed my arms. “And why me? Surely you could find someone—”

“Anyone?” His lips quirked. “I could. But I don’t want anyone. I need someone with no ties to my world. No ulterior motives. Someone who won’t leak to the press. You fit the bill.”

I bristled. “So I’m safe because I’m ordinary?”

“Because you’re trustworthy,” he corrected. “I’ve done my research, Miss Carter. You’ve kept your café running against impossible odds. You’re fiercely loyal to your family. You value privacy. Those qualities are rare in my world.”

“And in return for… marrying you, you’ll pay off my debts?”

“Pay them off,” he said, “and secure your financial future. You’ll have access to resources most people can’t imagine. All I ask is that you play the role convincingly in public.”

“And in private?”

“In private,” he said, holding my gaze, “you’re free to live as you wish. This is a business arrangement. Nothing more—unless you want it to be.”

Heat crept into my cheeks.

I should have said no. I should have walked out, told Daniel he was right, told Dad we’d figure out another way. But instead, I heard myself ask:

“What’s the catch?”

Adrian’s smile was slow, deliberate. “The contract lasts one year. After that, we part ways—unless either of us wants otherwise.”

“And if I say yes?”

He extended his hand. “Then, Miss Carter, your life changes—starting now.”

I stared at his hand, my heart pounding. This was insane. Dangerous. Irreversible.

And for some reason I couldn’t explain, I was tempted.

The city lights blurred outside the car window as we drove away from the Knight Building.

The contract—three thick pages of legal language—sat in my lap, heavy as a brick. William had handed it to me in a sleek black folder before we left, saying I could take the night to “consider it.” That word, consider, was doing a lot of work right now.

The thing was, I’d already read the bolded parts while Adrian had poured us both glasses of sparkling water in his office.

Term: One year.

Conditions: Publicly appear as Mr. Knight’s wife at designated events, reside at Knight Estate or an approved property, maintain discretion at all times.

Compensation: Payment of all personal and business debts, plus a monthly stipend of $50,000.

Termination: Early termination at either party’s request with a severance of $250,000.

It was… surreal. The kind of thing you’d expect in a cheesy paperback novel, not slid across a desk in front of you by a man who could buy a small country before lunch.

“You’re very quiet,” William said from the driver’s seat.

“What am I supposed to say?” I asked. “Thanks for offering to buy me a nice life?”

He didn’t glance back. “Mr. Knight values efficiency. This arrangement serves both parties.”

“Right. Because marriage is just a business deal now.”

“For some people, it always has been.” His tone was neutral, but the words stung.

I stared out at the passing traffic, my mind a jumble. Part of me wanted to throw the folder out the window, watch it tumble under a taxi’s tires. Another part—stubborn, desperate—wanted to clutch it to my chest and not let go.

When William dropped me off at the café, Daniel was waiting on the front steps, arms crossed. His eyes zeroed in on the folder immediately.

“Tell me you didn’t sign anything.”

“I didn’t,” I said, stepping past him to unlock the door.

“Yet,” he muttered, following me inside. “You’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about the fact that Dad’s too proud to take charity, that the bank won’t give us another extension, and that this—” I held up the folder “—might be the only way to save the café.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Emma, this isn’t a loan. It’s a contract that ties you to a billionaire for a year. Do you know how dangerous that could be?”

“He’s not dangerous,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Oh, so you know him now? Spent, what, an hour in his office and suddenly you’ve got him all figured out?”

“I’m not naïve, Dan. I just…” I trailed off, unsure how to explain the strange pull I’d felt in Adrian’s presence. He was guarded, yes, but there’d been a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not warmth exactly, but interest.

Daniel raked a hand through his hair. “Promise me you’ll at least sleep on it before you do anything.”

“I promise,” I said.

---

That night, I sat at my tiny kitchen table with the contract spread out in front of me. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound. I’d made tea, but it sat untouched, steam curling into the air.

Clause by clause, I read through every word. There were no hidden traps—at least none I could see—but the precision of the language was intimidating.

One paragraph caught my attention:

Section 4.3: Parties shall maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage in public settings, including but not limited to social events, business functions, and media appearances.

The idea of walking into a ballroom on Adrian’s arm, cameras flashing, reporters calling my name—it made my stomach knot. I’d spent my whole life avoiding attention. Now I’d have to pretend to belong in a world I’d only ever glimpsed through magazine covers in the grocery store checkout line.

I pushed the papers away and rubbed my temples.

The logical part of my brain listed the facts: one year, financial freedom, security for Dad and Lily, the café saved. The emotional part whispered all the ways this could go wrong.

And somewhere between the two was the memory of Adrian’s voice when he’d said, I need someone with no ties to my world. You fit the bill.

---

The next morning, I was back at the café before dawn, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of baking. Kneading dough, shaping rolls, brewing coffee—it was my comfort zone. The smell of cinnamon and yeast filled the air, a small reminder that not everything in my life was up for sale.

At eight sharp, the door opened, and a familiar figure stepped inside. Adrian Knight, in a dark navy suit, looking completely out of place against the mismatched wooden chairs and faded chalkboard menu.

I froze, hands dusted with flour. “You… came here?”

“You didn’t call,” he said simply, walking to the counter. “I assumed you were still considering.”

Daniel appeared from the kitchen like a guard dog, wiping his hands on a towel. “She doesn’t need more pressure.”

“I’m not here to pressure her,” Adrian said, his gaze steady on me. “I’m here to answer her questions.”

I swallowed. “I read the contract. It’s… a lot.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He glanced around the café, then back at me. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

Daniel bristled, but I nodded, leading Adrian to the small back office. He stepped inside, glancing at the cluttered desk and the corkboard crammed with old receipts and family photos.

“This place matters to you,” he said quietly.

“It’s all I have,” I admitted.

He met my eyes. “Then let me help you keep it.”

“Why me?” I asked again, more sharply this time. “Out of every woman in the city—probably the world—you chose me. Why?”

Something flickered across his face, gone too quickly to name. “Because I need someone who doesn’t want my money. You want to save your café, not buy diamonds. That’s rare.”

“And what do you get out of this?”

“A wife,” he said bluntly. “The board of my company is threatening to replace me. My father’s will included… stipulations. If I’m married by the end of the quarter, I retain full control.”

“So this is just to keep your company?”

“At first,” he said. “Beyond that… I don’t know. Maybe it becomes more. Maybe not. But I’m offering you stability in exchange for playing a role.”

I stared at him, my pulse loud in my ears. He wasn’t pleading. He wasn’t charming. He was making an offer like any other business deal. And somehow, that made it harder to refuse.

“Say yes,” he said quietly, “and the foreclosure notice disappears before the end of the week.”

I took a breath, feeling the weight of every choice I’d ever made pressing down on me.

And before I could stop myself, I said:

“All right. I’ll do it.”

---

Adrian’s expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes softened. He extended his hand, and I took it, feeling the solid warmth of his grip.

“William will handle the logistics,” he said. “We’ll have the paperwork notarized by Friday. And…” His gaze flicked toward the front of the café. “You’ll need a dress.”

I laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Right. Because nothing says romance like a dress bought for a fake wedding.”

“It doesn’t have to be fake if you don’t want it to be,” he said, his voice low.

And before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me in the tiny office with flour on my apron and a contract that was suddenly no longer theoretical.

The drive to Dad’s house was short, but my hands stayed tight on the steering wheel the entire way. The morning air was crisp, the kind that hinted at the first edges of autumn, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was the conversation I was about to have—and how much I hated the idea of lying to my family.

Technically, I wasn’t lying. I was getting married. That part was true. But the why, the how, and the terms? That was a whole different mess.

The old Carter house sat at the edge of town, paint peeling in spots, the front porch sagging just enough to creak when you stepped on it. Dad was on the porch swing, a mug of coffee in one hand and the local paper in the other. He looked up when I pulled into the driveway, his weathered face breaking into a smile.

“Morning, Em,” he called as I climbed the steps. “You’re out early.”

“I had some… business to take care of.”

His brows furrowed. “Bank business?”

I hesitated. “Not exactly.”

The screen door banged open behind him and Lily came out, barefoot, a paintbrush in one hand and a streak of blue across her cheek. She was twenty-three going on sixteen, with a knack for avoiding anything that looked like responsibility.

“Hey, sis,” she said, peering at me. “You look weird.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Can we all sit down for a minute? I have something to tell you.”

Dad set his mug on the porch railing, the swing creaking as he leaned forward. “What is it?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m getting married.”

The words hung in the air like a gunshot.

Lily’s paintbrush clattered to the porch. “You’re what?”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “To who?”

“You don’t know him,” I said carefully. “His name is Adrian Knight.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. “Wait—the billionaire? As in Knight Enterprises? As in… that Adrian Knight?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice flat.

Dad leaned back slowly. “Emma, this a joke?”

“No. It’s… it’s complicated.”

“That’s one word for it,” Lily said, crossing her arms. “You’re seriously telling me you’re marrying one of the richest men in the country out of the blue? When did you even meet him?”

“This week.”

“This week?” she screeched.

“Calm down,” I said. “It’s not what you think.”

Dad’s voice was low now, dangerous. “Then tell me what it is.”

I stared at my hands, fingers knotted in my lap. “He made me an offer. It’s… sort of a business arrangement. One year. In exchange, he’s paying off the café and all our debts.”

Lily made a choking sound. “Oh my God, you’re selling yourself.”

“It’s not like that—”

“What else is it like, Em?” she snapped. “Because it sure sounds like—”

“Enough,” Dad said sharply. His eyes stayed on me, steady and unreadable. “Is this because of me? Because of the café?”

“It’s because we’re drowning, Dad,” I said, my voice breaking. “The bank’s not giving us another chance. We’re out of options. This is the only way to keep the café open, to keep our home.”

His jaw tightened, the muscles working. “You think I want you sacrificing yourself for this family?”

“It’s not a sacrifice,” I lied. “It’s a contract. A year. That’s all. And then I can walk away with enough to make sure we never struggle again.”

Lily was pacing now, muttering under her breath. Dad just kept looking at me like he was trying to see through the words to whatever I wasn’t saying.

Finally, he said, “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“No,” I said quietly.

“Then I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

I didn’t answer, because the truth was, I didn’t.

By the time I got back to the café, the morning rush was over. Daniel was behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, and the way he looked up at me told me he already knew where I’d been.

“You told them,” he said flatly.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Dad’s… resigned. Lily thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“She’s not wrong,” he muttered.

I dropped my bag on the counter. “I’m doing this, Dan. I need you to either support me or—”

He slammed the cloth down. “Or what? Walk away? I’ve been by your side through every crazy idea, every all-nighter, every disaster, and now you want me to just smile and nod while you marry a man you barely know?”

“Yes,” I said, sharper than I meant. “Because it’s my decision.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, the air thick. Finally, he turned back to the counter.

“You better hope he’s exactly who you think he is,” he said. “Because if he’s not…” He shook his head, leaving the sentence unfinished.

That afternoon, a black sedan pulled up outside the café. William stepped inside, his presence drawing curious looks from the few customers left.

“Miss Carter,” he said, “Mr. Knight asked me to deliver these.”

He handed me two boxes—one long and flat, the other smaller. Inside the first was a dress. Not white, but a deep, elegant cream, simple and understated, the kind of thing that looked expensive even without a price tag.

The smaller box held a pair of shoes. Satin. Heels just high enough to make me nervous.

“He thought you might prefer to avoid a shopping trip,” William said. “The fitting is at six tonight at the estate.”

I nodded, my throat dry.

As he left, Daniel muttered, “Guess he’s not wasting time.”

No, I thought, staring at the dress. He definitely wasn’t.

At six sharp, I stood in the foyer of the Knight Estate. The place was breathtaking—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, the faint scent of fresh lilies drifting through the air. A butler I hadn’t caught the name of took my coat, his expression polite but unreadable.

Adrian appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase, his presence commanding even from a distance.

“Miss Carter,” he said, descending. “I trust the dress fit?”

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted.

“Good. We have a lot to arrange before Friday.”

I followed him into a study lined with bookshelves and floor-to-ceiling windows. A wedding planner was already there, flipping through a leather-bound notebook. She looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine—sleek hair, red lipstick, tailored suit.

“Mr. Knight,” she said briskly, “I’ve confirmed the officiant, the photographer, and the venue. We’ll need to finalize the guest list tonight.”

“Keep it minimal,” Adrian said. “Immediate family, a few close associates. No press.”

She nodded, making notes. “And the rings?”

Adrian’s gaze flicked to me. “We’ll choose them tomorrow.”

It was all happening so fast—fittings, guest lists, officiants. I stood there, letting the current pull me along, wondering if there was still time to change my mind.

But then Adrian’s hand brushed mine—light, fleeting—and for some reason, I stayed.