The Offer on Paper

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.

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