I flipped it open and felt my stomach drop. Inside were copies of my life, hospital bills from my dad’s treatment, bank statements with negative balances, my credit report, even a scan of the eviction notice from my apartment door. My throat went dry. “How did you get all this?” Quote, “I had my assistant run a background check,” she said.
Her voice was calm, like she was reading a grocery list discreetly. You are in freef fall, Adam. No savings, high debt, 3 months behind on rent. You will not last another month. I felt naked sitting there under those sharp gray eyes. Angry too. Why? Why look into me like this? What does this have to do with my job? Quote, “It does not,” she said.
“This is not about work. This is about a proposal.” “A proposal?” I repeated. She leaned back in her chair, studying me. My father set up a trust before he died. The terms say that to keep control of my shares and my position, I must be married by the end of this year and remain married for at least 12 months. If not, control shifts to my brother Derek.
I had seen Derek around the office. Expensive suits, smooth smile, eyes that never smiled with his mouth. People said he wanted her job and would do anything to get it. I am not going to let that happen, Luna said. But I also do not want a real marriage built on lies. That is where you come in. I blinked. Me? I need a husband.
On paper, she said, 12 months, no more, no less. We marry. We live together. We attend events as a couple. When the year is over, we end it cleanly. No claim on my assets. No shared accounts. In return, I clear all your debts, medical, rent, cards, and I pay you $100,000 at the end of the term so you can start over.
” The room went quiet. I could hear my own heartbeat. “This is insane,” I said softly. “You do not even know me.” Her gaze did not waver. “I know enough. I have watched you for a while, Adam. You work hard. You do not stir drama. You do not boast. You are desperate, but you still show up and do your job. I need someone I can trust not to use this against me.
Someone who has something to lose if they break the rules. This is a marriage, I said. Even if it is fake, people will talk. Your family, the board, human resources. What do I tell my mom? What do you tell yours? We will tell them the story we want them to hear. Luna said, “HR already knows I am considering a personal relationship with an employee. They have a plan.
Another manager will handle your reviews. The rest is image. I am very good at image.” Her confidence scared me as much as it impressed me. I am not asking you to decide now, she added. Think about it. If you say no, this folder disappears and we never speak of it again. If you say yes, your life changes. So does mine.
I looked down at the folder, at the numbers in red ink, at my dad’s name on the hospital bills, at the notice that said I had 10 days left before I was out on the street. “What about us?” I asked quietly. “In private, what are the rules?” Her eyes flicked to mine. “We will have a written contract, boundaries. You will have your own room, your own space.
This is not about romance. It is about survival.” The question that had been bouncing in my head jumped out. Do we have to sleep in the same bed? I asked. For the first time since I walked in, something like surprise flashed in her eyes. Then to my shock, she laughed. It was a quick sound, but it was real. No, she said. We do not have to sleep in the same bed.
