When I left her office, my legs felt weak. The rest of the day passed in a blur. People asked me about copy changes and campaign ideas, and I nodded at the right times, but my mind was stuck in that glass room. That night, back in my small apartment, I paced the worn carpet until the sun began to rise.
Pride told me this was wrong, that I would be selling myself. Desperation showed me mom’s house, the one place that still felt like safety, with a foreclosure notice on the door. By dawn, my choice was sitting in my chest like a stone. At 9:00 a.m., I was back in her office. She watched me close the door behind me.
“Well, I will do it,” I said. “I will be your husband for one year.” Something eased in her shoulders. She opened a drawer, took out a simple contract, and placed it on the desk between us. “Then sign,” she said. As my pen scratched my name across the bottom of the page, I felt my old life fall away.
I did not know yet if I had just saved myself from drowning or tied myself to a weight I could not carry. The same afternoon I signed the contract, my whole life shifted like someone had pulled the floor out from under me and replaced it with glass. Luna did not waste time. She slid a key card in a small white envelope across the desk.
This is the address to my building, she said. Penthouse floor. Pack what you need? A driver will pick you up at 5. That fast, I asked. She nodded once. The sooner we start, the more natural it will look by the time my family and the board start asking questions. There was no handshake. No. Welcome to the family.
Just a sharp nod and a clear path forward. That was Luna. Back at my apartment, packing took less time than I expected. It was strange how little of my life fit into two suitcases, a stack of shirts and jeans, a few books, my old laptop, the framed photo of my parents standing in front of dad’s truck, both of them smiling like the future was wide open.
I took down the cheap poster on my wall and stared at the pale square it left behind. This place had never felt like home, but it had been mine. For a second, I thought about tearing up the contract, calling Luna and telling her I had changed my mind. Then I pictured mom’s house in Texas, the stack of medical bills with dad’s name at the top. The eviction notice on my door.
At 5 on the dot, a black SUV pulled up to the curb. The driver knew my name. The ride downtown felt like a one-way trip to another planet. The penthouse was at the top of a glass tower in the heart of Denver. The elevator needed the key card to move. When the doors slid open, I stepped into a space that felt like a magazine spread.
Floor to ceiling windows on two sides. White walls, gray leather couches, clean lines, no clutter, no warmth. Luna stood by the kitchen island with a tablet in her hand. She wore a simple blouse and dark pants, but still looked like she was about to walk into a boardroom. Your room is down that hall. Second door on the left, she said. Closet is empty.
The bathroom is yours. We will need to move some of your things in fast so it looks real. Photos, mail, that sort of thing. I nodded, trying not to stare at the view of the city and the mountains beyond it. This place is big. She glanced around like she was seeing it for the first time.
