Page 2 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

AMOUNT DUE: $86,430.00.

Aria had learned early that fear became easier to carry when it had a number attached to it. Balances, overdue notices, medication costs—numbers could be written down, circled, negotiated. What she could not quantify was the possibility of losing Evelyn. That fear followed her everywhere, sitting beside her like an unwanted shadow.

She read the total again, hoping desperation had added an extra digit.

It hadn’t.

“Ms. Vale?”

Aria lifted her head. Across the narrow billing office desk, a woman in pale blue scrubs watched her with the careful expression people wore when they were about to ruin someone’s life politely.

“The deposit doesn’t cover the surgery,” the woman said. “Without another thirty thousand dollars by Friday, the procedure will have to be postponed.”

“Postponed for how long?”

The woman glanced toward the closed door. “That depends on when you can make the payment.”

Aria’s fingers tightened around the paper. “My mother doesn’t have time to wait.”

The woman’s eyes softened, which somehow made it worse. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry. That word had followed Aria for six months.

Sorry, your insurance won’t cover it.

Sorry, your loan application was denied.

Sorry, we decided to move forward with another candidate.

Pity was free. Saving her mother was not.

Aria folded the bill and pushed it into her purse alongside three past-due notices, a maxed-out credit card, and the final eighty-seven dollars in her checking account.

“I’ll have the money by Friday,” she said.

She had no idea how, but when the alternative was watching the only person left to love her slip away, the lie felt like a promise.

Her phone rang before she reached the elevator.

LANDLORD flashed across the screen. Aria silenced it. The phone rang again immediately. She declined the call and stepped inside the waiting elevator car.

Before the doors could slide shut, a polished black dress shoe forced them back open.

“Hold it.”

The voice was deep, controlled, and accustomed to obedience.

Aria stepped back as a tall man entered. His dark charcoal suit was tailored flawlessly to his broad frame. Dark hair, sharp jaw, silver watch, no wedding ring.

He didn’t spare her a glance; his attention remained entirely on the phone pressed to his ear.

“I said no interviews,” he snapped quietly. “If the board wants a performance, they can hire an actor.”

Aria stared at the floor indicator and tried not to listen.

“The vote is in three weeks,” the caller’s voice leaked from the speaker. “Your grandfather’s condition is explicit. If you aren’t married before the succession meeting—”

“I am aware of the condition.” His expression turned to ice. He ended the call without another word.