The Bride's choice for the cruel mafia king

In times like this, how do you cope? How do you let someone slip away right before your eyes? Watch them take their last breath. I can't do that. Not to a woman who has given me everything within her power.

I won't stand by and watch her die. I'm a doctor. I took an oath to save lives. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn't do everything possible to save my mother's life? Even if she does have a rare disease, that's stealing the light from her brown eyes.

According to her doctors, they have tried all possible treatments. Unfortunately, there are no other options available for her condition.

After my father passed away, my mother placed the life insurance money in a trust fund for my college education.

She worked multiple jobs throughout my childhood to support us. Eventually, she was able to attend community college and earn an associate's degree, which allowed her to work only one job to provide for our family.

My mother had been adamant about giving me the best of everything. She claimed it had been what my father had wanted for me.

My whole life, my mother had always put my needs above her own. So when I find out about her illness, I make it my mission to do everything in my power to help her.

My mom and I are seated across from the doctor who is overseeing her treatment. For about an hour, I list off every medical option that has been attempted in hopes of curing her illness.

"I hold his gaze and ask firmly, "Dr. Kato, have you truly explored every possible solution?"

"I'm right here," Mom interjects, a hint of frustration in her voice.

His eyes, almond-shaped and expressive, tilt upward apologetically.

"I apologize, Mrs. Levon. Please don't take offense; I am simply trying to convey to your daughter that we have exhausted all possible solutions."

On the drive to my mother's house, I pondered on what Dr. Kato said. I'll need a small fortune to find a cure.

That evening, I hunched in front of my screen, combing through the internet for any available clinical studies.

Frustration builds up inside me as I angrily type out the words: I need tons of money.

A forum pops up on my computer monitor.

Don't fall down the rabbit hole, Isabella.

You know what I do. I slipped down the rabbit hole.

I just can't resist reading the stories posted there - they're always so captivating. However, I have limited time; my main focus is finding a way to help my mother.

The woman's story about how she and her brother were the only survivors of a tragic family trip resonates with me.

She needed money to send her brother to an Ivy League university. She heard from a friend about the Wife for Hire Agency.

Thanks to their assistance, she found a husband who funded her brother's education and began a fresh chapter in her life through a two-year marriage arrangement.

My eyes light up with excitement and hope. She even says she didn't expect to find love through this arrangement.

"Who needs love?" I scoff at myself.

This could be my chance - marry a wealthy man for a short period and he'll fund my research project to find a cure for my mother.

Leaning back in my chair, I clap my hands together. "This is it, my big break. Wife for Hire Agency, here I come."

I run my hands down my high-end classic outfit, studying my reflection in the full-length mirror. This has been my go-to style ever since I started college.

People would tease me about it, making comments like "Are you off to your secretarial job after class?" or "You dress like my mom." That one always stung. Back in high school, I was used to wearing uniforms and then switching to jeans and t-shirts for after-school activities. But college was different; it was important to me, both for my education and for honoring my father's life insurance policy. That's why I made an effort to dress in business casual or professional attire.

It helped me take my studies seriously and not waste my inheritance.

Being different attracts two types of men: the ones who pretend to care and manipulate you, and the ones who see straight into your soul and tug at your heartstrings.

I struggle to suppress the memories that flood my mind when I think about how he couldn't stay away from me during our time in college.

My gaze falls on my outfit - gray slacks, black kitten heels, and a short-sleeved cream blouse. It gives off a professional and respectable vibe.

Isabella, your goal is to attract a husband. The man shouldn't pick you just based on looks. However, my supposed beauty may be for once in this situation.

I swipe a finger over my semi-button nose and marvel at my pecan skin. I love the skin I'm in.

My fingers slide through my freshly washed hair. The thick brown waves dance over my slender shoulders.

If I want to hook the wealthiest man, I'll have to seek reinforcement. My best friends and fellow doctors, Faye and Shaylee.

High fashion is their signature style. Even before they put on their white doctor coats. They look like they just stepped off the page of a magazine. Couture all the way.

I pick up my phone off the nightstand and quickly send a text in our group chat.

Me: I have an important meeting today and need to exude subtle sexiness.

Faye: laughing emoji

Shaylee: facepalm emoji

Me: So I need to go shopping. ASAP.

Faye: Girl, you should've led with shopping.

Shaylee: I work overnight. How about noon? I'd like to get at least five hours of sleep.

Faye: Boring. I'll drink for me and Shaylee.

Me: Laughing emoji. Noon it is.

Faye: I'll pick you two up at eleven thirty.

Shaylee: Ok.

Me: Great! Thanks, girls.

I mustn't let them go too far today.

Faye bobs her head to the beat of the music as she drives her powder blue Bentley truck through Newark, New Jersey.

The woman is a southern belle girl from South Carolina. She comes from money. Her husband is also rich.

I'm not sure Faye knows what it's like to be poor. She had dressed her ass off during medical school and didn't apologize for it.

Once inside the high-end boutique, the salesperson greets Faye.

"KB, this is Shaylee and Isabella." A wide grin lifts her mocha cheeks.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," he says.

"Faye, Nadine will be here soon. She's bringing those pieces you discussed earlier."

Faye does a little dance. "KB, that's awesome."

"I'll pour the champagne," KB says as he bounces off toward the back of the store.

Faye waves a hand in the air. "Thanks."

She turns to Shaylee and me. "Isabella, give us the rundown while we scour the racks."

"Ok," I sigh.

KB returns, placing a flute filled with rosy champagne in each of our hands.

"Thank you," we sing.

His pale cheeks redden, then he smiles from ear to ear. "Do we know what look we're going for?"

"KB, Isabella is our star this afternoon. Give me five minutes to find out."

"No problem." KB disappears into the back of the store.

"What's the occasion, Isabella?" Faye asks.

I gulp down half the glass of champagne. "Dr. Sato said he can't help my mother. He and his team of doctors have exhausted every possible measure."