CONTRACT OF CHAOS

"You want me to marry a complete stranger?"

The words sounded absurd as I spoke them, but the man in the sharp navy suit didn't react. His name was Julian Cross. He had no patience for theatrics or emotions.

"I want you to marry me," he corrected.

"Technically. Legally. Not romantically."

I blinked. "Did I fall into a Netflix movie plot without noticing?"

He leaned back, fingers steepled, his gaze unreadable. "Do you want to hear the terms or not?"

I scanned the rooftop restaurant, half expecting someone to yell "prank." Nothing. Me-a broke, paint-smudged waitress facing New York's most untouchable billionaire. Completely normal.

"I heard you needed a graphic designer," I said. "That's why I came. Not for... this."

"Change of plan." He spoke in a clipped tone. "I need a wife. In name only. For one year. Two million pounds. Tax-free."

My jaw dropped. "You could hire a supermodel."

"I don't need a supermodel. I need someone with no ties to my world, no past scandals, and no risk of leaking anything to the press. I vetted you."

"You vetted me?"

He nodded with a deliberate motion. "Your mother's condition. Your student loan debt. Your eviction notice. You're smart, desperate, and discreet. You're ideal."

My chest burned. "So that's why you picked me? Because I'm drowning?"

"I picked you because you're invisible. No one would suspect you. That matters."

I gripped the edge of the table to stop myself from throwing my water glass at him. "That's charming."

"I'm not charming. I'm efficient."

"Why do you even need a wife? You're rich and powerful, and you likely have got more women than you can count."

His jaw flexed. "It's personal."

"Let me guess. A dying relative left a fortune, and the catch is you need to get married."

He didn't answer. That told me I was right.

I stared at him. "You're insane."

"You are considering it."

"Because two million dollars could save my mum's life."

"And that's exactly why you will say yes."

I hated that he was right. My throat tightened as I looked down at the folder he'd slid across the table. The contract inside spelt everything out: the rules, the timeline, and the payout.

"You don't care about anyone, do you?" I said.

"I care about results. You sign that contract, and your problems go away. Simple."

I pushed the folder back. "And what do I get after the year? Money?"

"Freedom," he said. "And a clean break."

I swallowed hard. "And what happens if I fall for you?"

"You will not."

His confidence was infuriating. "You do not know that."

"I do. Because I don't let people close enough for that to happen."

"That sounds lonely."

He shrugged, as if loneliness were a fact of life. "It's safe."

I looked down at my chipped nail polish, my cheap shoes, and my phone that was one text away from disconnection. My mum's latest bill loomed in my inbox: twenty-eight thousand pounds due by Friday. She needed her new meds-fast.

I opened the folder.

"Good choice," he said.

"I haven't signed anything yet."

"You will."

"What is your full name?" I asked.

"Julian Marcus Cross."

I pulled a pen from my purse, stared at the dotted line, and hesitated.

"If you lie to me," I said, "about anything... I walk."

He nodded once. "Fair."

"If you treat me like furniture... I walk."

"I'll treat you like a partner. A silent one."

"And if I decide I want more?"

"Then you will disappoint yourself."

I signed.

He stood and offered me his hand. "We'll marry by Friday." I'll have someone pick you up in the morning."

I looked up at him. "No proposal? No ring?"

"This is a transaction, not a fantasy."

I took his hand anyway.

For a second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Not warmth or kindness, but hesitation.

Then it was gone.

"Do you always give people orders like they work for you?" I asked as we rode down in his private elevator.

"Yes."

"Even your fake wife?"

"Especially her."

I folded my arms. "Do I get a dress?"

"You will get five. Pick one."

"And what happens after the wedding? I move into your penthouse and pretend we don't hate each other?"

"I don't hate you," he said.

"Could've fooled me."

He looked at me, and for the first time, his expression shifted. "I don't let myself feel anything for anyone, Miss Callahan. It keeps things clean."

"Well, get ready to feel uncomfortable. Because I'm not very good at pretending to be invisible."

He didn't respond.

The elevator doors opened, and a black car waited at the curb.

"The driver will take you home," he said.

"You're not coming?"

"I do not escort employees."

I rolled my eyes and got in the car. He didn't even wait for the door to close before walking off into the night.

Two days later, I stood in front of a mirror. I wore a designer gown, which likely cost more than my whole college education.

"You look stunning," the stylist gushed.

"I look like I stole someone else's life," I muttered.

The wedding was at his family's estate in Connecticut. No press, legal witnesses, a judge, and a photographer were present. Julian's assistant, Natalie, handed me a phone.

"He wants to talk to you."

I frowned. "What, no first look?"

"answer."

I pressed the phone to my ear. "Yes, Mr Cross?"

His voice was calm. "We keep this simple. No emotion. No attachment. You follow the rules. I keep my company. You get your money. Understood?"

I stepped away from the others and walked into the hallway.

"I'm not some wind-up doll, Julian."

"I know that."

"And I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

Something sharp curled in my stomach.

"I'm marrying you in ten minutes," I said. "You could at least pretend to be human."

"I stopped pretending a long time ago."

I hung up.

We said our vows in front of a stone fireplace.

I wore white.

He wore indifference.

When the judge pronounced us husband and wife, Julian leaned in as if he would kiss me.

But instead, he whispered against my cheek.

"If you break the rules, Tessa, I'll break you."

I smiled for the cameras anyway.

Later that night, when I opened the door to what I thought was my private bedroom, I stopped dead.

Julian was already inside. Shirtless.

And he wasn't alone.