A desperate choice

IZZY

I sat still, his gaze locked onto mine—like he could hear my thoughts.

“I see the shock on your face—it’s impossible to hide,” he said, reclining into his chair.

Of course.

I’m stunned. The father of my unborn child is proposing marriage.

“If I may ask, why do you need to marry me?” I probed, my fingers making air quotes.

He smirked, his gaze still locked onto mine as he responded. “I need a wife, and you need money for your Aunt Willow’s treatment.”

How did he know that?

My stomach dropped. He isn’t just offering me marriage—he’s using my desperation as leverage.

“Don’t beat yourself up. I did my research,” he deadpanned. “I need a wife, and you need money.”

“You expect me to marry you just because I’m desperate?” I gritted my teeth.

Roshan exhaled, his fingers tapping against the smooth, polished tabletop. “I expect you to agree to this because it benefits us both. We sign a contract, stay married for a year, and then go our separate ways.”

A contract marriage?

Oh boy, could my life get any better?

“What if I disagree?”

“Two million dollars. Once the contract is signed, you get half the payment, and the rest at the end of the year,” he said unapologetically.

For some reason, his words sent shivers down my spine. He was here to take advantage of my desperation.

“I don’t agree to this,” I snapped.

I rose to my feet, staring blankly at Roshan.

His gaze never wavered from mine—silent and unwavering.

I turned around, about to take my leave—

“Here’s my card if you change your mind,” he said, tossing his business card toward me.

Then he stood up and left.

It was his attitude for me.

Of course, he had to act like the billionaire he was.

One part of me wanted to take the card, but the other stood firm on walking away.

The crazy part of it all? I was carrying his child.

One foolish mistake of mine—what I thought would be a reprieve—had shifted my destiny.

I am Izzy. That’s who I am. Not some desperate woman willing to give in hastily for money.

Stepping out of the café, I hailed a taxi back to the office.

Speaking of the office, I recalled the look on Hannah’s face when Roshan came for me—and the way he ignored her.

At least, for once, she was getting a taste of how she treated me.

“Winston & Co. Firms,” I said to the chauffeur.

Sliding into the back seat of the taxi, my phone rang.

It was the hospital.

My heart skipped a beat.

My feet went numb as I stared at the phone’s screen.

“Good day, Miss Isabella.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the formal greeting. The voice on the other end was calm and professional, but something about it made my pulse quicken.

“Good day,” I responded, my fingers gripping the phone tightly.

“Your attention is needed at the hospital. Your aunt, Winnie Diaz, has been placed in the ICU.”

My ears burned hot.

The words echoed in my head.

My Aunt Winnie had been hospitalized for weeks. She was diagnosed with kidney stones and needed urgent surgery, which cost five hundred thousand dollars.

And that was exactly what Roshan was using as leverage.

Our health insurance expired a year ago, and since then, I had been covering all her medical bills on my own. I had just spent my last dime on her medication last week, and now, I was left with almost nothing.

“Please turn around. St. Augustine Hospital,” I muttered.

Without hesitation, the chauffeur took a U-turn.

The amount for the surgery kept ringing in my head.

Where and how do I come up with such an amount?

I was beyond broke at this point. My salary was gone, my little savings were gone—everything was gone.

---

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the hospital. Without hesitation, I slid out, handing the fare to the driver.

My heartbeat raced with every step, my heels clicking against the pavement.

I paid little to no attention to my surroundings, ignoring the security guard’s greeting, which I usually acknowledged.

I pushed through the doors, taking the elevator to Mr. Khan’s office—my aunt’s doctor.

The elevator was packed—really packed. But that didn’t bother me as I squeezed myself in.

Mr. Khan’s office was on the third floor, which made my wait in the elevator feel longer.

After a few minutes, I got off and hurried to his office.

Luckily, he wasn’t attending to a patient.

“Good day, Mr. Khan.”

“Good day, Isabella,” he responded, extending his hand for me to take a seat. “Your aunt has been placed in the ICU. Her health deteriorated this morning, leaving us with no choice but to place her under intensive care,” he said in a low tone, his gaze locked onto mine.

“Will she be okay?”

“We’ll do our best, but she needs surgery immediately. I’m afraid she has little time left,” he muttered.

His words pierced my heart like an arrow shot from close range.

I stood to my feet, reeling from the pain his words inflicted.

His voice echoed in my head, sending shivers down my spine.

The thought of losing the only family I had left was unbearable.

“Isabella, you need to put yourself together,” he encouraged, leaning forward in his seat.

But putting myself together wouldn’t change anything. As it stood, I had already failed my aunt.

Tears welled up in my eyes, my cheeks pale with frustration as I pictured my aunt’s helpless face.

If only I had a better job, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

“If you’d like, I can take you to her,” Mr. Khan offered, his expression softening as he stood.

“Of course, I’d love to see her.”

We left his office, taking the elevator again to the second floor. This time, it wasn’t crowded.

Walking down the hall to the ICU, I found myself deep in thought, my aunt’s condition weighing heavily on my mind.

I completely zoned out.

“Isabella!” Mr. Khan called, his tone measured as he tapped my shoulder lightly.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing to the entrance of the ICU.

I sighed deeply.

He handed me a sanitizer to disinfect my hands before entering.

He did the same and changed into a fresh lab coat before handing me one.

“It’s to keep them safe. We can’t risk infection in here,” he explained while adjusting his coat.

I understood.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I saw my aunt lying helplessly on the ICU bed.

Her body was connected to so many wires, all attached to a machine.

She was unconscious—but still looked as beautiful as ever.

I took a stool and sat beside her, tears flowing endlessly.

She was the only family I had left. She had always treated me as her own.

She took care of me after my parents died, covering my school expenses until I graduated. And now, how was I repaying her? By letting her lie helpless in the ICU.

I had failed as a daughter.

Maybe that’s why God took my parents away.

Memories flashed through my mind.

Her smiles, her laughter, her cooking—all of it.

I'm in more pain than ever. And to make things worse, I'm pregnant.

“Izzy, you’re a mess,” I whispered to myself.

How do I even get out of this? How do I pay for her surgery?

The questions roamed my mind, but I had no answers.

I held her hand, placing a soft kiss on it.

“You do have a choice—the contract,” a small voice whispered in my head.

No. I wouldn’t let my desperation push me into that. He was only using me.

“Using you? How?” the voice challenged.

“He’s just helping you—just like you’d be helping him. It’s a win-win.”

I let out a deep breath, as if it could ease my pain.

Accepting the contract marriage wasn’t a small decision, especially with the father of my child.

This contract only proved he had no interest in settling down—so how could he ever accept my child?

I didn’t need him in my life, but here I was, caught between my aunt’s life and death.

I looked at my aunt—almost like it was the last time.

I couldn’t let her go. She was my everything.

Even if it meant accepting Roshan’s contract, I would.

He had played his cards well.

Realizing how helpless I was, I stood up—and only then did I notice Mr. Khan was no longer in the room.

He must have left, giving me privacy.

I leaned over, placing a soft kiss on my aunt’s forehead.

“I won’t let you die. I’ll make things right.”