Chapter Two: An Offer Too Good

ADAM BELLA 

I blinked, sure I hadn’t heard him right. "What?"

His gaze remained locked on mine, unwavering. "You heard me. Marry me."

"Are you insane?" I stepped back, but he held my hand firm, his eyes glinting with something dangerous something determined.

"No. And I don’t repeat myself twice."

The audacity of the man nearly rendered me speechless. Who did he think he was? I crossed my arms, doing my best to mask the disbelief coursing through me. "Well, I’m not interested."

I turned, intending to leave this bizarre encounter behind, when his next words stopped me cold.

"I’ll pay you ten million dollars."

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I turned back to face him. His expression was dead serious, not a hint of humor in those ice-cold eyes. "What did you say?"

"Ten million. To marry me for a year."

I stared at him, every nerve in my body screaming that this couldn’t be real. It had to be a joke. But there was no trace of laughter on his face. Only deadly seriousness.

"I’m not for sale," I shot back, though the words felt hollow in my mouth, my mind already swirling with the thought of what that money could do. The hospital bills, my father’s condition…

The man took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "Fifteen million."

Fifteen million dollars. The air left my lungs in a rush. I swallowed hard, trying to process the magnitude of what he was offering. The desperation in me flared, thoughts of my father, of the mounting medical bills clawing at my resolve. But who was this man, and why was he so desperate for a wife?

I opened my mouth to ask, but he cut me off, his tone sharp. "We’ll sign a contract. One year. After that, we part ways."

"Why do you need a wife so badly?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

His face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "That’s not your concern."

My legs felt rooted to the spot. I should’ve walked away, should’ve said no and left this insane encounter behind. But his offer weighed heavily on my shoulders, dragging me down into an abyss of temptation.

He extended his hand toward me, his voice soft but firm. "So, do we have a deal?"

I stared at his hand, my heart pounding in my ears. One year. Fifteen million dollars. The offer felt unreal, but the consequences were all too tangible. My father’s frail body flashed in my mind, hooked up to machines we could barely afford. The reality of my situation crashed over me.

Without fully comprehending what I was doing, I reached out and shook his hand. "Okay. It's a deal."

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk, and before I could second-guess my decision, two large men his bodyguards, I realized approached us, bowing slightly before him. They didn’t make eye contact with me, their presence silent but intimidating.

This wasn’t just a business deal anymore. This was the start of something dangerous, something that could change my life in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine.

"Please, follow us," one of the guards said, his voice polite but leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, I followed, trying to convince myself I wasn’t entirely losing my mind. The moment we stepped outside, my eyes widened. Parked at the curb was a Chrysler Pacifica. My dream car.

I hesitated, fingers lightly tracing the sleek, polished exterior. The surreal nature of the situation sank in deeper.

"Miss, please," the guard prompted, gesturing to the open door.

With one last glance at the car, I slid inside. The soft leather seats cradled me, and for a second, I lost myself in the luxury. Is this really happening?

As I settled, the door clicked shut, and I was jolted back to reality. My soon-to-be husband entered the car without a word, eyes glued to his phone, his presence cold, distant.

"Where are we going?" I asked, breaking the uneasy silence.

Without sparing me a glance, he replied, "To change your clothes. We’re getting married in an hour.”

I nearly choked on my own breath. "Wait, what? I thought we were just signing some papers."

He turned to face me, his expression hard. "No. We have to make it real." His gaze was unyielding, his voice carrying a weight I couldn’t quite grasp. "Send me your account details."

I blinked, stunned. Did he just ask for my account information like it was a casual request?

"You don’t even have my phone number," I managed, still trying to process everything.

In a swift motion, he took my phone from my lap, tapped a few buttons, and handed it back. "I do now. Send me the details."

For a second, I thought I’d heard wrong. He doesn’t repeat himself, huh? A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, though I wasn’t sure why.

"And how exactly am I supposed to play this role?" I asked, the absurdity of it all bubbling up inside me.

His eyes flicked back to his phone. "Just be yourself. My assistant will handle the rest."

Be myself? I wanted to laugh. How was I supposed to be myself in this insane situation?

Before I could respond, the car rolled to a stop in front of a mansion, so grand it looked like something out of a movie. As I stepped out, the sheer scale of it hit me  every surface gleamed with polished marble, and the walls were adorned with gold accents.

But that wasn’t the most surreal part.

"Hello, Miss."

I turned to see a woman standing elegantly in the doorway, dressed in an impeccable black suit. My jaw dropped. Cynthia Bailey? The designer every woman in the city dreamed of working with?

This can’t be real.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, feeling small and awkward. "Uh, call me Bella," I stammered, extending my hand. Cynthia Bailey? For me?

She shook my hand, her grip firm and professional. "We must hurry. David Copperfield isn’t a patient man."

David Copperfield. The name rang in my ears. Something about the way she said it made my stomach drop.