Chapter two

Ethan Kingsley's name hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the worn floral wallpaper of my apartment. He held the manila envelope out, its plainness belying the unknown contents. Curiosity battled apprehension within me.

"Can I see it first?" I asked, hesitant to reach for it.

A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his lips. "Not quite. It's a contract, Miss Moore. One that requires a certain…leap of faith."

Leap of faith. The phrase echoed in the room, mirroring the precarious state of my bakery. With a deep breath, I took the envelope.

"May I at least know what this is about?" I inquired, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned against the doorframe, his gaze assessing. "Let's just say it's an opportunity. An opportunity to solve your financial woes and, well, mine."

His words were cryptic, but the implication was clear: a mutually beneficial arrangement. But what kind of arrangement could a billionaire possibly need from a struggling baker like me?

"Intriguing," I admitted, surprised by my own boldness. "But surely someone of your…resources wouldn't need the help of a small bakery owner."

He chuckled, a rich, unexpected sound. "Resources don't solve everything, Miss Moore. Sometimes, the solution lies in the most unexpected places."

He wasn't wrong. But the element of surprise wasn't the only thing unsettling me. The man in front of me exuded an aura of power and wealth so foreign to my world that I couldn't help but feel a flicker of fear.

Sensing my apprehension, he softened slightly. "Look, I understand this is a lot to take in. Why don't you take the night, read the contract, and we can discuss it tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" This was all happening too fast.

A hint of impatience shadowed his eyes. "Time is a bit of a luxury these days, Miss Moore. But trust me, the sooner you decide, the better it is for both of us."

He was right. Every passing day meant another looming bill, another step closer to shuttered windows and a silent oven.

"Alright," I conceded, the word leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "Tomorrow it is."

He nodded curtly, a hint of something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, with a final lingering glance, he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

The night stretched before me, long and filled with uncertainty. I clutched the envelope, the paper crinkling like a whispered promise, or perhaps a chilling threat. Curiosity gnawed at me, but so did a healthy dose of skepticism.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, I tore open the envelope. Inside were crisp legal documents, the words blurring before my eyes in a whirlwind of legalese.

As I read, a cold dread settled in my stomach. The contract proposed a marriage. A marriage between me, Olivia Moore, baker, and Ethan Kingsley, billionaire…in name only.

The details unfolded: a six-month charade, a hefty financial compensation for me, and complete secrecy. It seemed like a dream – the answer to all my financial woes. Yet, a nagging question echoed in my mind: why?

Why would a powerful man like Ethan Kingsley need a fake marriage to a baker?

The answer, it seemed, lay in the blank spaces of the carefully worded contract. And those blank spaces held more fear than any overdue bill.

The rest of the night was spent pacing, the silence broken only by the insistent ticking of the clock. Doubt gnawed at me. Was this all too good to be true? Was there something I wasn't seeing?

By morning, the aroma of freshly baked bread couldn't mask the turmoil brewing inside me. Ethan Kingsley was waiting downstairs, his face unreadable. My fingers tightened on the contract, the weight of the decision suddenly overwhelming.

"So," he began, his voice low, "have you made a decision, Miss Moore?"

I looked up, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I have," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something akin to anticipation crossing his features. "And what is that?"

Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze head-on. "I'm willing to hear you out, Mr. Kingsley. But first, I want answers."

Ethan's surprise was evident, a flicker of something akin to amusement dancing in his dark chocolate eyes. "Answers, you say?" He gestured towards the hallway. "Perhaps a cup of your famous coffee and a pastry wouldn't be the worst place to start."

Hesitation warred with curiosity. This was my apartment, my domain, not the sterile environment of a corporate office.Yet, the prospect of getting answers, of unraveling the mystery behind his outrageous proposal, outweighed my reservations.

"Alright," I conceded, leading him inside. The cramped living room felt suddenly smaller, the air thick with unspoken questions.

As I brewed the coffee, the silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I turned to face him. "Why, Mr. Kingsley? Why a marriage? Why me?"

He leaned back in the worn armchair, steepling his fingers. "Let's just say certain…family obligations require a change in my marital status. And you, Miss Moore, possess a certain charm and…unexpectedness that suits my needs."

Charm? Unexpectedness? Such vague answers did little to quell my unease. "But why a baker? There must be a hundred socialites lining up for the chance to be Mrs. Billionaire."

A rueful smile played on his lips. "Socialites are predictable, Miss Moore. You, on the other hand, present an intriguing…wild card."

Wild card? The term sent a shiver down my spine. Was I signing up to be a pawn in some high-stakes game I didn't even understand?

Taking a deep breath, I set a steaming mug of coffee and a blueberry muffin in front of him, my voice steely. "Mr.Kingsley, before I even consider this…proposition, I need to know everything. The whole truth, no matter how messy or inconvenient."

He met my gaze, a flicker of admiration replacing the amusement. "I appreciate your candor, Miss Moore. But trust me,the truth is more complicated than a simple pastry recipe."