Chapter 3

Frida stood at the edge of that huge bed with silk cotton sheets, clutching her phone between her hands. Her blue dress draped over her frame, and her hair cascaded down her shoulders. She was nervous, every instinct urging her to run, but the deal was too good to pass up, and time was a luxury she didn’t have.

Suddenly, her phone rang. She immediately recognized the number and quickly answered, fighting to keep her tears from ruining her makeup.

“Mommy?” The sweet voice that brightened her days made her heart ache.

“My darling... How are you feeling?” Frida asked, trying to keep her voice steady, not wanting to worry Emma.

“I’m fine, but I miss you,” her daughter said, her voice tinged with sadness. It was the first night Frida wouldn’t be by her side at the hospital.

“I miss you too, my love. My sweet baby,” she whispered, her heart breaking. The pain was unbearable, almost as though it might explode from her chest.

“When is Daddy coming to see me? I miss him too…”

Frida’s pain twisted, morphing into something darker, laced with resentment. The memory of what had happened in Gary’s office flashed in her mind. She had no idea how to answer. It was clear he wasn’t coming back, not even for his daughter.

“I... I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“But... he’ll come, right?” Emma’s voice was filled with a quiet suspicion, almost as if she already knew the truth about her father’s abandonment.

“He’s been very busy with work, that’s why he can’t come. But when he gets the chance…” She trailed off, not wanting to give her daughter false hope.

“He’ll come when he’s free, won’t he?”

“My love, I... I need to go. I have to talk to my future boss, and...” Frida’s words faltered, guilt weighing down her voice. Emma was just a little girl, but Frida knew she was smart enough to sense what was really going on.

“Yeah, I understand,” Emma said, her voice soft and sad. “I love you, Mommy.”

“And I love you, my darling. With all my heart,” Frida replied, her strength crumbling, but she knew she had to keep going for Emma’s sake.

She held the phone to her ear for a few moments after the call ended, letting the silence wash over her. Then, the door to the room opened, making her jump in fright. The maid who had gotten her into this mess stood there, a smug smile on her face.

“Are you ready?” The maid extended her hand, her smile barely masking her satisfaction. Despite her doubts, Frida took her hand, and they left the room together.

“You look beautiful. He’s going to love you.”

“This is insane,” Frida muttered, biting her lip. “What’s Mr. Gilbert like?”

“Horrible,” the maid said with a wide grin. “Old and unattractive. He has to buy a wife, doesn’t he?”

A chill ran down Frida’s spine. The thought of having to please a disgusting, lecherous old man for money made her sick. But would she do it for Emma? The answer was a resounding yes.

They arrived at a grand dining room, set for what appeared to be a romantic dinner—dim lighting, fine china, silver cutlery, and a bottle of wine waiting to be opened. Frida walked around the table, her fingers brushing the backs of the chairs while Roman watched her from the shadows.

“She’s beautiful, but not exactly what you specified. Twenty-five, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter,” his lawyer had told him after reviewing Frida’s file.

‘She seems desperate for a job. Desperation makes for a loyal pawn,’ Roman had thought, pleased with his luck.

He had then ordered the search to end. He had found his woman—beautiful, desperate, and with a need only he could fulfill. Roman loved nothing more than having control over the situation, and right now, he felt that he had complete control over this vulnerable, needy woman. All he needed now was for her to sign the contract.

Frida soon felt someone else’s presence in the room. The maid had left her alone, so it had to be him, her future husband. She was terrified to turn around, afraid his appearance would horrify her. She didn’t want to offend him.

She spun on her heels, her worried expression giving way to shock. The maid had lied. He wasn’t horrible at all. In fact, he was much taller than her and had a rugged, cold face that sent a shiver down her spine in a way she didn’t entirely hate. Broad shoulders and piercing dark eyes that seemed to reach into her very soul... he was devastatingly handsome!

“Frida Moore?” Roman’s deep, rumbling voice filled the room as he swirled a glass of wine in his hand. “Roman Gilbert.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gilbert,” Frida replied, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“I know I’m older than you, but let’s drop the formalities, shall we? After all, we’ll be quite close soon enough,” he said, handing her the contract. “I understand you have a young daughter who’s very ill.”

“She needs surgery urgently. She has a brain tumor that’s growing, and…” Frida stopped, her hands trembling as her eyes filled with tears.

“I’ll handle everything your daughter needs. We’ll take her to the best hospital, and I’ll pay for the finest surgeon. Whatever it takes to make her well.” Roman stepped closer, his eyes locked on her, the dim light catching the glimmer of desperation in her eyes. “All I ask in return is for a realistic relationship. You’ll marry me and give me a child as soon as possible.”

“Why me?” Frida asked, confused yet drawn to Roman like a moth to a flame. Her fingers tingled with the urge to reach out and touch his face, to make sure he was real.

“Because you need this. Am I wrong?” He gestured for her to sit.

“Is this charity, or are you just ensuring that the woman you choose is bound to you by her need?” She smiled bitterly, her fists trembling.

“Does it matter?” Roman sat back in his chair, watching her with a proud, almost triumphant gaze. “Do you want my help? Then sign the contract.”

“You act like the powerful man you are, but exploiting someone’s pain is a terrible way to start.” Frida glared at him, her teeth clenched.

What did she expect? Love from a stranger? A powerful businessman like him would only think about his own gain, trampling anyone in his way. She’d already learned that from Gary.

“If you don’t like it, don’t sign. You can leave. I don’t even need the dress back—it looks good on you.” Roman stabbed at his food with a fork, his gaze daring her.

“I’ll sign. Not for me, but for my daughter. If it were up to me, I’d tear this contract to shreds, throw this stupid dress in your face, and leave without looking back,” Frida spat as she signed page after page while Roman watched her with amusement.

“Well, I’m glad I made the right choice,” he said, grinning wider as he took the contract from her hands. “I hope dinner will lighten your mood.”

“I don’t want dinner. I’m not hungry,” Frida said, standing up from the table.

“Are you serious?” Roman tried to hide his grin, but the angrier she got, the more he seemed to enjoy it.

“I want to go to bed,” she said, staring him down, her defiance surprising him.

“Fine. I’ll take you to the room you’ll be sharing with me.”

“Just tell me where it is. I’ll find it myself.”

“I don’t think so. The house is too big, and you’ll get lost.” He stood, adjusting his jacket, and offered her his arm—not out of chivalry, but to test just how proud she could be.

With stiff reluctance and without meeting his gaze, she took his arm, and he led her upstairs to her new room.

“This is where we’ll be staying,” he said, opening the door for her. “I can have one of the maids bring you something to eat.”

“No need. I’m not hungry,” Frida replied, still seething.

“Fine. Enjoy the room tonight. Because starting tomorrow, you’ll be sharing it with me.”

Frida was curious where Roman would sleep tonight, but she didn’t ask. She let the door close behind her, leaving her in a silence so deep it only worsened her despair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she broke down in tears, thinking of little Emma and all that she would have to endure to save her. The thought of that man having complete control over her now made her stomach churn.