Chapter 4

Jeffry's request hung in the air, simple yet impossibly heavy. His eyes were clear and sincere, holding that fragile, wounded look that made it impossible for Kellie to snap out a flat refusal.

Her mind was a battlefield. The doctor in her knew the correct answer: clear liquids, hospital broth, nothing heavy. The wife in her-the part she desperately tried to ignore-was frozen, unsure of what to do with this sudden, intimate demand.

She chose the safest ground. "I'll have the kitchen send up a clear liquid tray," she said, her voice clipped. "Broth and Jell-O."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Jeffry's face. It was subtle, just a slight downturn of his lips, but it hit Kellie like a physical blow. He didn't argue. He just gave a soft, defeated "Hmm" and closed his eyes, turning his head away.

He looked smaller suddenly, more fragile. The defeat in his posture made her stomach twist with an uncomfortable, unfamiliar guilt.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the monitor. The silence felt oppressive.

"I'll... see what I can do," she said quietly.

It was a vague, non-committal statement, but Jeffry's shoulders seemed to relax a fraction. He didn't open his eyes.

Kellie turned and walked out of the room. Her pace was faster than usual, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. She needed to get away from that room, from those eyes.

As she walked down the corridor, she felt the weight of stares. Nurses whispered behind their hands. Orderlies gave her odd looks. The gossip had spread. The walls of her private life were crumbling, and she hated it.

She bypassed the elevator and took the stairs to the roof. She pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped out into the crisp New York morning.

The wind hit her face, cold and sharp, whipping her hair out of its ponytail. She walked to the railing and gripped the cold metal, staring down at the yellow cabs crawling along the street below.

The wind seemed to blow the fog from her mind, but it also blew open a door she had tried hard to nail shut.

A month ago. She had been standing in wind just like this, staring at a city that felt suddenly hostile.

Her phone had rang. It was the assistant to Deron Blanchard, her former business partner. The voice on the other end was polite, robotic. "Mr. Blanchard wanted to inform you that his engagement party to Ms. Vance is next month. He hopes you can attend."

The phone had slipped from her ear. It wasn't just a business split. Deron had been her mentor, her confidant. She had believed there was something more, a silent understanding between them that transcended contracts and boardrooms.

The invitation was a slap. It wasn't just an engagement; it was a declaration. A declaration that she, Kellie Walter, with all her ambition and brilliance, was merely a stepping stone on his path to success, easily discarded for a more suitable match. Everything she had built, everything she prided herself on-her intellect, her control, her success-felt like a joke in the face of absolute power and old money. A destructive impulse, cold and sharp, seized her. She would show them. She would show them all that the things they valued-marriage, partnership-were meaningless to her, just tools to be acquired and used.

That night, she hadn't gone home. She had walked into a dimly lit bar downtown, the kind where nobody asked questions. She ordered a soda water, staring at the ice melting in the glass.

And then, in a moment of sheer, uncharacteristic recklessness, she had pulled out her phone. She had a number saved, given to her by a discreet matchmaking service she had consulted in a moment of loneliness months prior. She had never used it.

Until then.

"I need to get married," she texted. "As soon as possible. I don't care who."

A few hours later, a profile appeared. Jeffry Alston. Columbia University Math Department. Young, clean record, no family drama. Perfect.

The next day, they met at a coffee shop near campus. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, looking like a grad student who had just rolled out of bed. He was handsome, in a clean, unassuming way.

"I need a husband on paper," she told him, getting straight to the point. "A legal arrangement. We split expenses, we sign a prenup. We don't interfere with each other's lives."

He listened quietly, stirring his coffee. "I agree," he said. "But I have conditions."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The marriage lasts at least a year," he said. "And we don't tell anyone it's a deal. To the outside world, we're just a couple who fell fast."

It was a strange request, but she was too numb to care. "Fine."

The next day, they stood in line at City Hall. They didn't hold hands. They didn't speak. They were two strangers sharing an Uber, splitting the fare.

When the clerk asked the question, they both said "I do." When the paper was pushed across the counter, Kellie signed it without looking at him.

"My lawyer will contact you about the prenup," she said, tucking the copy into her bag. She walked out the door and hailed a cab, leaving Jeffry standing alone on the steps of City Hall.

She hadn't looked back.

Kellie shivered on the rooftop, the memory releasing its grip on her. She stared at the skyline, the reality of what she had done-and who was currently lying in a hospital bed downstairs-settling over her like a heavy fog.