Gavin had paid the rent. Of course he had. And he had likely just canceled the auto-payment. She had two days before the eviction notice would be posted.

A second notification popped up. A calendar reminder: Research Grant Application - FINAL DEADLINE TOMORROW.

She needed five thousand dollars just to secure the lab time for the preliminary data. Without that data, the grant was a fantasy. Years of secret work, of moonlighting as the underground surgical consultant known only as 'The Savior' to fund her passion, would all turn to dust.

Clarice felt like she couldn't breathe. She was an orphan, a product of the foster system in the Rust Belt. She had no safety net, no family to call. She had clawed her way to New York, built a life from scratch, all while nurturing a revolutionary medical project in the shadows.

She was trapped.

She looked at Colton. He was sitting perfectly still, sipping the coffee she had bought him.

He was alone. He was disabled. He was wealthy, if his suit and the earlier confrontation were any indication.

A crazy, desperate thought slammed into her brain.

It wasn't a plea for romance. It was a strategic calculation. An asset exchange.

She gripped the edge of the table. Her knuckles turned white.

This time, she didn't move. She waited. The silence stretched. The man, Colton, made no move to leave. It was as if he was waiting for something.

A man in a perfectly tailored gray suit entered the coffee shop. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Colton, then flicking to Clarice. He walked directly to their table.

"Mr. Bentley," the man said, his voice low and professional. "We should be going."

Colton didn't respond to the man. Instead, he turned his head in Clarice's direction. "Sterling, my lawyer. Sterling, this is Clarice."

Sterling gave Clarice a nod that was also a clinical assessment. "Miss Bell."

Clarice felt a chill. They knew her name. How?

Sterling placed a thin, leather-bound folder on the table and slid it in front of her. "Mr. Bentley was impressed by your... composure. He has a proposition for you."

Clarice's eyes widened. She slowly opened the folder. The top page was a single sheet of paper with bold text.

MARRIAGE PROPOSAL & CONTRACTUAL OFFER

Below it were bullet points: a seven-figure payment upon signing, all living expenses covered, and a clear list of duties, primarily acting as a companion and deterrent to unwelcome social obligations.

Clarice looked up from the paper, her gaze locking onto the dark lenses of Colton's glasses. Her mind was reeling. This was insane. It was also a lifeline.

She picked up her phone, her hands trembling slightly as she typed.

Why me?

Colton's lips curved. It was barely a smile, but it changed his face. It made him look dangerous.

"My family is trying to marry me off to a suitable heiress," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I find the process tedious. You, on the other hand, are not an heiress. You are... an interruption. An orphan from the Rust Belt with a clean record and no ties. You are the perfect shield."

His lawyer, Sterling, had clearly done a thorough background check. In minutes.

In his right ear, a tiny, invisible earpiece crackled with Sterling's earlier report.

Sterling (via earpiece): Clarice Bell. 24. Orphan, no living relatives. Top of her class, but works a low-level admin job. No debt, except for a recently bounced rent check. Clean record. Just dumped by Gavin Mercer at Le Coucou. She's desperate, Boss. But she's clean.

Colton tapped his finger against the ceramic cup. One tap.

"You aren't afraid I'm a bad person?" he asked.

Clarice let out a dry, bitter laugh in her mind. She typed her response, her words sharp and to the point.

Right now? A bad person is better than being homeless.

Colton's smile widened slightly.

"My name is Colton Bentley," he said. "I have a bad temper. And as you can see, I am paralyzed."

Clarice met his unseen gaze, her own resolve hardening. She typed her reply instantly.

My name is Clarice Bell. I have a lot of patience. And I'm not easily intimidated.

Colton nodded once. Sharp.

"Deal."

Clarice blinked. She pointed at the folder, then at him. A silent question: That's it?

"Deal," he repeated. He gestured toward the door with his head. "Sterling will handle the details."

"Where are we going?" Clarice typed.

"City Hall," Colton said. "Before I change my mind."

Clarice stared at him. Then, she stood up. Sterling held the back of her chair for her.

She walked beside Colton's wheelchair as Sterling pushed him toward the door.

Outside, a black sedan was idling at the curb. Sterling was already on the phone, printing documents from a device inside the car.

Clarice stepped out into the rain, walking next to a stranger's wheelchair, unaware she had just signed a contract with the devil.

Chapter 3

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