Chapter 5 Nathan and Mira meet

The glass doors of Cole Enterprises loomed before Mira like a gateway to another world-one built on power, precision, and people who never had to beg for mercy.

She clutched her handbag tighter, swallowed hard, and stepped inside.

The lobby buzzed with muted conversations and echoing footsteps. Men in tailored suits and women in sleek heels moved with purpose, each stride exuding confidence.

Mira felt small in her plain navy blouse and secondhand shoes, but she straightened her shoulders anyway.

She wasn't here for herself. She was here for her father.

When she announced her name at the front desk, the receptionist's eyes barely flicked up from the screen before politely gesturing toward the elevator.

"Twenty-third floor, conference room."

Alone in the glass-panelled lift, Mira stared at her reflection.

Her lips moved in a silent prayer. Lord, I don't know what I'm doing, but please, guide me. Not my will, but Yours.

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open to a corridor blanketed in silence.

Polished floors. Pristine walls.

She followed the signs to the conference room, her steps steady but her heartbeat far from calm.

Just outside the door, a tall, sharp-featured assistant approached her, holding a tablet.

"You're Mira Lawson?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Cole is waiting. Please go in."

Mira nodded and stepped inside.

The room was massive-floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist design, and a long polished table with black leather chairs.

Nathan sat at the head, dressed in a grey suit so sharply cut it looked like it could slice through the stone.

His dark eyes flicked up, cold and unreadable.

"Have a seat," he said flatly.

Mira obeyed.

He returned his gaze to the laptop in front of him, fingers typing swiftly for another ten seconds before he finally shut the screen and looked directly at her.

She met his eyes, forcing herself not to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny.

His presence was commanding and oppressive, his composure icy-like a man who had learned the hard way that emotion was a liability.

"I assume you understand why you're here," he began, no pleasantries, no warmth.

"I was told... you wanted to talk," Mira said softly.

Nathan's jaw flexed once. "Talk, yes. About a proposition. One that benefits us both."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her.

"You need money. Urgently. Your father is in critical condition. Medical bills are piling up, and you're running out of time."

Mira stiffened.

He didn't stop. "I did a background check. You're clean. No scandals. No debt. Low income. You're invisible in every way that matters. That's exactly what I need."

She blinked, stunned by his bluntness.

"And what exactly do you need?" she asked, voice tight.

"A wife," he said simply.

Mira froze.

"Temporarily. One year, maximum. Purely transactional. You helped me project the image I need to satisfy the board of my company. I help you save your father."

Her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag. "That's not marriage. That's... a contract."

"That's reality," Nathan said, without a shred of emotion.

"I don't have time for a real marriage. I need someone who understands the boundaries, someone who won't complicate things. Someone who'll play the part, then leave when the curtain closes."

His words sliced through the air like glass. Mira was quiet, processing.

Nathan slid a folder toward her. "These are the terms. You get full coverage of your father's treatment. Monthly stipend. One-year commitment. No intimacy is required. Appearances only."

She looked down at the contract, barely able to focus.

"Tell me," she said slowly, "why me?"

Nathan's gaze darkened. "Because I expected someone like you would think carefully. That you'd realize this offer is a blessing in disguise."

She looked up at him. "And what exactly did you expect me to say? 'Yes, thank you for buying me for a year'? Like it's a dream come true?"

He didn't flinch, but something in his eyes shifted-just a flicker of something human. "I expected you'd recognize this is your best option."

Mira's voice softened. "I'm not thinking about myself."

Nathan raised an eyebrow.

"I'm thinking about my father," she continued. "He's all I have left. If there's a way to save him... even if it breaks me a little, I'd take it."

That caught him off guard.

Nathan had dealt with selfish people all his life. People who'd do anything for money or fame or power. He'd expected Mira to see the offer and hesitate out of pride, maybe bargain for more.

But instead, she was just trying to save someone she loved.

And it unnerved him.

"So, what are you saying?" he asked, his voice lower now.

"I'm saying I'll consider it. Not because it makes sense. Not because I want to. But because the man in that hospital bed gave everything for me. And this... might be the only way I can give back.

The silence that followed Mira's last statement was loud.

Nathan studied her from across the wide mahogany desk, his fingers interlocked, his watch catching the sunlight bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"She's not even asking what she gets from this," Nathan thought. "Not even once."

He had anticipated tears, maybe fear, or even pleading. But not this calm... not this strange selflessness.

Mira wasn't thinking of leverage or security. She wasn't asking about prenups, assets, or how much of her life she was about to surrender.

She was only thinking about her father.

"I'll have my legal team draw up the contract today," he said, his voice smooth and razor-sharp.

Mira gave a small nod, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. "Okay."

"That's all?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mira looked up, blinking at him. "What else should I say?"

Nathan leaned forward, folding his arms on the desk.

"Most women-if not all-would want to know what's in it for them. Alimony. Assets. What happens if I die? What happens if you fall in love with someone else? But you? You've not asked a single question about your future. Why?"

Mira swallowed hard. "Because I don't have the luxury to be selfish right now."

Her voice cracked at the edges, but her eyes stayed strong.

"I'm not doing this for love or dreams or security. I'm doing this so that my dad gets a chance to live. I can't think past that."

Nathan studied her face-her lashes slightly wet, her jaw clenched like she was fighting back everything that wanted to break loose.

He saw no gold-digger, no woman with a plan. Just desperation... and a sort of quiet strength that didn't sit right with his blueprint for this deal.

"You'll be living in my house," he said finally.

"My mother will expect you to play the role of the 'perfect' wife. But this will be strictly professional between us. Public image only. Private life-cold, distant, and simple. Are you prepared for that?"

"Yes," Mira replied, firmer than before.

Nathan leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "There will be rules."

"No scandals. No outsiders. You keep your personal life completely private."

Mira's spine stiffened.

Their eyes clashed for a long moment, the air between them tense.

"I'm not the villain here, Mira," Nathan said, softer this time.

"And neither am I," she shot back.

Nathan faced her. "This marriage will last one year. At the end of that year, we'll file for divorce. Quietly. Cleanly. You'll be compensated well."

"Compensated how?" she asked, her voice suddenly laced with ice.

He admired that edge.

"A bank transfer. Full payment once the divorce is finalized. No ties. No mess."

Mira's chest rose and fell as she tried to process the coldness in his tone. The legal, calculated efficiency of his heart.

"Doesn't it bother you?" she asked.

He tilted his head. "What?"

"That this is just... a transaction to you."

Nathan didn't blink. "No. What would bother me is giving someone access to my world only for them to try and ruin it from the inside."

Mira stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the polished floor.

"Then I suppose we're done here."

Nathan walked back to his desk and picked up a sleek leather folder. "The contract will be delivered to your home this evening. Read it carefully. If you agree to the terms, sign. If not, walk away."

Mira took the folder but didn't look at it. She held it like it was on fire.

"I'll sign it," she said.

He raised a brow. "So sure?"

She turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"I don't have to like you, Mr. Cole. I just have to make sure my father lives."

"I want your decision tomorrow so we can start planning the wedding. Eight a.m. sharp," he said, returning to his cold, clipped tone.

"I'll be here."

As she stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed, Mira leaned her head against the cool glass and exhaled shakily.

She wasn't doing this for herself.

She was doing it for the man who raised her.