Chapter 2 2

Desperate Deals

Evelyn's POV

I was dying inside.

Each day felt like a slow exhale I couldn't catch, like grief was wrapping its cold hands around my throat and squeezing until there was no breath left.

My father, my last family, my backbone, my storm-was slipping through my fingers like sand. His bones and his voice were weaker, and his eyes... now staring into nothingness more often than not.

I sat by his bedside that afternoon, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Every movement felt like a countdown to a goodbye I wasn't ready for.

And to make it worse... I couldn't even scream.

Because the bastard who shattered my life had disappeared. No trace. No calls. No name on any registry.

I clenched my fists and stared out the wide hospital window. The skyline mocked me-so tall, so bright and so alive-while I felt like a ghost haunting my own shadow.

I was pregnant.

Alone.

Exhausted.

I hadn't told my father. He didn't need that weight in his final days. The last time he looked at me with true joy was when he transferred the empire into my name.

His legacy now rested on my shoulders... and his trust that I would protect it.

But I was falling apart.

Every time I thought I'd accepted what happened, the memory of Henry's voice-his smile through the phone-ripped open a fresh wound.

He said forever.

He gave me nothing.

I leaned my head against the glass and closed my eyes, letting the cold numb my temple.

Then my phone buzzed.

My breath caught.

I scrambled for it like a lifeline, and when I saw the unfamiliar number flash on the screen, my heart thundered.

Could it be him?

Henry?

Could he finally be calling to explain-to say it was all a mistake, that he was scared, that he didn't mean to disappear?

I pressed the answer button, trembling.

"Hello?" I whispered.

And comes a little silence.

Then a deep and calm male voice.

"Evelyn Monroe?"

I froze. That wasn't him.

"Yes. Who's this?"

A pause. Then, "Shaw Molton. I work for your father. We've crossed paths before, briefly. I'm calling on a p... personal matter."

I nearly laughed.

Personal?

I didn't know if I was disappointed or relieved, but my heart sank all the same.

"Is my father okay?" I asked.

"Yes, he's resting. I was just with him earlier." He hesitated, then added, "I wouldn't disturb you if this wasn't... urgent."

There was something in his tone. Direct and professional, but beneath it-something else. Pressure. Maybe desperation.

"I'm listening," I said.

He exhaled like he'd been holding the breath since he dialed. "This will sound strange. But my father, Richard Molton, is in critical condition. He's been battling kidney failure and dementia.

Doctors say he might not make it past the month."

"I'm sorry," I said, though the words felt hollow coming from someone counting her own father's days.

"Thank you. But the issue is..." Another pause. "He's made it his dying wish to see me married. To a proper woman. It doesn't have to be real, just enough to bring him peace."

I blinked. "You're asking me to marry you?"

"No," he said quickly, almost flustered. "Not marry. Just... pretend. For a few weeks. A contract marriage. Just until he passes peacefully."

Silence hung between us.

I didn't know what to say. The absurdity of it, the audacity, the timing-it would've been laughable if I wasn't already half broken.

But something about his voice, his sincerity, stopped me from hanging up.

"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "And I get it. But I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."

I sat down, hand resting on my stomach. A contract marriage.

I'd spent the last few weeks begging the universe for an escape. Maybe this was it.

A cover story, a new path and a distraction from the ache I couldn't bury.

Still, I asked, "Why me?"

"My father has admired your family for years. Your father once saved his company during a merger crisis. He always talked about the Monroe legacy like it was royalty.

When he saw your photo in the paper... he asked about you. Said you were strong. Said you'd make a good wife."

I nearly choked. "So I'm his fantasy daughter-in-law?"

"I know how it sounds," he said, voice gentle now. "But this isn't about control or ownership. I'll pay whatever fee you want.

There'll be a legal contract. No touching and no expectations. Just a few dinners, some appearances. And when he's gone, we'll dissolve it. Quietly."

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Fake wife. Dying father. One final performance before the curtain falls.

"Why not find a model or actress?" I asked, mostly to challenge him.

"They'd make it about the money," he replied. "You already have your own."

Fair point.

And for once, someone didn't want to take something from me. They wanted me to lend it. My name, my presence and my ability to pretend.

And God... I was already pretending every day.

I hadn't smiled for real in weeks. I hadn't slept. I hadn't felt like myself since Henry vanished and left this child growing inside me.

Maybe this could be... armor.

A way to breathe again.

"Your father's deadline?" I asked.

"He turns seventy-five in two weeks. I want him to meet you before then."

Of course. Another birthday. Another contract. Another stage to perform on.

"Give me twenty-four hours," I said at last. "Then we'll talk again."

"Thank you," he said, almost stunned. "I'll send a draft agreement. Just in case you want to review."

Alright. I replied.

He hung up.

I set my phone down and turned toward my father's bed again.

His breathing had grown more erratic. The nurses said he had days, maybe weeks. My name was already on every title deed.

But I couldn't help but feel like everything I'd inherited was covered in pain.

I didn't want to build an empire while my soul was in shambles.

And maybe Shaw's offer was a chance to stop thinking-just for a little while. A chance to step outside of Evelyn Monroe, the heir, the abandoned lover, the almost-mother-and become someone else.

I would be Mrs. Molton.

At least on paper.

The next morning, the contract was waiting in my inbox.

Clean, linical and terms spelled out in bullet points.

DURATION: 3 weeks minimum.

DISSOLUTION: Mutual agreement upon Richard Molton's passing.

EXPECTATIONS: Public appearances at Molton family residence, one gala dinner, and informal brunch with Richard.

NO physical intimacy required or requested.

FINANCIAL COMPENSATION: Discretionary, to be discussed.

CONFIDENTIALITY: Both parties agree to keep the arrangement private.

I read it twice, then called my attorney.

He reviewed it with a raised brow but nodded.

"It's airtight. Strange, but no red flags. You'd be protected."

That night, I dreamed of Henry again. His voice, his smile, the weight of his hand on my hip. I woke up sobbing.

The child inside me kicked for the first time that morning.

And I knew.

I had to protect us both.

I had to hide from this pain long enough to plan my comeback.

So I said yes.

Shaw Molton met me in a quiet café in the city later that afternoon.

He was tall and lean with a neat suits and a no-nonsense jawline. His eyes were storm-gray, but his manner was calm and controlled. A man used to pressure.

"You're even more striking in person," he said, nodding politely. "Thank you again for doing this."

I shrugged. "We're both desperate."

He smiled faintly. "True. But we can be desperate... and dignified."

I liked that.

We shook hands, signed the contract with only a flicker of awkwardness, and began to plan our first meeting with his father.

I wasn't sure what I was walking into.

But I knew this much-

If I couldn't find Henry Desmond...

Then I'd at least control the next man in my life.

Even if it was all pretend.