Chapter 2

Alexander's POV

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing down at the autumn scenery of Central Park. At dusk, the setting sun bathed New York in a golden hue, beautiful as a painting. But at this moment, my mind was filled only with cold calculations.

"Mr. Blackwood, the law firm called to confirm tomorrow's meeting," my assistant said, knocking and entering, interrupting my thoughts.

I turned back to my desk, where my grandfather's will seemed to mock me. You crafty old fox. Even in death, you're still controlling my life.

"Must marry before turning thirty, or forfeit the three-billion-dollar inheritance." I whispered the words, each one stinging like a needle to the heart. Eighty-seven days until my thirtieth birthday. Eighty-seven days to find a suitable wife.

What made someone suitable? Certainly not love.

I, Alexander Blackwood, have never believed in such foolishness as love. What I needed was an obedient woman, a perfect tool who wouldn't cause me trouble.

Thinking of this, I couldn't help but recall that woman from the Meridian Hotel yesterday. The desperation in those green eyes, that resolute determination to do anything for her mother... perhaps she was exactly who I was looking for.

Just then, someone knocked on my office door again. My private investigator, Marcus, walked in carrying a thick folder.

"Mr. Blackwood, the information you requested." He placed the folder on my desk. "Claire Stevens, twenty-five, originally from a small town in Ohio. Father died in a car accident ten years ago; she's been living with her mother ever since. Columbia University graduate in interior design, currently working at a small design firm with a monthly salary of four thousand dollars."

I opened the file, examining the photos and detailed information. Marcus's efficiency was, as always, satisfactory.

"What about her relationship status?" I asked.

"No boyfriend. She's been focused on work and caring for her mother since graduating college. Her mother has late-stage ovarian cancer and urgently needs substantial medical funds." Marcus paused. "According to my investigation, her current financial situation is dire. All her credit cards are maxed out."

Perfect. Desperation makes people compliant—an eternal truth in the business world. A desperate woman, willing to do anything to save her mother, was exactly what I needed.

"Good. Your work is done," I closed the folder. "Remember, this is strictly confidential."

After Marcus nodded and left, I leaned back in my chair and began formulating my plan.

Claire Stevens, you have no idea what you're about to become, but this arrangement will benefit us both. You get the money you need; I get the wife I require. A fair trade.

At eight in the evening, I sat in the back of my Rolls-Royce, observing this rundown Brooklyn neighborhood. The buildings were old and weathered, a stark contrast to Manhattan's opulence. It was hard to imagine a Columbia graduate living in such a place.

My driver, James, caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Blackwood, would you like me to fetch the young lady?"

"No need." I kept my eyes on the dilapidated apartment building.

After waiting about twenty minutes, I spotted a familiar figure. Claire walked wearily under the dim streetlights, her cheap coat looking thin against the cold wind. She appeared more haggard than yesterday, her eyes red and swollen, obviously from crying.

I stepped out of the car and stood in front of her. The moment she looked up, the shock in those green eyes gave me a sense of... satisfaction?

"Mr. Blackwood?" Her voice trembled. "How... how did you know where I live?"

I didn't answer her question, cutting straight to the point: "Six hundred thousand dollars to be my wife for one year."

She froze, as if struck by lightning. I could see her brain working rapidly, trying to process what I'd just said.

"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "What are you saying?"

"You heard me perfectly well." I maintained my cool tone. "A marriage contract, one-year term. Six hundred thousand dollars—enough to cover your mother's treatment, with some left over."

Her eyes flashed with complex emotions—shock, confusion, anger, and... hope? That glimmer of hope told me she was already considering it.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice still shaking.

"Because you need money, and I need a wife." I shrugged. "A simple business transaction."

She remained silent for a long time; I could hear her rapid breathing. Finally, she looked up at me. "I need to think about it."

"Tomorrow at three p.m., my lawyer's office." I handed her a business card. "1247 Madison Avenue, 32nd floor. If you show up, it means you agree. If not..." I paused, "then we never met."

With that, I turned and got back into the car without another glance at her. But through the window, I saw her standing there for a long time, clutching that card tightly.

The next afternoon, when the office door opened and Claire walked in, I wasn't surprised. Desperate people always make rational choices, no matter how crazy those choices might seem.

"Sit down," I gestured to the chair across the conference table.

She carefully sat down, her gaze lingering on the thick contract documents. My lawyer, Harrison, had prepared everything.

"The terms are simple," I began explaining. "We will have a legal wedding but maintain separate lives. In public, we'll play our parts; in private, we won't interfere with each other. Most importantly..." I paused, looking directly into her eyes, "no falling in love."

She nodded, but I noticed her hands were trembling.

"Why are you doing this?" she suddenly asked. "Someone like you could have any woman. Why make this kind of deal with me?"

I could have told her about the will, but that would have given her bargaining power. So I chose another answer:

"Because you won't cause me trouble. You need money; I need compliance. We each get what we want."

Her hand was still shaking when she signed. As the pen touched the paper, she whispered, "For my mom, I'd do anything."

Those words stirred something strange within me. Not sympathy—I never sympathize with anyone. But that pure maternal love, that courage to sacrifice everything for someone you love... it was somewhat admirable.

I quickly suppressed these useless emotions. This was just business, nothing more.

Two hours later, we stood in New York City Hall, taking vows to become husband and wife. This wedding had no flowers, no well-wishes, not even rings. Just cold legal documents and two strangers united for their own purposes.

When we received our marriage certificate, I looked at our photos on the document. Claire's forced smile looked so unnatural, while my expression was cold as ice.

"Remember," I told her, "this is just business."

She clenched her fists and looked up at me. "I understand."

But in that moment, I saw a flash of defiance in her eyes, a kind of resilience that refused to completely surrender even in desperate circumstances. That look made me strangely uneasy.

She... seemed different somehow.

Perhaps this game would be more interesting than I had anticipated.