When Contracts Turn to Kisses

Amelia

The thunderclap jolted me awake at 3 AM. Rain lashed against the windows of our Brooklyn brownstone, but it wasn't the storm that made my heart race. It was the sound coming from my grandfather's room—labored breathing punctuated by painful gasps.

I threw back my covers and ran barefoot down the hallway. "Grandpa?" My voice trembled as I pushed open his door.

William Thompson lay in his bed, face contorted in pain, clutching his chest. His normally bright blue eyes were clouded with fear.

"Amelia..." he wheezed, reaching for my hand.

"Don't talk, I'm calling an ambulance." I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking as I dialed 911. After giving our address, I returned to his side, gripping his frail hand in mine. "Help is coming. Just breathe, please."

His breathing grew more erratic. "Amelia... George Black... he owes me..." Each word seemed to cost him tremendous effort. "A favor..."

"Grandpa, please don't strain yourself." I fought back tears, trying to keep my voice steady. Even after four years of med school and a year as a resident, I felt utterly helpless watching my grandfather suffer.

He motioned weakly toward his pillow. I reached beneath it and pulled out a yellowed photograph—two young men standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling broadly. I turned it over and read the faded inscription: "George & William, 1985 - Brothers in life and death."

"What does this mean?" I asked, but his eyes had closed again, his breathing shallow.

The paramedics arrived minutes later, their efficiency both reassuring and terrifying. As they loaded him into the ambulance, I caught a final glimpse of his face, oxygen mask obscuring his features. I followed in my car, the photograph tucked into my pocket, rain blurring the windshield—or maybe it was my tears.

At the hospital, I paced the sterile hallway outside the ICU, my scrubs from yesterday's shift still in my shoulder bag. The irony wasn't lost on me—I'd spent countless hours in this building delivering new life into the world, and now I was here watching the most important person in mine slip away.

'Mom's gone, and now Grandpa too?' I stared at her photo on my phone. Elizabeth Thompson's smile looked back at me, frozen in time ten years ago before that accident. 'I can't lose him too. I can't be alone.'

"Miss Thompson?" The doctor's voice pulled me back. "Your grandfather is stable for now, but his condition remains critical. The next 24 hours will be decisive."

I nodded numbly, collapsing into a chair as he left. My phone rang—Robert Thompson. Dad. Though that word had lost all meaning years ago.

"I heard the old man had another episode," his cold voice said without preamble.

"He nearly died," I replied, anger rising through my exhaustion.

"Well, perfect timing. Margaret and I are flying in today to handle the property transfer paperwork."

I blinked in confusion. "What paperwork?"

His chuckle made my skin crawl. "You're turning twenty-five the day after tomorrow, sweetheart. Time to face reality. That money your mother left? You'll never touch it, unless..." He paused deliberately. "Unless some idiot agrees to marry you."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, pulse quickening. "Mom's estate went to you after she died. You've been running Thompson Enterprises on her inheritance for years."

"Not all of it," he said smugly. "There's a... special provision in her will. A small portion was set aside for you, but only if you're married by your twenty-fifth birthday. Otherwise, I maintain control."

Realization hit like a physical blow. "So you wait until two days before my birthday to tell me? You're making sure I can't meet the condition!"

"Smart girl. Always were. Just like your mother—too smart for her own good," he sneered. "Expect court summons tomorrow. Better start packing up Grandpa's things while you're at it."

I was shaking with fury when I entered my grandfather's room later that morning. He looked so small in the hospital bed, but his eyes brightened when he saw me.

"The doctor says you're stable," I said, taking his hand.

"For now," he whispered. "Amelia, listen carefully. Your father called, didn't he?"

I nodded, throat tight.

"The inheritance your mother left... it's not just money. It's personal items, documents... things Robert shouldn't have."

"He said I need to be married by my birthday to claim it. That's impossible, Grandpa."

His eyes grew intense. "I've already contacted George's grandson. Ethan Black."

"The Wall Street billionaire?" I'd seen his face in financial magazines—cold blue eyes, perfect suits, reputation for ruthlessness.

"He'll help you, Amelia. This is the last thing I can do for you."

I shook my head vehemently. "Grandpa, I can't ask a stranger for help, especially not someone like him. I don't want anyone's pity. Mom taught me better than that."

"It's not—" A violent coughing fit interrupted him, and nurses rushed in as monitors blared warnings. I was pushed outside, watching through the glass as they stabilized him again.

I didn't know how long I sat in the hospital corridor, but it wasn't until nightfall that I numbingly made my way back home.

A day later, I sat at my mother's vanity in my childhood bedroom, staring at the court summons that had arrived by courier: Hearing scheduled tomorrow, 2 PM. Absence will forfeit all rights to contested property.

With trembling fingers, I called Olivia.

"Liv, I've tried everyone. No one will help." My voice cracked.

"Oh, Ames." Her voice was soft with concern. "Who would agree to a quickie wedding with a complete stranger? And your father's obviously warned people off."

"I don't know what to do." I couldn't keep the desperation from my voice.

"Even if you found someone willing, the court would question the marriage's validity. You need more than just a husband—you need someone powerful enough to make this look legitimate."

After hanging up, I stared out at the Manhattan skyline, feeling more alone than ever. Tomorrow I'd lose the last connection to my mother, and possibly my grandfather too.

At exactly midnight, my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number:

[Miss Thompson, I hear you need a marriage to secure your mother's inheritance. City Hall, 10 AM this morning. —E.B.]

I nearly dropped the phone, reading and rereading the message. E.B. My mind raced to the photograph in my pocket, to my grandfather's words: George Black's grandson. Ethan Black.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to steady my hand, and typed his name into the search bar. Dozens of articles appeared: "Black Investment Group CEO Expands Empire," "Wall Street's Most Eligible Bachelor," "Financial Prodigy Worth Billions."

I stared at his picture—those piercing blue eyes seeming to look right through me even from the screen. With the hearing less than 14 hours away and no other options, I typed a single word reply:

[Yes.]