AARON

“She told me I’d fucking lost my mind and walked out,” I ranted, gripping the glass in my hand like it might keep me from exploding. Connor, the bastard, just laughed like I’d said the funniest joke of the year.

“It isn’t funny,” I growled, though part of me knew it kind of was.

“With that kind of approach, what did you expect, asshole?” he asked, finally sobering a little as he took a swig from his beer. “You’ve made her life a living hell for the past few months then out of nowhere, you waltz in and tell her to marry you? And you think she’d just... what? Say yes? Like you’re her Prince Charming or something? You’re fucking delusional.”

I clenched my jaw, but I didn’t argue. Connor’s my best friend for a reason—he doesn’t sugarcoat shit. He never has. Doesn’t mean it’s easy to swallow when he spits the truth straight down your throat.

“You came up with the idea,” I muttered bitterly, “Now I have to come up with Plan B. If I don’t get married within a month, all my hard work, my sacrifices, everything I’ve built, it’ll all go to waste.”

Leave it to my grandfather to still have his claws in my life from beyond the grave. I hope you’re enjoying the show, old man. You always did love theatrics.

The Will was read yesterday—my grandfather’s final punch from the beyond. According to it, I inherit 65% of the business empire, including the company we built together, only if I get married a month after his death. If I don’t, it all goes to my sorry excuse of a father.

That will never happen. Over my dead fucking body.

My grandfather practically raised me. He was the only real father figure I had growing up. I owe him everything. My drive, my grit, my ambition. But the man had a flair for drama, and apparently, he couldn’t rest in peace without one final power move. He knew how I felt about marriage. He knew the trauma my parents’ disaster of a union left behind. And yet, he still went ahead with this absurd condition.

The worst part? It wasn’t just about getting married. No, that would’ve been too easy. It had to be for love. No business deal, no marriage of convenience. And the kicker? No divorce for at least three years. Classic him. Always pushing limits.

So, Connor—brilliant, ruthless Connor—pitched a plan. “Marry your PA,” he said. “Fabricate a love story. You’ve known her long enough to sell it. Tell them you’ve been secretly seeing each other. No one will suspect it, and since you two clearly hate each other’s guts, there's no risk of catching feelings and complicating shit.”

It was a sound plan. Elegant in its simplicity.

Except... she said no.

Of course, she said no.

I downed the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp. “I know what you’re about to ask. If I hate her so much, why the hell did I hire her?”

Connor raised a brow but didn’t ask. He already knew.

“She wasn’t my choice,” I continued bitterly. “My father hired her. Said I needed someone ‘competent’ watching over me.” That was his way of saying he didn’t trust me. I tried firing her the first week, but the contract was ironclad. The only way she could leave was if she quit. And believe me, I’ve tried to break her spirit. Overloaded her with work, gave her impossible deadlines, made her life absolute hell.”

“She never cracked,” Connor said with a shrug. “She delivers. Every damn time. I’d keep her too.”

“She’s obedient to a fault,” I muttered. “Quiet. Disciplined. Annoyingly professional. She never talks back—until today. Today she grew a spine. The one day I needed her to say yes, she decides she has standards.”

“I was wondering when she would.” Connor smirked. “She picked the wrong fucking time, though.”

“Damn right,” I grumbled.

Before he could say more, his phone buzzed, and he slid off his barstool. “I gotta take this. Be back in a bit.”

I nodded, swirling the remaining ice in my glass, lost in thought.

That’s when I felt it—a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, handsome,” came a sultry voice, sugary sweet and painfully fake. I looked up to see a woman with barely enough fabric on her chest to qualify as a top. Her cleavage was practically in my face. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Normally, I’d say yes. I’d take the distraction, the escape, the body and the night. But tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight, everything felt... wrong.

“Not interested,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay calm.

But she didn’t budge.

“Just one drink, and then maybe—”

My phone rang, cutting her off. I’ve never been more grateful for an interruption.

I excused myself without looking back, stepping out into the cool night air as I answered.

My eyebrows raised at the caller ID. My PA. Interesting.

I picked up.

“About your offer this morning…” Her voice was shaky, hesitant. “Were you... were you serious?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No need for it.

“I... I’ll take it then.”

I could hear the effort behind her words. The quiet surrender. Something must’ve broken her between this morning and now. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t curiosity holding me back—it was restraint. If she was desperate enough to agree, she’d reached her breaking point.

And I wasn’t cruel enough to dig into that pain.

“Good,” I said, my tone cool and measured. “We’ll discuss the terms and details tomorrow. At the office.”

Then I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket.

She said yes.

This might actually work.

Or... it might ruin everything.

But for now, I’ve got a fiancée to make.

VENUS

My alarm blared, jolting me awake from the uncomfortable position I had fallen asleep in. My neck ached, my back protested, and my mind was already racing.

I lay still for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling. Did I really agree to this?

The question looped in my head like a broken record. Did I really make the right choice?

I groaned and rubbed my eyes, forcing myself to sit up. I was doing this for Mom. I'd do anything for her. Anything.

Dragging myself out of bed, I went about my morning routine like a zombie. A quick shower, hair pulled into a messy bun, and makeup kept minimal—just enough to look alive. I slipped into a plain white shirt and an ash-grey skirt—one of the few decent outfits I'd managed to afford since I started working at Sinclair Tech. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clean and presentable.

I checked the clock. Only five minutes left if I wanted to make it on time. Great.

Grabbing a granola bar from the nearly empty kitchen shelf, I rushed to the door. But when I opened it, I came to an abrupt stop. I was blocked by someone.

Billy.

"Bi—Billy?" I stammered, my heart skipping a beat.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes cold. He owned the casino where my father, Dain, loved to gamble, get drunk, and bury his problems in white powder. This wouldn’t be his first time showing up at our place to collect a debt. And he always made my skin crawl. The way he looked at me? It gave me the creeps.

"Where’s Dain?" he gruffed, rubbing his scruffy beard.

"I don’t know," I replied quickly, stepping slightly back.

"He owes me money."

That can’t be right. He took all my whole savings yesterday. What the hell did he use it for, then?

"Like I said, I don’t know where he is. I kicked his drunken ass out last night."

Billy’s eyes narrowed slightly. "That so?"

"Look, Billy, I have somewhere to be, and I’m already running late."

He gave me a slow once-over, raising a brow before licking his lips in that disgusting way that made me want to gag.

"One day, Venus," he muttered, like a warning—or a promise I wanted nothing to do with—before walking away.

I slammed the door shut and locked it, chest heaving. Disgusting creep.

When I stepped outside and began walking to the main road, a car sped by, splashing a puddle of dirty water all over me.

"Asshole!" I screamed, but the driver didn’t stop or even glance back.

I looked down at my soaked clothes and groaned. I couldn’t walk into Sinclair Tech looking like this. I didn’t even have anything clean to change into. I hadn’t gotten around to doing my laundry this week.

Frustrated and wet, I went back inside and tore through my closet. Finally, I found an old sweater tucked in the back. It was faded, a little baggy, but dry and warm. It would have to do.

With no time left to mope, I hurried back outside and managed to hail a cab. But of course, traffic was an absolute nightmare. Cars crawled at a snail’s pace, horns blaring like a symphony of doom.

It was almost like the universe was throwing every obstacle at me. One final warning. One last chance to back out of the deal I’d made with the devil.

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. This was for Mom. She needed me to do this.

I arrived twenty minutes late. Not the best impression to make on the first day of your fake engagement.

Sinclair Tech’s lobby was intimidating—marble floors, modern furniture, and pristine glass everywhere. The receptionist glanced at me and gave a polite smile. I forced one back and rushed to the elevator.

My heart pounded harder with every floor the elevator climbed. I adjusted my sweater, took a deep breath, and stepped out on the top floor.

The door to the executive conference room was already open.

Connor sat on the far side of the table, sipping coffee like he hadn’t a care in the world. Aaron stood by the window, suit perfectly tailored, arms crossed, exuding power and ice.

He turned when I entered. Our eyes met.

He looked at me, really looked, and something in his expression shifted for a fraction of a second before he masked it behind his usual cool detachment.

"You're late," he said, voice low and measured.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Traffic."

Connor raised a brow. "Or cold feet?"

"Neither," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I said I’d do this, and I meant it."

Aaron walked slowly toward me, closing the distance until he stood just inches away. I had to tilt my head to look up at him. The scent of his cologne made my stomach twist. It was unfair that a man so infuriating could smell so good.

He didn’t speak. Just stared.

"We'll draft the terms today," he said finally. "You’ll move in by the end of the week. Appearances matter, and if anyone suspects this is fake, we both lose."

Connor leaned back, amused. "So romantic already."

Aaron ignored him. "We'll set ground rules. You’ll attend dinners, events, whatever’s necessary. I’ll handle the media. You just smile and look like you’re hopelessly in love with me. Think you can manage that?"

I lifted my chin. "Do I get a say in the rules?"

His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, more like a smirk. "We’ll see."

Connor stood and clapped his hands. "Well, this should be fun. Shall we get started, lovebirds?"

My heart thundered in my chest as I took a seat across from Aaron.

I was really doing this. Becoming his wife for three years.

All for my mother.

And maybe, just maybe, for something more I hadn’t fully admitted to myself yet.