The interior of the Maybach was silent as a tomb. The partition was up, separating them from the driver.
Clara sat as close to the door as physically possible. Her hands were clenched in her lap, twisting the fabric of her dress.
"I can explain," she started, her voice breaking the silence. "About last night. I thought... I meant to text someone else. It was an accident."
"I don't care about the text," Sebastian said. He was looking out the window, watching the city blur by. "I care about the debt."
He picked up a manila folder from the seat between them and tossed it into her lap.
Clara opened it. It was a medical dossier. Martha Miller. Stage 4 Renal Failure. Outstanding Balance: $158,000. Projected Cost of Transplant: $1.5 Million.
Clara gasped. "How did you get this? This is private."
"In this city, privacy is a luxury you can't afford," Sebastian said coldly. "You have three banks chasing you for defaulted loans. Your mother has two weeks before they stop dialysis treatments due to non-payment."
"I'm handling it," Clara lied.
"You're drowning," he corrected. "And I'm offering you a life raft."
The car pulled up to the curb of Sterling Tower. Sebastian turned to her.
"Come to my office tomorrow morning. 8:00 AM."
"Why?"
"To discuss the terms of your employment. And your marriage."
Clara choked. "My what?"
"Get out, Clara."
Clara didn't sleep. She sat on her sagging couch, the medical file open next to her.
She Googled him. She had to know.
She typed Sebastian Sterling 0825 into the search bar.
Nothing came up in the official news. But then she switched to image search. A photo from Instagram appeared. It was from the account of Vivienne Vance-the socialite daughter of a senator, and Sebastian's ex-fiancée.
The photo was dated three years ago. It showed Vivienne in a stunning white gown, standing on a balcony in Paris. Sebastian stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist.
The caption read: The day everything changed. My forever. The timestamp on the post was August 25th.
Clara felt sick. 08/25. It was their anniversary. Or the day they got engaged.
He was still in love with her. Vivienne had moved to London a year ago, supposedly for a "break," but everyone knew they were the golden couple.
Clara looked at her reflection in the dark window. She had the same dark hair as Vivienne. The same pale skin. From the side, in the dark... she could be a copy.
A substitute.
She felt a wave of nausea. He had slept with her because she looked like the woman he actually loved. The woman whose date was branded over his heart.
The next morning, Clara walked into the CEO's office.
Henderson was gone. His desk was empty. A security guard was packing up a box.
"What happened?" Clara asked the receptionist.
"Mr. Sterling fired him," the receptionist whispered. "Something about 'creating a hostile work environment.' He was escorted out ten minutes ago."
Clara swallowed hard. She walked into the inner sanctum.
Sebastian was standing by his desk, on the phone. "I don't care what the board says, Mother. It's done."
He hung up when he saw Clara.
He didn't say hello. He slid a contract across the mahogany desk.
"Prenuptial Agreement and Marriage Contract," Clara read the title. Her hands shook.
"One year," Sebastian said. "You will act as my wife in all public and private capacities. You will live in my home. In exchange, the Sterling Foundation covers all medical expenses for your mother, past and future."
"Why me?" Clara asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Because I look like her?"
Sebastian stiffened. "Who?"
"Vivienne," Clara spat the name out. "The tattoo. 0825. It's her date, isn't it? You want a placeholder until she comes back."
Sebastian walked around the desk. He moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance between them until he was looming over her.
He reached out and gripped her chin, tilting her face up. His thumb pressed into her skin, hard enough to bruise.
"Stop thinking, Miller. It doesn't suit you," he growled. "You are the most convenient option. You are desperate. And you are here."
"I won't be your doll," she said, tears pricking her eyes.
Her phone buzzed. A text from the hospital.
URGENT: Martha's vitals dropping. Need confirmation of funds for emergency procedure immediately.
Sebastian saw the message. He released her chin.
"You have twenty-four hours," he said, turning his back on her. "Sign it, or watch her die. Your choice."
