“Be my nephew’s caregiver. Gain his trust. Convince him to sign the transfer papers. Once the wealth is mine, you walk away with five million dollars. Enough to solve all your problems.”
Victor Cain sits across from me, a smirk etched onto his face as though he can see the dollar signs flashing in my wide eyes.
“You understand the terms, Miss Moore?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
I don’t flinch, even though the words sting. He has no idea what my problems are. The debt collectors banging on my door. The eviction notices piling up. The hospital bills that twist my chest into knots whenever I think about them.
Victor doesn’t care about any of that. To him, I’m just a poor soul in need of a quick fix.
Swallowing hard, I ask, “And Alexander doesn’t have a say in this? He doesn’t know his fortune will be transferred to you?”
Victor chuckles. “My nephew has never been good at saying no. Then again, he’s not good at saying anything.”
The reminder of Alexander’s disabilities twists something deep in my chest. I’ve seen his photos. Sharp cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and a perpetual scowl. He’s handsome in a tortured, untouchable way. But the wheelchair and the silence paint a picture of someone trapped.
“Why me?” I ask. “You could hire anyone.”
Victor’s smirk grows colder. “Because you’re desperate. And desperate people are obedient. Don’t worry, dear. You won’t have to handle most of the caregiver work. Mario does that. But you need to be with him, as if you’re his shadow.”
The word desperate stings, but I clench my fists under the table, keeping my face calm. He’s right, and that’s what makes this nauseating. I hate the way he looks at me, like he already owns me, but I can’t deny his offer is a lifeline. Five million dollars isn’t just a solution. It’s my second chance.
Victor adjusts his cufflinks. “So, do we have a deal, Miss Moore, or shall I find someone else for this opportunity of a lifetime?”
I stare at him. Five million dollars can save my mother’s life and pull me out of the pit I’m drowning in.
“I need the money upfront,” I say.
Victor raises an eyebrow. “Half now, half when you get the signature. That’s the best you’ll get.”
I nod slowly, signing the papers he slides toward me. The pen feels heavy in my hand, and as I seal the deal, a chill runs through me, as though I’ve just sold my soul. Well, I literally have. But for my mother, I'll do anything.
“Good girl,” Victor murmurs, nodding as he reviews the documents.
I say nothing, clutching the check he hands me as I leave his extravagant office.
---
Two weeks later, I find myself standing in the Cain mansion, meeting Alexander Cain in person. The first thing I notice is his eyes. They are sharp and cold, and they seem to take away all of my masks as soon as I enter his world. He sits in his wheelchair near a towering window where the sunlight frames him like a sad painting. His expression is blank, but his posture is tense, as though he’s ready to battle despite being seated.
Victor warns me this won’t be easy, but nothing prepares me for Alexander’s silence.
“Hi,” I say, forcing a smile as I set my suitcase down.
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even peer at me. Instead, he turns his chair slightly toward the window, dismissing me with the gesture alone.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I try again. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Alexander.”
Nothing. Not a flinch.
“I’m Eliza. Your caregiver.” My voice fluctuates slightly.
His hands move suddenly, sharp gestures that I can’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” I admit, frowning. “I don’t know sign language.”
A voice cuts through the silence. “He said, ‘Don’t bother.’”
I turn to see Mario, his personal assistant, standing in the doorway. Alexander’s gaze flicks to Mario for a moment before returning to the window.
Mario places a tray on the side table, and he gave me a small smile. “Mr. Cain doesn’t like to be disturbed, especially after therapy sessions. You’ll learn his preferences soon enough.”
With that, Mario leaves, and I’m alone with Alexander again.
I sit down, determined to make this work, even if he refuses to acknowledge me. For a long time, the silence continues between us. His cold gaze rests on me, watching, assessing, but he says nothing.
Finally, he sighs with a sound louder than any words. He spins his chair to face me and scribbles something on a notepad before tossing it in my lap.
The note reads: Go away.
My chest tightens. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say firmly. “I’m here to take care of you. Be your companion and your friend."
His hands shake slightly as he writes another note, this one longer. He tosses it toward me again.
You’re here for the money, just like the others. But I don’t have it. So suffer in the hell you chose.
The words sting more than they should. He doesn’t even know me, yet he’s branded me like everyone else who’s let him down. But I refuse to back down.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “I’m here for the money. I’m desperate, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. My mother is in the ICU and I need the money to pay for her medical bills."
His eyes narrow, surprised by my honesty, but I press on. “But I’m also here to do my mission. If that means taking your anger and your hate, fine. I'll be your shock absorber and let you unload on me. I get paid for that, don’t I?”
For a moment, his expression falters, and I think I see something beneath the ice. Pain, frustration, maybe even loneliness. But just as quickly, the mask slips back into place. He waves a resigned hand and pivots toward the window again.
I sigh quietly, suppressing the cramp in my throat. This isn’t going to be easy. But I haven’t come all this way to quit.
