Chapter 2

The meeting was set at a quiet, upscale cafe. I arrived early, my hands clammy and my stomach doing flips. I was about to meet my potential contractual husband. It felt surreal, like a scene from one of the weird indie films I loved.

When he walked in, I almost choked on my water.

It was Liam Patterson.

The Liam Patterson.

I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He was a tech genius, a prodigy who had founded his own billion-dollar company, "Nexus," before he was thirty. His face had been on the cover of business magazines. I' d even watched a guest lecture he gave at my university once, mesmerized by his sharp intellect and quiet confidence. He was a legend, an icon of success.

And he was my blind date.

He was even more handsome in person. Tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his perfectly tailored suit. His features were clean-cut and sharp, and he had this calm, serious aura around him that made him seem older than his years.

He sat down opposite me, his expression cool and professional. "Chloe," he said, his voice low and even. It was the same voice I remembered from the lecture, the one that commanded attention without ever having to raise its volume.

"Liam Patterson," I managed to say, trying to keep my jaw from dropping. "What is someone like you doing on a blind date?"

It was a genuine question. The man was a catch by any standard. He was wealthy, brilliant, and famously single. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he need to be set up? And more importantly, why would he agree to a setup with someone like me, a struggling filmmaker with nothing to her name?

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes seeming to see right through me. "My family is pressuring me to get married," he said simply. "It's a distraction I don't have time for. I need a solution."

I blinked. "A solution?"

I thought he was looking for a real partner, someone to present to his family. I started to backtrack. "Look, I think there's been a misunderstanding. My friend might have... exaggerated my qualifications. I'm not exactly blue-blood material."

"I'm aware," he said, his tone unchanging. "I've reviewed your file."

"My file?"

"The information our mutual friend provided. Chloe, 24 years old. Independent film director. In need of financial stability and personal space. Dislikes family pressure. Seeks a husband who is wealthy, handsome, and rarely home."

He recited my absurd list of demands without a hint of judgment, like he was reading a stock report. I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

He leaned forward slightly. "I am proposing a contract. A marriage of convenience. We get legally married to satisfy our families. In return for your cooperation, I will provide you with a generous monthly allowance, a house, and complete freedom. We will live separate lives. I am often out of the country for work. We will maintain our relationship through occasional texts and public appearances when necessary. The contract will last for three years, after which we can divorce amicably."

I stared at him, speechless. It was exactly what I had asked for, packaged and presented like a business proposal. It was cold, impersonal, and absolutely perfect. The financial security would allow me to focus entirely on my films. The freedom meant no more nagging, no more pressure, no more feeling like a failure.

A slow smile spread across my face. This was better than I could have ever imagined.

"So," I said, leaning back in my chair, trying to match his cool demeanor. "What's the allowance?"

He named a figure that made my eyes widen. It was more money than I had ever dreamed of seeing in a year, let alone a month.

"I accept," I said without a second's hesitation. I held out my hand. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Patterson."

He shook my hand. His grip was firm and warm. "Please, call me Liam."

And just like that, we were engaged. The marriage that followed was exactly as promised. We lived in a beautiful, modern house that was technically "our" home, but it felt more like mine. Liam was almost never there. He was a ghost in my life, a name on a joint bank account, a contact in my phone who sent polite, brief text messages.

"I've transferred your allowance."

"I'll be in London for the next two weeks. Let me know if you need anything."

"My mother wants to have dinner next month. Are you free on the 15th?"

Our interactions were cordial and distant. It was the perfect arrangement. I had my freedom, my financial security, and a husband who was just a handsome, convenient fiction. I was living the dream.

Or so I thought.