From Fired To His: His Ninety-Days Fiancée

Sixty seconds.

I counted them in my head while the silence stretched between us.

One.

Two.

Three.

Alex Thompson did not move. He did not check his watch or shift his weight. He simply watched me the way a man watches something he has already decided belongs to him.

My fingers dug into the cardboard box until the edges bit my skin. Every rational part of me screamed to walk out. Men like him did not save women like me. They used them. They discarded them. I had just been discarded once today already.

But the hospital bill sat behind my eyes like a brand. Two thousand dollars. Twelve days. My mother's thin voice on the phone last night saying she was fine when we both knew she was not.

I lifted my chin.

"I'll do it."

The words left my mouth before I could take them back.

Alex's expression did not change, but something in his eyes sharpened. Approval, maybe. Or satisfaction.

"Good." He stepped past me and opened the door. "Come with me."

I followed him down the glass hallway, still clutching the empty box like a shield. No one spoke to us. People moved out of his way without being told. The elevator opened the second he approached, as if the building itself obeyed him.

We rode in silence to the top floor.

His office was all sharp lines and dark wood, with a wall of windows that made the city look small. He closed the door, walked to his desk, and pressed a button on the phone.

"Send in legal. And clear my evening."

He hung up and turned to face me.

"Put the box down."

I set it on the nearest chair. My hands felt strangely empty without it.

Alex leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. "There will be a contract. Non-disclosure. Strict rules. You will live in my penthouse. You will attend every event I require. In public you will look like a woman who is engaged to me by choice, not necessity. In private you will not interfere with my life. No questions about my past. No attempts to change the terms. When the ninety days are over, you leave with the money and we never speak again. Do you understand?"

I nodded once.

"Say it."

"I understand."

He studied me for another long moment. "You will need new clothes. A new phone. Your current address is no longer relevant. Pack only what you cannot replace. Everything else will be handled."

A soft knock interrupted us. A woman in a gray suit entered carrying a slim folder. She did not look at me with curiosity. She looked at me the way someone looks at a document that needs signing.

Alex took the folder, flipped through a few pages, then held it out to me.

"Read it. Carefully. You have ten minutes."

I sat in the chair across from his desk and began to read.

The language was cold and precise. Ninety days. Public appearances. Shared residence. No romantic or sexual expectations unless mutually agreed upon in writing. Full payment of all current debts upon signing, plus a substantial sum at the end of the term. Immediate termination and repayment of all funds if I broke confidentiality or caused public scandal.

My hand trembled slightly as I turned the last page.

Alex's voice cut through the quiet. "Do you have questions?"

I looked up. "What happens if someone finds out this is fake?"

"They will not. The story will be simple. We met through mutual contacts. The engagement is private and sudden because that is how I operate. You will smile for cameras when required and otherwise stay silent. My team will handle the rest."

I swallowed. "And my mother?"

"Her medical bills will be paid in full by tomorrow morning. Anonymously, if you prefer. Or under your name. Your choice."

Something tight in my chest loosened just enough to hurt.

I reached for the pen he offered.

My signature looked small and uncertain on the clean white page.

Alex signed beneath mine with a single, decisive stroke. Then he closed the folder and handed it back to the woman in the gray suit. She left without a word.

He walked to the window and stared out at the city for a moment. When he turned back, his voice was quieter.

"Security will take you to your apartment to collect your things. A car will bring you to the penthouse by eight. Do not be late."

I stood, legs unsteady.

At the door I paused. "Why me?"

Alex's gaze flicked over my face one last time.

"Because you looked desperate enough to say yes," he said. "And desperate people are reliable."

The words should have stung more than they did.

I walked out of his office with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and a signed contract that had just rewritten the next ninety days of my life.

Behind me, the door closed with a soft, final click.