My CEO Wife Handed Me A Prenup — She Had No Idea Who She Married
Part 1
I woke to the smell of expensive leather and something floral I couldn’t place.
My head pounded like a drum, and my mouth tasted like I had chewed on cotton balls soaked in cheap whiskey.
I blinked against the harsh morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
I tried to piece together where the hell I was.
This definitely wasn’t my apartment.
My apartment had water stains on the ceiling and a radiator that clanked all night long.
This place had crown molding, actual crown molding, and marble floors in the bathroom doorway.
I sat up too fast and immediately regretted the decision.
The room tilted sideways before finally righting itself.
I was still wearing my jeans and T-shirt from yesterday.
They were wrinkled and smelled faintly of the dive bar where I had spent my last twenty dollars.
My worn jacket was draped over a chair that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
“You’re awake.”
My head snapped toward the voice, sending a fresh wave of agony through my skull.
A woman sat in an armchair by the window.
She was backlit by the morning sun, so I couldn’t make out her features at first.
As my eyes adjusted, I finally saw her.
She was maybe thirty, dressed in a charcoal gray suit that screamed money in a language I didn’t speak.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a way that was either effortlessly elegant or took an hour and a professional stylist.
Her face was beautiful in that cold, untouchable way.
She had high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and lips that looked like they had forgotten how to smile.
But it was her eyes that pinned me to the spot.
They were dark, calculating, and completely devoid of warmth.
“Who are you?”
I rubbed my face, trying to clear the fog.
“Where am I?”
“The Grand Hotel, penthouse suite.”
She said it like she was reading the morning stock prices.
“As for who I am, my name is Megan Foster.”
The name meant absolutely nothing to me.
“Okay.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the couch.
“Why am I here?”
Megan crossed one leg over the other.
I noticed her shoes probably cost more than my car did back before it got repossessed.
“You don’t remember last night?”
“Lady, I don’t remember the last three days clearly.”
That wasn’t entirely true, but the last forty-eight hours were definitely fuzzy around the edges.
I had been fired two days ago.
That part I remembered with crystal clarity.
I had been working the lunch shift at an upscale Italian restaurant.
A guy in an expensive suit had started screaming at a young waitress over the wrong brand of scotch.
He grabbed her wrist.
I crossed the dining room and told him to let her go.
He threatened to buy the place and ruin my life.
I told him to apologize and pay his bill, or I would personally escort him out.
My manager fired me five minutes later for confronting a customer.
Everything after that was a blur of cheap whiskey and desperate decisions.
I had exactly two hundred dollars to my name, rent was due, and my six-year-old daughter Lily needed me.
Megan reached for an expensive-looking leather folder on the table beside her.
She opened it and slid a document across the coffee table toward me.
“We have business to discuss.”
I didn’t move.
I was trying to figure out if this was real or if I had finally snapped under the pressure.
“Business?”
“A proposal, specifically.”
Megan’s expression didn’t change a fraction of an inch.
“A marriage contract.”
That woke me up faster than a pot of black coffee ever could.
“A what?”
“You heard me correctly.”
She gestured to the thick stack of paper.
“One year, legally binding.”
I stared at her, then at the document, then back at her face.
“In exchange for your participation, I will provide you with absolute financial security.”
She didn’t blink.
“You will receive health care coverage for you and your daughter, and a substantial payout at the end of the term.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
I stood up, gripping the back of the couch for support as the room did a lazy spin.
“Because I’ve had a really terrible week, and if someone put you up to this, it isn’t funny.”
“Nobody put me up to anything.”
Megan’s voice was pure ice.
“This is a legitimate business proposition.”
She stood up to face me.
“I need a husband for one year.”
She stepped closer.
“You need money.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“We can help each other.”
“You’re completely insane.”
I shoved my trembling hands into my pockets.
“I’m leaving.”
I turned toward the heavy oak door.
“Your daughter needs surgery.”
I froze in my tracks.
The room stopped spinning, but suddenly everything felt far too sharp and focused.
I turned back to her slowly.
“What did you just say?”
