Millionaire CEO Hires a Young Janitor to Pretend to Be His Bride—He’s Shocked When…
The Contract and the Performance
Millionaire CEO hires a young janitor to pretend to be his bride. He’s shocked when…
“You cannot be serious, grandmother.”
Samuel Royce’s voice was ice beneath velvet, calm and deadly across the polished mahogany dining table. Margaret Royce did not flinch. Her silver curls framed sharp eyes that had seen empires built and burned.
“The will is clear. If you are not married by your 35th birthday, you relinquish all voting rights within Royce Holdings. Your father’s stipulation, not mine.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened. “He died 7 years ago. I’ve rebuilt this company alone.”
“You are brilliant,” Margaret said, her tone almost soft. “But brilliance does not build legacies. Families do.”
The room went still. Dozens of cousins, board members in designer suits, and second wives holding champagne flutes tried to appear invisible. Samuel stood, his chair scraping the marble floor.
“Excuse me.”
Without waiting for acknowledgement, he strode from the dining room, past servers in tuxedos and a string quartet playing near the balcony. He turned a corner too sharply and nearly collided with a janitor crouched beside a cleaning cart.
“Watch it!” Samuel snapped, then stopped.
Angela looked up, startled. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few strands escaping around her flushed face. Her uniform was neat but plain, and she held a spray bottle in one gloved hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically, starting to move aside.
Samuel narrowed his eyes. “You are not supposed to be on this floor during events.”
Angela bristled. “Someone spilled champagne down the hallway. I was told to clean it.”
His temper, already frayed, sparked. “Do you always talk back to executives?”
She stood up, short but unyielding. “Do you always explode at people doing their job?”
Samuel stared at her. There was something infuriatingly calm in her gaze. No fear, no flattery, just exhaustion and honesty. He scoffed.
“You would not last a minute in my world.”
Angela crossed her arms. “And you would not last a day in mine.”
Something dangerous curled in Samuel’s chest. He took a step closer.
“If you were my wife, you’d understand why I am this way.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “If I were your wife, I’d probably have set your suit on fire by now.”
He blinked, then suddenly, recklessly, Samuel said, “Do it.”
Angela frowned. “What?”
“Be my wife. Pretend to be. 6 months. We get married, convince my family it is real, then disappear. You get paid; I keep my company. Simple.”
She stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”
He nodded once. “Completely.”
Angela shook her head, incredulous. “Why me? Why not one of your model friends or a struggling actress?”
“Because they would expect something in return. You clearly despise me. It keeps things clean.”
Angela’s expression shifted just slightly. “This is insane.”
Samuel pulled out his phone, tapped quickly, and showed her a number on the screen. Angela stared at it. Her hand trembled slightly.
“That covers your mother’s hospital bills,” he said quietly, “and puts your brother through 4 years of college.”
Her face went still. Samuel added, “No intimacy. No real commitment. Just play the part for 6 months.”
Angela glanced down the hallway, then back at him.
“And after 6 months, we divorce? You vanish? Richard debt-free? I keep the company? No one gets hurt?”
Angela looked at him, and for the first time, Samuel felt unsure. Then she exhaled slowly.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
Samuel raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”
“No,” she replied. “Not just like that. But people like me don’t get fairy tale endings. We get contracts. I’ll read the fine print.”
He smirked. “You’ll find my terms are fair.”
Angela picked up her cleaning cloth and walked away. Over her shoulder, she called, “Try not to be insufferable during our fake honeymoon.”
Samuel watched her go, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. He had no idea he had just invited a hurricane into his meticulously ordered life.
