Mark let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious? Why me? You don’t even know me.”
Eleanor leaned forward slightly. “Exactly.”
“You’re young, single, and desperate enough to consider this. I don’t need love, Mark. I need companionship.”
“Someone to share my name, my estate—and nothing more. Think of it as a contract.”
Mark shook his head, his thoughts racing. “This is insane. What do you get out of it?”
For the first time, her expression softened. “I’ve spent my life alone, Mark.”
“I have no children, no family. I want companionship, even if it’s only for appearances. And I want control over my legacy.”
“A husband helps secure that.”
Mark stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. “I can’t decide right now. I need time.”
“Of course,” she replied coolly. “But don’t take too long. The offer won’t last forever.”
Mark walked home in a daze, rain soaking through his clothes. That night, he sat at the kitchen table with his mother, whose pale face was etched with worry. The cost of her medical treatments had drained them financially, and his younger sister’s tuition loomed over them like a dark cloud.
“Mark,” his mother said softly after he explained Eleanor’s proposal, “I know it sounds unthinkable, but if she’s willing to help, maybe it’s worth considering.”
Mark stared at his hands, torn between pride and desperation. “You’re asking me to marry a woman I don’t love just to fix our problems.”
“I’m asking you to survive,” she said, her voice trembling. “To save us.”
The next morning, Mark returned to the restaurant.
Eleanor was already there, as calm and composed as before.
“You’ve decided,” she said without looking up from her tablet.
Mark took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”
She gave a faint smile and set the tablet aside. “Good. The arrangements will be made immediately.”
One week later, Mark stood in a small courthouse, dressed in a suit Eleanor had provided. The ceremony was quiet, attended only by Eleanor’s lawyer and a notary.
As they exchanged vows, Mark couldn’t shake the unease in his chest. When the officiant declared them husband and wife, Eleanor turned to him, tears in her eyes and a smile that didn’t quite reach them.
“Welcome to your new life, Mr. Davis.”
As he left the courthouse under the pouring rain, Mark looked at his reflection in a puddle and wondered, “Did I just save my family—or did I sell my soul?”
The gates of Eleanor Brooks’s estate creaked open as Mark’s taxi rolled up the long driveway. The house loomed ahead—an imposing mansion that could easily have passed for a museum. Its towering columns and flawless stone façade radiated old wealth, yet the windows looked dark and lifeless.
Mark stepped out with his suitcase in hand, feeling like a visitor in someone else’s dream—or perhaps their nightmare. Eleanor greeted him in the foyer, as poised and refined as ever.
“Welcome, Mr. Davis,” she said, and the formality sent a chill down his spine. “I trust everything meets your expectations. Dinner is at seven.”
He nodded silently, following a maid who led him to his room.
It was lavish—a king-sized bed, antique furniture, and tall windows overlooking immaculate gardens. Despite the luxury, the room felt cold, as though it had never known human warmth.
That evening, Mark sat stiffly at the long dining table. Eleanor was seated across from him, impeccably dressed in a silk blouse and pearls. The meal was extravagant, prepared by a chef he had yet to see, and served by staff who moved in near silence.
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