...💎...

...CHAPTER 1...

...----------------...

...EMMA RIOS...

I never imagined my dignity would have a price.

Much less that I would set it myself.

In front of me, the contract seemed like a cruel joke.

Thirteen clauses, three signatures, and a sentence disguised as an opportunity.

"Read it slowly," he told me, without looking up from his cell phone. "I don't want complaints later."

Leonardo Blake.

Thirty years old. Millionaire. CEO of Blake Technologies.

Son of a family that breathes money and contempt equally.

The man who was about to buy six months of my life.

I swallowed and pretended to be calm.

The air in his office was heavy. Everything in that place shone: the windows, the clocks, his damn tie. And I... I only shone with nervous sweat on my hands.

"Clause number one," I read aloud, "The marriage between both parties will last exactly six months, with the option of extension according to contractual necessity."

"Correct," he said, without emotion.

"“Contractual necessity.”"

This man couldn't need more of me.

"Clause number two: "Mrs. Rios must accompany Mr. Blake to all required public events, maintaining the appearance of a stable romantic relationship."

"Stable?" I murmured with irony. "You didn't tell me the role included a good performance."

He looked up from his phone for the first time.

His gray eyes pierced me.

"I pay you enough to make it seem real."

I hated him at that moment. Or maybe I hated myself for needing the money.

I took a deep breath and continued reading.

The following clauses were just as absurd: not sleeping in the same bed, not appearing in compromised places without authorization, not wearing "too provocative" clothing.

I almost laughed when I got to that one.

"And who defines what's provocative?" I asked.

"I do."

"Of course, how could I not have guessed," I scoffed. "The master and lord of decorum."

He didn't even blink. He just watched me as if he already wanted me to sign and stop saying stupid things.

Then I got to the part that made me stop.

Clause number seven.

"Under no circumstances may the parties involved develop, express, or maintain real romantic or affective feelings between each other. Failure to comply with this clause will be grounds for immediate termination of the contract and economic penalty."

I was speechless.

A marriage contract that prohibits falling in love.

"How ridiculous. As well as tempting."

"Are you kidding?" I said, looking up.

"I'm being practical." His voice sounded cold but firm. "Feelings complicate business."

"What if I accidentally fall in love with you?" I asked with a sarcastic smile.

His lips barely curved.

"Then it would be your mistake. And your debt."

I wanted to hit him with the pen.

But I remembered why I was there: my sister.

Sofia Rios

Sofia was diagnosed at thirteen with chronic kidney failure (CKF) as a result of an autoimmune disease not detected in time.

Sofia's kidneys stopped filtering toxins from the body correctly. She lives tired, with nausea and a constant paleness that she cannot hide. Sometimes her voice trembles when she speaks, but she still tries to make me laugh. The good days are few, but she takes advantage of them as if they were gifts.

Since then, she has depended on dialysis three times a week, and doctors have warned that she needs an urgent kidney transplant to have a normal life.

She is currently sixteen years old.

The procedure is expensive, the hospital requires a high initial payment, and compatible donors are scarce.

The image of Sofia in that hospital bed broke my heart.

The tubes, the machines, the bill that grew every day.

My pride was worth less than her life.

So I swallowed my words and signed the first page.

My hand trembled, but I did it.

"Welcome to my luxurious life, Mrs. Blake," he said in a low, almost hoarse voice.

I felt a shiver.

*“Mrs. Blake.”*

It didn't even sound real.

Me? Married to Leonardo Blake?

Please. Two weeks ago, I didn't even know how to pronounce the name of his company.

It all started with a photocopier.

Yes, a damn photocopier.

It was my first day as a temporary assistant at Blake Technologies.

The job basically consisted of making coffee, smiling a lot, and pretending to understand what a "quarterly projection report" was.

And there I was, trying to keep the machine from exploding, when the CEO himself decided to appear.

"Is that what it should sound like?" a deep voice asked behind me.

I jumped in fright. I literally jumped.

And, as a good professional, the first thing I did was turn around with a sheet stuck in my hair.

"It depends..." I stammered, "what should a photocopier sound like when it's working perfectly?"

He didn't answer. He just watched me with that look of boredom with superiority.

I, nervous, started pressing buttons like crazy. And, of course, the machine swallowed everything.

Mr. Blake let out a long sigh, one of those that say, "I regret running into you."

"Step aside," he ordered.

"Yes, of course, sir."

The guy bent down, pressed two buttons, and the machine started working as if nothing had happened.

I was left looking stupid with a torn sheet in my hand.

"Ready," he said, looking at me. "It wasn't that complicated."

"Sure, not for you. You have the manual of life included."

"And you, apparently, came without a warranty."

From that day I knew I wouldn't get along with that guy.

Well, I hated him and... I looked at him more than necessary.

Because, let's be honest: that appearance caused a hormonal problem.

...----------------...

A week later, I had already made enough mistakes for Human Resources to hate me.

I spilled coffee on an important report, confused the names of two directors, and, to top it off, sent an internal email criticizing "His Excellency the CEO"... to His Excellency the CEO.

Yes.

To Leonardo Blake.

My working life ended there. Or so I thought.

He called me to his office, and I arrived ready to say goodbye.

But instead of yelling at me, he smiled.

Yes, he smiled.

Which was even more terrifying.

"Miss Rios," he said, crossing his arms, "I have a proposal."

I swallowed.

*Proposal?*

"I'm listening," I said, trying to sound professional.

"I need a wife."

Silence.

"Was the guy serious?"

"Excuse me?" I said. "A what?"

"A wife. Fake, temporary and discreet."

I blinked several times.

"Not to offend you or anything, but... are you feeling well by any chance? Don't you have a fever? Are you sure what you're telling me?"

"Totally. And before you think improper things, I'm not in love with you. I just need to solve an image problem."

I had a fit of laughter.

Literal. I laughed so much that I almost choked.

And he looked at me with a stone face.

"This has to be a joke, right? Where's the hidden camera? Where's the reality team?"

"It's not a joke," he replied with an irritating expression. "If you accept, you'll have a generous payment."

"What kind of generous payment?"

"Enough to pay for whatever is worrying you."

And there I froze. My smile disappeared.

Because... how did he know that?

He noticed it.

"I investigate everyone who works for me. Your sister... her name is Sofia, right? I know she's in San Miguel Hospital."

My stomach shrank.

That's how I ended up signing a marriage contract with my boss days later.

Total madness.

From a girl who could barely afford transportation, I became "the wife" of the most inaccessible and millionaire man in the city.

Although I did it out of necessity, a part of me couldn't stop thinking that, if life were a romantic comedy, this would be the moment when someone stumbles and falls in love.

Except that here, the only stumbling was mine... and it was with his ego.

...----------------...

I returned to the present, to his silent office, with that heavy engagement ring shining on my finger.

Leonardo checked his watch as if signing a fake marriage was part of his daily routine.

"You look like you regret it," he said, without looking at me.

"No. I look like 'what the hell am I doing with my life?'"

"It's practically the same thing."

I sighed and stood up.

My heart was beating so fast I could barely think.

"So... what's next, boss? Rehearsing the kiss in front of the cameras?"

He gave me a slow look.

"No need to rehearse, Emma. Just make sure it's believable."

Well.

Now I'm officially Mrs. Blake for six months.

I welcome myself to my new, sophisticated and luxurious life.

Only there's one small detail...

I haven't told my boyfriend.

...----------------...

...*Emma Rios* ...

My name is Emma Rios, I am twenty-three years old and I have a life so chaotic that not even Netflix would dare to adapt it.

I study design —when fatigue allows me—I work as a temporary assistant in a company where even the printers cost more than my rent, and I take care of my sick sister, who is basically my reason for continuing to breathe coffee and anxiety every day.

I am sarcastic, impulsive and a little disastrous, but when life slaps me, I return two.

Romantic? Not much.

Proud? Too much.

Stupid for agreeing to marry my boss? …no comment.

...💎...

...CHAPTER 2...

...----------------...

...EMMA RIOS...

I never thought breaking a heart would hurt more than having mine shattered.

But I guess there's a price for selling your soul—and your future—to a millionaire CEO.

That night I returned to my small apartment, that refuge full of half-dead plants and mismatched mugs.

I opened my suitcase and started packing some valuable things for me: my sketchbook, the scarf that Sofia knitted, and that old jacket that still smelled like Martin.

Yes, Martin…

My boyfriend.

My ex, rather.

I had to tell him the truth.

Well, not the whole truth, because clause number ten of the contract said, verbatim, that revealing the agreement implied immediate annulment and a fine that I couldn't pay even by selling my organs.

So I only had one option: to lie.

Cruelly.

"Emma?" Martin's voice made me turn around.

He was standing in the doorway, with a smile on his face.

His shirt still had paint on it; he came straight from the workshop.

He was an artist, an idealist, and… completely the opposite of Leonardo Blake.

"Thanks for coming," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Of course, love, you scared me with the message of… 'We need to talk.' That sounds like… a breakup or pregnancy."

I swallowed.

I wish it was the second. Although with Sofia's expenses, I don't think it's a good idea.

"We can talk in the living room."

He sat on the sofa while I closed the suitcase.

He noticed it.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes." My voice trembled. "I got… an opportunity."

"Work?"

"Something like that."

He took my hand.

"Emma, if it's for money, I can help you."

I wanted to laugh. Martin barely had enough for himself, but he still offered everything. That was the problem with him: he loved too much.

And I was about to destroy him.

"Martin, there's someone else," I said, quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

His face went blank.

"What?"

"I fell in love with someone else."

The words came out cold, flat, soulless.

Lie number one.

"Since when?" he whispered, as if he needed to hear a logical explanation.

"For a while," I lied again. "All this time, actually. What we had… was nice, but I ended up meeting someone who… made me feel alive."

He stood up slowly.

His jaw was trembling.

"Who?"

The air became heavy.

My throat burned.

"Leonardo Blake," I said finally.

Martin let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"The guy you work for? Please, Emma, that can't be serious."

"It is. I'm with him."

And there, right there, I saw how something inside his eyes went out.

As if he had disconnected all emotion to not collapse in front of me.

"And that's why you're packing your things? Are you going with him?"

I nodded.

"I just… need to start over."

Martin took a deep breath. He approached, his voice broken.

"Is this a joke? Because if it is, it's not funny."

"It's not."

An unbearable silence enveloped us. And then, his voice changed.

"I can't compete with someone like him, can I?" he asked, without looking at me. "Money, cars, power… and you, who always said you hated that world."

I closed my eyes.

If I looked at him for another second, I would break down.

"I'm sorry, Martin."

"No, you're not," he replied, his eyes wet. "If you were, you wouldn't be telling me this like this."

He was right.

But I couldn't let him suspect.

"Just… let me go."

He let out a long sigh, looked at my suitcase and then looked at me, with a sadness that pierced my soul.

"I hope that idiot makes you happy, Emma."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

I just waited for him to leave.

And when the door closed, all the air I had been holding in turned into crying.

I collapsed.

There, in the middle of the floor, with my suitcase and my heart shattered.

The next morning, a black car was waiting for me outside. It was so elegant that it made my building look like a joke.

The driver lowered the window.

"Miss Rios?"

I nodded.

As the car drove away, I looked out the window.

Goodbye to my plants, to my favorite mug, to my normal life.

At least for those six months…

Hello, millionaire contract and emotional chaos.

The Blake mansion looked like something out of a movie.

A door so big it could swallow me whole and marble everywhere.

Leonardo was waiting for me at the entrance, impeccable as always.

White shirt, expensive watch and that bitter face he puts on all the time.

"I see you complied," he said, observing my suitcase, "Although I had already told you, not to bring anything, everything new will be given to you here."

"Yes, but they are valuable things for me."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I hope at least it doesn't bring mites."

I rolled my eyes.

"Are you always this charming or do you only get motivated with me?"

"Only with you. You inspire me to be sarcastic."

Great. The chemistry of hell was back.

A couple of assistants approached with dresses, papers and a huge folder.

Leonardo took it and handed it to me.

"Weekly agenda," he said. "Wedding rehearsal tomorrow at ten."

"Rehearsal of what?"

"Of weddings, Rios. You don't think such a big lie is improvised."

I opened the folder and almost choked.

It had everything planned: flowers, list of fake guests, locations for photos and even a script of what I should answer if any journalist asked how we met.

—"We fell in love in the cafeteria on the twenty-third floor." Seriously?"I laughed.

"It works. It's cliche, people love cliches."

"And what if someone asks for details?"

"You say it was magical. Or that I made a bad impression on you. Either one is true."

I couldn't help but smile.

"Wow, Mr. Blake. You have experience in this business of romantic lies."

"You just follow the script and smile."

Hours later, while they were trying on my dress for the rehearsal—the one I finally chose—I looked in the mirror and almost didn't recognize myself.

The dress was white, short, fitted at the waist and with a discreet neckline on the back. It wasn't a wedding dress, but with the new heels and hairstyle, it looked sexy enough for the rehearsal.

Leonardo appeared behind, reflected in the mirror.

"You look… good," Leonardo said, crossing his arms, "Although I think it's too short."

"Too late," I replied, taking my little bag. "If I'm going to pretend I married you, at least I'll do it in style." I stared at him. "Besides… Only good? You're paying me millions, I deserve a"spectacular"."

"Let's not exaggerate, Rios. You still don't know how to walk in heels."

"You know what?" I said, turning to him. "If you're going to be my husband by contract, at least learn to give compliments."

"And if you're going to be my wife, at least learn not to argue about everything."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, so close that I could notice the slight smell of his cologne. And for an instant, the air changed. There was only a silence that later became uncomfortable.

Until he smiled sideways.

"Relax, Rios. It's just a rehearsal."

"Sure," I muttered, looking down. "It's just a rehearsal."

...----------------...

That night, lying in the bed of the guest room, I tried to convince myself that everything was worth it.

Sofia would be fine. I would have money. Martin… would forget me.

It was only six months.

Six months pretending to be Leonardo Blake's wife.

Six months without falling in love.

Easy, right?

...CHAPTER 3...

...----------------...

...EMMA RIOS...

I never thought choosing a dress for a fake wedding would be more stressful than for a real one.

But there I was, in front of the mirror, my heart pounding as if I were about to commit a crime.

I bit my lip, trying to convince myself that the cream-colored dress—which looked more expensive than my entire year's rent—didn't make me look as guilty as I felt.

While I adjusted the zipper, my cell phone vibrated on the table.

Martin.

For a second, I hesitated whether to answer. I shouldn't. I didn't have to. But my fingers moved before my brain.

"Hello?"

"Emma..." His voice sounded broken, as if he hadn't slept all night. "I just want to see you. For a while. Please don't do this to me."

I closed my eyes. If I listened to him for another second, I was going to break down.

"I can't, Martin."

"You said you'd think about it."

"And I did."

"And?"

"And... I still don't know if it's a good idea."

"He's manipulating you, isn't he?" he whispered.

"Let's talk when you're calmer, okay?" I lied. "I have to hang up."

I didn't wait for his response.

I hung up, looked at myself in the mirror again, and saw a stranger.

That girl with perfectly styled hair and flawless makeup wasn't me.

I was the one who served coffee, the one who was late for work because the bus was delayed, the one who cried for fear of not paying the rent.

But that version of me was about to disappear.

I sighed, grabbed my bag, and went down the stairs of the mansion.

And there he was.

Leaning against his black car, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and that arrogant face that irritated me so much... and intimidated me.

"You're late, Mrs. Blake," he said sarcastically as soon as he saw me.

"I'm not your Mrs. yet," I replied, crossing my arms.

"Details," he retorted, and snapped his fingers.

Out of nowhere, Susan, his personal assistant (also known as the woman who could dominate the planet if she wanted to), appeared.

She held out an envelope, and two cards gleamed in front of me. One black and one platinum, both with my name engraved.

"What's this?" I asked, taking them carefully as if they were explosive devices.

"Your cards," Leonardo replied with absolute naturalness. "The black one is unlimited. The platinum one has a monthly limit, but all purchases are monitored in case you get any silly ideas."

"Silly ideas like what?" I asked.

"Like trying to buy love. Or your conscience."

"Oh, calm down, Mr. Morality," I said, twirling the cards between my fingers. "I'm forced to do a job like this and... I'm not going to take advantage of these cards? Oh, I'm going to get the most out of these. Enduring your bad mood has to be good for something, right?"

Susan cleared her throat to hide her laughter. Leonardo gave me a look that said, "Don't test me."

But too late. I already had.

"And before you plan your new shopping life," he continued, "there are some things that have changed."

"Oh, really? Are you going to put me in a uniform too?"

"Worse. I'm going to free you."

"Free?"

"You won't work at the company anymore."

I was silent.

"I want you to focus on your university and your sister. Nothing else. You have six months to make this work. I want a fiancee who looks happy, rested, and, above all, convincing."

"What about my colleagues? What do I tell them?"

"That you were promoted."

"To wife," I retorted.

Leonardo held my gaze, impassive.

"Take it as a challenge. And speaking of that..." he crossed his arms, "have you talked to your boyfriend yet?"

The air froze between us.

"Yes," I replied, looking down. "I already did what you asked."

"And?"

"He's not going to be a problem anymore."

"Perfect," he said, though his tone didn't sound satisfied. "I don't want this situation to become a cover story in a gossip magazine."

I felt a lump in my throat.

"It won't happen."

"I hope not." He looked at me for a few more seconds, with those gray eyes that seemed to see more than you said. "Although I'm surprised how quickly you could leave someone."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Just that some people think about it before breaking someone else's heart."

"Excuse me?" I blurted out, in a tone higher than I intended. "Now you're going to give me morality lessons, you, the one who's paying me to pretend to be your wife?"

Leonardo clenched his jaw.

"I didn't force you to accept."

"No, you just put a contract with absurd clauses and a check that solved all my problems in front of me."

"I gave you an opportunity, Emma."

"For what? To sell my dignity at a discount?"

The silence that followed was brutal.

I could hear my own heart hammering inside my chest.

Leonardo sighed and took a step closer.

"Don't mix things up. This is a deal, not a game."

"And yet, it feels like a circus."

He smiled, barely, an almost invisible curve.

"Then make sure you're the best actress in the show."

I stared at him, frustrated and confused. I didn't know if I wanted to slap him or kiss him (well, no, not kiss... although his lips had that kind of provocative arrogance that... better not).

He took out his cell phone, as if nothing had happened.

"Susan will send you the day's agenda. There's a photo shoot for the press and a dinner with investors tonight."

"Perfect," I said sarcastically. "I love spontaneity."

"And Emma..."

"What?"

"Make sure 'Martin' doesn't call you again, especially in front of the cameras."

I froze.

"How...?"

"Susan told me. She heard you 'practicing' in front of the mirror."

I felt my cheeks burn.

"It was an accident."

"I hope it doesn't happen again," he said coldly.

I lifted my chin, pretending it didn't affect me.

"Don't worry, my love, it won't happen again."

Leonardo blinked, surprised.

Susan covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

The truth is, even though my legs were shaking, I felt a little more powerful.