Chapter 2: The Spider's Web
SAMORA'S POV
THE NEXT DAY
The elevator to the forty-second floor moves so smoothly I barely feel it, but my stomach is doing flips anyway. Patterson & Associates occupies the entire floor of this glass tower downtown, and everything about it screams money. The kind of money I've never had, never even been close to.
I checked my phone for the third time in two minutes. 1:58 PM. I'm early, which is good because I spent twenty minutes in the lobby bathroom trying to make my Target clearance blouse and old slacks look professional. It didn't work.
The receptionist's desk probably costs more than my car. Hell, her shoes probably cost more than my car. She looks me up and down when I give my name, and I can practically see her calculating my net worth and finding it lacking.
"Mr. Patterson will see you in Conference Room A," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Down the hall, last door on your right."
The hallway is lined with intimidating legal degrees and awards. These people sue corporations for breakfast and probably buy senators for lunch. What the hell am I doing here?
My hands are sweating as I push open the conference room door. Floor-to-ceiling windows show the city spread out below like a board game, and I get a sudden dizzy feeling like I'm gonna fall right through that glass.
"Miss Morrison, thank you for coming." The man who stands to greet me is exactly what I expected a fancy lawyer to look like. Gray suit, gray hair, cold blue eyes behind expensive glasses. "I'm Richard Patterson."
There's a woman with him, younger but just as polished. She doesn't bother standing.
"This is my associate, Jennifer Chen. Please, have a seat."
The conference table is massive, dark wood that gleams under the overhead lights. I sit down and immediately feel like a kid at the grown-ups table.
"Can I offer you anything? Water? Coffee?"
"I'm fine." My voice comes out smaller than I intended. "You said this was about helping my mother?"
Patterson settles back into his chair and opens a thick folder. "Yes, our client has been made aware of your family's situation and would like to offer a solution."
---
"Before we begin, I need you to understand this is a confidential matter. Everything discussed in this room today is protected by attorney-client privilege." Chen slides a document across the table. "This is a non-disclosure agreement."
I stare at the paper. The legal language might as well be written in ancient Greek.
"What exactly am I agreeing not to disclose?"
"The identity of our client and the nature of his offer," Patterson says. "Standard procedure."
My gut is telling me to run, but that little desperate voice is louder. I signed the paper.
"Excellent." Patterson pulls out another, much thicker document. "Now, our client would like to propose a contractual arrangement that would solve your financial difficulties."
"What kind of arrangement?"
"A marriage contract."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Excuse me?"
"Our client is prepared to offer five hundred thousand dollars upfront, plus fifty thousand per month, in exchange for a one-year marriage contract." Patterson's voice is completely matter-of-fact, like he's discussing a business merger instead of my life.
I stand up so fast my chair rolls backward. "Are you seriously talking about buying me? Like some kind of... of..."
"Please, Miss Morrison, let us explain the full terms before you react." Chen's voice is calm, professional. "This is a legitimate business arrangement, not what you're thinking."
"Then what the hell is it?" But I'm sitting back down because five hundred thousand dollars is sitting on the table between us, and that number could save my mother's life.
"Our client requires a wife for certain legal and social purposes. The marriage would be in name only, you'd have your own living quarters, and the financial compensation would be substantial."
"Five hundred thousand upfront?" My voice sounds far away.
"Plus the monthly allowance, yes. More than enough to cover your mother's treatment and living expenses."
I'm doing the math in my head. The experimental treatment, the ongoing care, the bills we can't pay. This could solve everything.
"What's the catch?"
Patterson and Chen exchange a look.
"The contract includes a clause requiring the production of an heir within the marriage term."
The room goes silent except for the sound of traffic forty-two floors below.
"An heir," I repeat slowly.
"A child, yes."
I stand up again, and this time I don't sit back down. "You want me to have this stranger's baby?"
"The contract specifies—"
"I don't care what the contract specifies! You're talking about selling me like livestock!"
"Miss Morrison," Chen says calmly, "your mother has stage four pancreatic cancer. Without treatment, she has perhaps three months. With treatment, she could have years. Our client is offering to save her life."
The words hit me like bullets. She's right, and we both know it.
"Who is he?" I ask quietly. "Who wants to buy a wife and rent a womb?"
Patterson closes the folder. "Our client's name is Adrian Rourke."
The floor drops out from under me.
"Adrian Rourke." The name tastes like poison in my mouth. "Adrian fucking Rourke wants to marry me?"
"You know our client?"
I laugh, but it sounds more like choking. "Know him? He destroyed my father. He's the reason my dad lost everything and drank himself to death."
The room is spinning. Adrian Rourke. The man who bought my father's construction company out from under him, fired all the workers, and sold it for parts. The man whose lawyers buried my family in litigation until we lost our house, our savings, everything.
And now he wants to marry me.
"This is some kind of sick joke, right?" I'm backing toward the door. "He ruined my family and now he wants to what, complete the set?"
"Miss Morrison, I understand this is emotional, but—"
"Emotional?" I spin around. "The man destroyed my father's life! My dad died of liver failure because he couldn't handle what Adrian Rourke did to him!"
The door opens behind me and I hear footsteps. Expensive shoes on marble floors.
"Hello, Samora."
I know that voice. I've heard it in my nightmares for eight years.
---
Adrian Rourke fills the doorway like he owns it, which he probably does. He's taller than I remember, but then again I was sixteen the last time I saw him at my father's funeral. He didn't have the decency to stay away even then.
He's wearing a suit that costs more than I make in six months, and he moves with the kind of confidence that comes from never being told no. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, and when he looks at me I feel like a mouse staring at a snake.
"You can go," he tells the lawyers without looking away from me. They gather their papers and leave us alone.
"Samora." He says my name like he's tasting it. "You look just like your mother did at your age."
"Don't." My voice is shaking. "Don't you dare talk about my mother."
He moves to the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the city like a king surveying his kingdom.
"How is she? I heard about the diagnosis."
"You heard—" I can't even finish the sentence. "You've been watching us."
"I've been keeping tabs, yes. Your family's welfare has always concerned me."
"Our welfare? You destroyed us!"
He turns around, and for the first time I see something that might be emotion in his gray eyes.
"Your father made his own choices, Samora. I simply provided him with options."
"Options? You stole his company!"
"I bought a failing business and tried to save it. Your father's pride killed him, not me."
I want to hit him. I want to scream. I want to claw his eyes out.
"And now you want to buy his daughter?"
Something shifts in his expression. "I want to help you save your mother's life."
"Bullshit. If you wanted to help, you'd just write a check. This is about something else."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
"You're right. I could simply pay for your mother's treatment. But I have needs of my own, and you can fulfill them."
"A wife and a baby."
"A legal wife for one year, and yes, an heir. In exchange, your mother gets the best medical care money can buy, you never have to worry about money again, and you get to hate me for twelve months with full compensation."
I stare at him. "Why me? You could marry anyone."
"But I don't want anyone else." He steps closer and I force myself not to back away. "I want you, Samora Morrison. I've wanted you for a very long time."
The words send ice through my veins. "That's sick."
"Is it? You were a beautiful girl who grew into a stunning woman. Your father cost me something precious once. Perhaps it's time his daughter gave me something precious in return." You're going to pay for your father's sins.
"You're insane."
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a check. Sets it on the table between us.
"Five hundred thousand dollars. Enough for the experimental treatment, the ongoing care, private nurses, whatever she needs." He pauses. "I also took the liberty of clearing your mother's insurance claim. It was approved this morning."
My heart stops. "What?"
"The insurance company reversed their decision. Turns out their denial was based on inaccurate information." His smile is cold. "Amazing how these things work out."
I grab the edge of the table to keep from falling over. "You... you're the reason they denied her in the first place."
"I have interests in many companies, including insurance. Sometimes wires get crossed."
"You bastard." The words come out as a whisper. "You manipulated everything. The charity applications, the bank loan—"
"I simply removed your other options so you'd be more receptive to mine."
"You let my mother suffer while you played your sick games!"
"Your mother is suffering now, Samora. Every day you waste arguing with me is a day closer to losing her forever."
He's right and I hate him for it.
"The contract is for one year," he continues. "Twelve months of marriage, conception and birth of our child, and then you're free. You'll have enough money to take care of your mother for the rest of her life."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you say no. I'll withdraw my support, your insurance claim will be mysteriously reversed again, and you'll be right back where you started. Except your mother will be three months closer to dying."
I sink into the chair, legs shaking. He's trapped me perfectly. Every escape route blocked, every alternative eliminated.
"I need time to think."
"Of course. You have twenty-four hours."
"Twenty-four hours? That's not enough time to—"
"It's more than enough time, Samora. The choice is simple: marry me and save your mother, or let your pride kill her the way it killed your father."
He moves toward the door, then pauses.
"Oh, and Samora? If you try to run, if you take the insurance money and disappear, I'll find you. And I'll make sure every medical facility in the country knows not to treat your mother. I have that kind of reach."
He leaves me sitting alone in the conference room, staring at that check. Five hundred thousand dollars. My mother's life.
Twenty-four hours to decide if I'm willing to sell my soul to the devil who destroyed my family.
But as I sit there in that expensive room, surrounded by all his power and money, I already know the truth.
I don't have a choice. I never did.