The moment Michael Carter’s phone rang at 2 am, something shifted in the universe. The harsh electronic chirp cut through the quiet darkness of his small living room where he’d fallen asleep on the couch, a half- empty beer on the coffee table, and the television still playing on mute.
His body trained by years of middle of the night emergencies with his daughter snapped to alertness despite the bone deep exhaustion from 14 hours at his auto shop. The number on the screen wasn’t familiar. Nobody called at this hour unless something was terribly wrong. His first thought was Emma. Had something happened at her friend’s sleepover. His heart rate spiked as he answered.
A woman’s voice, breathless and broken by silent sobs, came through the speaker. Please, I need you. Memorial Hospital room 32. Please come now. Michael sat up straight, instantly alert. I think you have the wrong number. James, is that you? The voice sounded desperate, afraid. Please, I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone.
Something in those words, that raw fear and desperation struck Michael somewhere deep and forgotten. 4 years since Rachel’s death, and still he remembered that cold, hollow feeling of facing the darkest moments without someone beside you. The crushing weight of solitude when the world was collapsing. I’m not James, but I can come. Just hang on.
Okay. He hadn’t planned those words. They simply materialize as though some better version of himself had momentarily taken control. The line went dead. Michael stared at his phone, wondering if he just hallucinated the entire exchange. Then reality settled in. What was he thinking? Racing to a hospital in the middle of the night for a complete stranger. Some woman who dialed the wrong number.
Michael looked up at the framed photograph of Rachel on the bookshelf, her smile frozen in time eternally 36. What would she think of him now? The once promising mechanical engineer reduced to an overworked auto shop owner falling asleep on the couch because he was too tired to make it to bed, living in an apartment too small for a growing girl, barely keeping his head above water.
Would she be proud or disappointed? His eyes drifted to the second photo beside it. Emma at her kindergarten graduation, gaptothed and beaming, clutching a construction paper diploma. his daughter now 10 asleep at her friend Zoe’s house three blocks away. Everything he did was for her. Every extra hour at the shop, every skipped vacation, every corner cut in his own life to make hers better.
The phone felt heavy in his hand. Who was this woman afraid and alone in room 302? What had happened to this James person who should be rushing to her side? Michael glanced at the clock. 2:08 a.m. The rational part of his brain listed all the reasons to go back to sleep.
He had a transmission rebuild waiting in the morning. Emma needed to be picked up by 9:00. He barely knew where Memorial Hospital was somewhere on the other side of Portland. Yet, he was already reaching for his keys and wallet, already dialing Mrs. Patterson, his elderly neighbor, who’d offered countless times to be his emergency contact.
Already apologizing profusely for the hour while explaining there was a situation. could she please go to his apartment and be there in case Emma came home early. The streets of Portland were empty at this hour. The traffic lights changing for phantom vehicles. Michael drove through the darkness questioning his sanity with every mile.
His truck, a 12-year-old Ford that announced his profession with every squeak and rattle felt out of place as he pulled into the hospital parking garage. The fluorescent lights cast everyone in a sickly por as he navigated the sterile hallways following signs to the elevator. who rushes to a hospital in the middle of the night for a complete stranger.
The question echoed with each step down the quiet corridor of the third floor, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever this woman was, she needed someone, anyone, to show up for her. Room 302 had its door partially open, Michael hesitated, suddenly aware of how bizarre the situation was. What would he say? How would he explain himself? He could still walk away, pretend this night never happened.
Then he heard a soft rhythmic beeping from medical equipment inside. And before he could reconsider, he knocked gently and pushed the door wider. She lay in the hospital bed, copper hair spread across the pillow, her face pale against the stark white sheets. In her early 30s, perhaps with delicate features sharpened by whatever illness had brought her here.
The moment she saw him, confusion crossed her face. “You’re not James. No, I’m Michael. You called my number by mistake.” Her eyes widened slightly and he quickly continued. I just I couldn’t leave you alone when you sounded so scared. For a long moment, she just stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. Then she’d done something unexpected.
She laughed, a small broken sound that somehow contained both gratitude and disbelief. My name is Victoria Wells, and apparently the universe decided to send me a guardian angel instead of my worthless ex-boyfriend. The name registered somewhere in Michael’s mind. Wells Communications, the telecom giant that had recently acquired several smaller media companies. He’d seen the headlines but paid little attention.
Business empires existed in a different universe from auto repair shops. Victoria pushed herself up slightly against the pillows, wincing with the effort. James and I broke up 3 weeks ago. When the doctors told me tonight might be difficult, I called him anyway. Stupid, right? He promised he’d always be there if I needed him. Her bitter smile didn’t reach her eyes. Guess some promises aren’t meant to be kept.
Michael shifted uncomfortably by the door, unsure whether to come closer or leave. He hadn’t expected a conversation, just a quick check that she was okay before slipping away. So, do you want me to call someone else for you? Family or another friend? Victoria shook her head, her expression hardening into something more composed, more dignified. No family. My father died last year.
My mother remarried and lives in Europe. And friends, the kind of friends I have aren’t the middle of the night emergency type. She gestured to the chair beside her bed. But since you’re here, would you mind staying just for a little while? Before Michael could answer, a doctor entered the room.
A tall woman with steel gray hair and the efficient movements of someone perpetually short on time. Her eyebrows rose slightly at Michael’s presence, but she focused on Victoria. “Miz Wells, your latest results aren’t what we hoped. We need to adjust your treatment plan immediately. The leukemia is advancing more aggressively than anticipated.
” Victoria’s face remained impassive, but Michael saw her hand clenched the bed sheet tightly, knuckles white with strain. She nodded once, a quick professional acknowledgement that masked whatever storm raged beneath. The doctor turned her attention to Michael. I’m Dr. Chararma and you are Michael. Michael Carter. I’m a friend of Victoria’s.
The lie came easily smoothly, surprising himself with how natural it felt to claim connection to this woman he’d met 5 minutes ago. Dr. Chararma nodded, seemingly satisfied. Well, Mr. Carter, your presence is fortunate. Patients with support systems tend to respond better to treatment. Perhaps you could step outside with me for a moment.
In the hallway, the doctor’s professional facade softens slightly. Ms. Wells has acute myoid leukemia. We’ve been treating her for 3 months, but tonight’s results show the cancer is becoming resistant to our current approach. We’re moving to a more aggressive protocol immediately, but I need to be frank. The next 48 hours will be critical. Her body is weakened from previous treatments, and this transition period carries significant risk.
Michael absorbed the information trying to process what he was hearing. So tonight when she said she was afraid, she had good reason to be. Dar checked her watch. The oncology team will be starting the new treatment protocol within the hour.
I understand you are not family, but since you’re here and she wants you to stay, your presence could be beneficial. Emotional state affects physical resilience. Michael nodded a sense of responsibility settling over him. I’ll stay as long as she needs. The Juk Sharma gave him a quick, grateful smile before hurrying away, already focused on her next patient.
Michael stood alone in the hallway trying to make sense of how his night had transformed so completely. He should call Mrs. Patterson, let her know he’d be longer than expected. He should check if Emma had texted. He should walk away from this stranger’s crisis and return to his own complicated life. Instead, he took a deep breath and re-entered room 302.
Victoria looked smaller, somehow more vulnerable than she had just minutes before. The professional mask had slipped, revealing the fear beneath. Did Dr. Chararma give you the critical condition speech? Most people run for the exits after that one. I’m not most people. Michael settled into the chair beside her bed, surprising himself with his own certainty.
So, Victoria Wells of Wells Communications, tell me how a telecoms ends up alone in a hospital at 2:00 in the morning. Her eyebrows rose slightly. You recognize the name. Most people just think I’m some random Victoria. I read newspapers occasionally. Michael shrugged when I’m waiting for parts deliveries or oil to drain.
Though I’ll admit, business news isn’t usually my priority. Victoria studied him as though seeing him properly for the first time. And what is your priority? Michael Carter, who answers wrong numbers at 2 a.m. My daughter Emma, she’s 10. The answer came without hesitation. the simple truth around which his entire life orbited.
Everything else is just details. Something in Victoria’s expression softened. Tell me about her. And so he did. For the next hour as nurses came and went preparing for the new treatment protocol, Michael talked about Emma, about her science fair project on automotive engine efficiency, about her obsession with vintage cars despite being too young to drive.
about her struggle with math but her gift for mechanical visualization, about the weekly movie nights they’d maintained religiously since Rachel died. In return, Victoria shared fragments of her own life, the pressure of being Wells Communication’s sole heir, the board members who questioned her every decision since her father’s death, the ex-boyfriend who couldn’t handle her diagnosis, and the friends who disappeared when cancer made her less fun at parties. It was strange how easily conversation flowed between them.
Two people from entirely different worlds connected by nothing more than a misdirected phone call and the quiet intimacy that sometimes emerges in hospital rooms at ungodly hours. The doctors say I might not make it through the night. She told him bluntly after they’d been talking for over an hour. That’s why I called James. I didn’t want to die alone. Michael felt his heart drop to his stomach.
This vibrant, funny woman he just met might not see the sunrise. The unfairness of it hit him like a physical blow. Then I’ll stay. His voice was gentle but firm. No one should be alone for this. What he couldn’t have known was that his decision to stay that night would set in motion a chain of events that would lead to blackmail, betrayal, and eventually a love story neither of them could have anticipated. Victoria had survived that night defying her doctor’s predictions.
When morning came, the critical period had passed. Her body responding to the new treatment protocol better than anyone expected. She’d asked Michael for his number. A deliberate exchange this time, not a wrong number in the dark.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she’d said, her voice stronger than it had been hours before. “Most people wouldn’t have come. Most people haven’t been where I’ve been,” he’d replied, thinking of those first terrible nights after Rachel’s death. “Take care of yourself, Victoria Wells.” He’d walked out of the hospital thinking that was the end of their strange encounter.
He had a daughter to pick up a transmission to rebuild a life to return to. He couldn’t have been more wrong. 3 days later, as Michael was closing up Carter’s auto for the night, a sleek black car pulled into the lot. The driver, a stern-looking man in a suit that probably costs more than Michael’s monthly rent, approached with an envelope in hand. Ms.
Wells requests your presence at her home tomorrow evening at 7 on p.m. The address is enclosed. She said to tell you it’s important. Michael had almost declined. His life was complicated enough without getting involved with a billionaire a ays with health problems. But curiosity and if he was honest with himself concerned for Victoria had won out.
For the next 24 hours he’d found himself distracted wondering what Victoria could possibly want. Emma had noticed his preoccupation during their morning routine. Dad, you put orange juice in your coffee and cereal in your lunchbox. What’s wrong with you today? He’d laughed it off, but the question lingered.
What was wrong with him? Why was he so intrigued by a woman he’d spent just a few hours with, a woman from a world so different from his own that they might as well be different species? The Wells estate had been everything he’d expected and more. a sprawling mansion overlooking the city with manicured gardens and security that made Fort Knox look like a playground.
Michael had felt wildly out of place in his clean but worn jeans and button-up shirt as a housekeeper led him through marble hallways to a sun room where Victoria waited. She’d looked better than she had in the hospital. Some color returned to her cheeks, though still fragile like a strong wind might blow her away. She’d smiled when she saw him.
A genuine smile that reached her eyes. Michael Carter, you actually came. You said it was important. He’d remain standing too aware of the pristine white sofa that probably cost more than his truck. Victoria gestured for him to sit across from her. I have a proposition for you, one that might sound crazy, but I hope you’ll hear me out.
What Victoria proposed that evening was indeed crazy. She explained that her rare form of leukemia was treatable, but would require months of aggressive therapy. Her prognosis was uncertain. What was certain was that her board of directors was using her illness as an excuse to try to rest control of her company from her. They think I’m weak.
Anger flashed in Victoria’s eyes. They think they can push me out while I’m down. I need to show them in the world that I’m not alone, that I have support, that I’m still capable of making decisions. What does that have to do with me? Michael asked though. A sinking feeling told him he already knew.
I need someone I can trust. Someone who showed up for me when they had absolutely nothing to gain. Victoria leaned forward, intensity radiating from her slight frame. I want to hire you, Michael, to be my companion, for lack of a better word.
To accompany me to treatments, to business meetings, to be seen with me in public, to help create the image that I’m not fighting this battle alone. Michael had laughed, thinking it was a joke. You want to hire me to be your fake boyfriend? That’s insane. I’m a mechanic with grease under my fingernails and a kid at home. I don’t belong in your world. That’s exactly why it’s perfect. Victoria countered. You have no connections to my industry, no ulterior motives, and I’ll pay you well.
$1 million for 6 months of your time. Enough to secure your daughter’s future to give her opportunities you’ve only dreamed of. The mention of Emma had stopped his laughter cold. Victoria had done her homework on him, it seemed, and she’d known exactly which button to push.
$1 million would change everything for him and Emma. It would mean a college fund, a better home in a safer neighborhood, maybe even the chance to start his own business someday. But at what cost? I’m offering you the chance to change your life, Michael. Victoria’s voice was soft but persuasive, and all you have to do is stand by my side while I fight for mine.
Michael had left the mansion that night without giving Victoria an answer. His mind had been reeling. The money would change everything for him and Lily, but at what cost, lying to the world, pretending to be something he wasn’t entering a world he knew nothing about.
He’d driven aimlessly through the city, finally stopping at the cemetery where Rachel was buried. The modest headstone was illuminated only by moonlight as Michael stood before it, hands in his pockets. What would you tell me to do, Ra? he whispered to the night air. She’d always been his moral compass, pragmatic but principled.
Would she understand the position he was in? Would she approve of such a deception, even for Emma’s sake? Michael remembered the early days after Rachel’s death, how he’d struggled to keep their world from falling apart while grieving himself. The times he’d had to choose between paying for Emma’s school activities or the electricity bill.
The constant fear that one major car repair or medical emergency would plunge them into debt they couldn’t escape. $1 million, financial security, Emma’s future secured. But what lesson would he be teaching his daughter? That deception was acceptable if the price was right. That principles were luxuries only the wealthy could afford.
He tossed and turned all night, and in the morning he’d found Emma sitting at their small kitchen table, carefully mending a tear in her backpack. The sight hit him like a physical blow. His daughter learning at 10 years old to make do to repair rather than replace to accept limitations he desperately wanted to lift from her shoulders.
When she looked up and smiled at him, that gap to sunshine smile so like her mother’s, Michael made his decision. He’d called the number Victoria had given him. I’ll do it. The words felt strange in his mouth. Part surrender, part adventure. But I have conditions. Emma comes first always, and I won’t lie to her about what this is. Agreed.
Victoria had replied, and Michael could hear the relief in her voice. When can you start? I need to give notice at work. Find someone to manage the shop. 2 weeks. Make it one. I’ll compensate you for any losses. My first round of treatment starts next Monday, and I want you there. The words weren’t a request, but an expectation.
The voice of someone accustomed to having her orders followed without question. And just like that, Michael Carter, single dad and mechanic, had stepped into the glittering, cutthroat world of Victoria Wells. The next week passed in a blur of preparations. Michael had approached Tony, his most experienced mechanic, about managing the shop.
The explanation he’d given was partial truth. He’d been offered a consulting position with a large company, advising on their fleet maintenance. Tony had been surprised, but pleased at the promotion and raise. The conversation with Emma had been more challenging.
Sitting at their favorite pizza place, Michael had carefully explained that he would be working closely with Victoria Wells for the next 6 months, helping her while she underwent cancer treatment. “So, you’re going to be her nurse?” Emma had asked Pepperoni halfway to her mouth. “Not exactly. More like her friend. Someone to drive her to appointments to help her at work meetings when she’s not feeling well.
” Michael had chosen his words carefully treading the fine line between truth and deception. And because we’ll be spending a lot of time together, people might think we’re dating. Emma’s eyebrows had shot up her expression, suddenly alert and interested in a way that made Michael nervous. Are you dating her? Is she going to be my new mom? No, sweetie. It’s not like that.
She’s just someone who needs help right now, and I’m in a position to give it. Michael had reached across the table to take her hand. But this job is going to pay very well. Enough that we can move somewhere nicer, save for your college, maybe even take that trip to Disney World we’ve talked about.
Emma had studied him with the unnervingly perceptive gaze she sometimes got so like Rachel’s. It almost hurt. But if you’re pretending to date her, isn’t that lying? The question had pierced Michael right to his core. Yes, it is. In a way, he’d admitted knowing he couldn’t expect Emma to maintain integrity he himself abandoned.
But sometimes life is complicated, and there’s a difference between a lie that hurts people and one that helps someone in need. Emma had considered this head tilted to one side, like when I told Mrs. Chen that I love the sweater she gave me for Christmas, even though it’s itchy and has cats all over it.
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Michael had laughed. Something like that. The important thing is that you know the truth. You and me, we don’t lie to each other ever. That’s our rule. Emma had nodded solemnly, then immediately brightened. So, if we’re moving, can I have a room with a window seat? And can we paint it blue? And can I get a dog? You always said we couldn’t have a DA because our apartment’s too small. One thing at a time, kiddo.
Michael had ruffled her hair, relief washing through him. Let me start this job first. Okay. That first Monday had been Michael’s initiation into Victoria’s world. He’d arrived at the Wells estate dressed in the new clothes Victoria’s assistant had sent over. Designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that felt foreign against his skin, too soft, too luxurious for a man who wore cotton and denim.
Victoria had been waiting in the foyer, dressed simply but expensively in slim black pants in a cream colored blouse that emphasized her power. A silk scarf was wrapped elegantly around her head, concealing the hair loss Michael knew was a common side effect of chemotherapy. “Ready for your first day as arm candy?” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, betraying the tension beneath her light tone.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he’d offered his arm with exaggerated formality, earning a genuine laugh from Victoria. “So, what’s the schedule?” Chemo. And then a board meeting. Victoria’s expression had sobered. “Actually, yes. treatment at 10 board meeting at 2. The doctors say I should reschedule, but I can’t show any weakness right now.
Not with Harrington circling like a vulture. The treatment room at the private oncology center was nothing like the hospital where Michael had first met Victoria. Plush recliners instead of hospital beds, soft lighting instead of fluorescent glare, fresh flowers on side tables. But the medical equipment was the same.
IV stands, monitors, nurses, and scrubs moving efficiently between patients. Michael had been unprepared for the reality of what Victoria was facing. She’d been so composed, so in control during their meetings that he’d almost forgotten she was seriously ill.
But watching the nurses hook her up to IVs, seeing the grimace of pain she tried to hide as the chemicals entered her system had made it all too real. “You don’t have to stay in the room,” Victoria told him, noticing his discomfort. “Most of the staff knows who I am. Just being seen in the waiting room would be enough.” But Michael had shaken his head. I’m not here just for show.
He’d pulled a chair closer to her recliner. Tell me about your company. What exactly does Wells Communications do for the next 3 hours as chemicals designed to kill the rogue cells in her body dripped into her veins? Victoria had talked about her father’s legacy, the telecom empire he’d built from nothing, and her own vision for its future.
Michael had listened, ask questions, and watched as talking about her passion brought color back to her cheeks. When the treatment was over, and Victoria was too weak to walk steadily, he’d helped her to the car without being asked his arm strong around her waist. The paparazzi had been waiting. Of course, Victoria had made sure of that.
The photos of the mysterious man supporting the ailing Aerys had hit the tabloids the next day. Wells Aerys finds love amid health crisis. The headlines had screamed. “Who is the handsome stranger supporting Victoria Wells in her time of need?” “Well, that worked,” Victoria had said dryly when Michael arrived at the mansion the next day.
She’d been curled up on a sofa, looking exhausted but satisfied as she scrolled through the news on her tablet. Michael caught glimpses of their photos. Victoria looking fragile but determined, his own face captured in profile expression, serious as he helped her to the car.
“Is that all that matters to you?” the publicity Michael had asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice. After witnessing her physical suffering, the calculated nature of their arrangement felt suddenly hollow. She’d looked up at him, her expression unreadable. Right now, yes, she gestured to the tablet where an email was displayed. My board meeting is in 2 hours, and these photos just strengthened my position considerably.
They can’t paint me as a weak, isolated woman when I have a strong, devoted man by my side. I’m not devoted. I’m paid. Michael had reminded her an unexpected flicker of hurt at being reduced to a transaction, a strategic asset in her corporate chess game. Something had flickered in Victoria’s eyes. Then, hurt perhaps, or just fatigue.
Of course, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Her voice was cool, professional once again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for the meeting. Grace will show you to the study where you can wait. Grace Chen, Victoria’s personal assistant, had led Michael to an oak panled room lined with books.
As she turned to leave, Michael had caught her arm gently. “Hey, can I ask you something? How long have you worked for Victoria?” Grace had studied him with calculating eyes, clearly measuring what to share with the hired boyfriend. 5 years. I started as an intern at Wells Communications during college, and Victoria recruited me to her personal staff after graduation.
So, you know her well, better than most. Grace’s expression had softened slightly. She’s not just what you see in the business of meetings. She cares about people about doing the right thing. It’s why the board gives her such a hard time. She refuses to sacrifice ethics for profit margins. Unlike her father, Michael had absorbed this information trying to reconcile it with the calculating woman who’d orchestrated their public debut for maximum publicity. If you know her so well, tell me about Richard Harrington. Victoria
mentions him like he’s her nemesis. Grace’s expression had darkened. Harrington was her father’s right-hand man for 30 years. He expected to take over as CEO when Edward Wells died, but Edward left controlling interest to Victoria. Harrington has never forgiven her for that, especially because she’s implementing changes her father would have opposed.
And now with her illness, Grace had trailed off clearly uncomfortable. He’s using it to try to push her out. Michael had finished the thought. That’s why she hired me to look strong supported. Grace had nodded, then checked her watch. The car will leave for Wells Tower in 45 minutes. Victoria will want you dressed appropriately. I’ve put some options in the guest room.
The options had turned out to be three designer suits that probably cost more than Michael’s annual income. A tor was waiting to make quick adjustments, ensuring that Michael would look the part of a billionaire’s boyfriend rather than a mechanic playing dressup. By the time they had arrived at Wells Tower, a gleaming spire of glass and steel in downtown Portland, Michael felt like an actor stepping onto a stage. The suit fit perfectly, but felt like a costume.
The haircut Grace had insisted on was too precise, too deliberate for a man who usually just ran his fingers through his hair and called it done. Even his hands felt wrong. A manicurist had removed the ingrained engine grease that no amount of scrubbing ever quite eliminated.
Victoria, by contrast, had transformed into her public self with apparent ease. Despite the morning’s grueling treatment, she stroed into the building with confidence. Her silk headscarf replaced by a stylish wig so natural Michael would never have guessed if he hadn’t known. Her makeup concealed the palar of illness and her tailored suit projected authority and control.
Michael followed her lead, channeling his military father’s posture and discipline. Stand straight. Make eye contact. Speak only when necessary and with confidence when you do. Project strength without aggression. basic lessons from a man who’d believe presentation was half the battle in any confrontation. The boardroom had been intimidating.
A vast table of polished mahogany surrounded by men in expensive suits, their expressions ranging from curious to openly hostile. As Victoria introduced Michael as her partner, she offered no explanation for his sudden appearance in her life, no details about their relationship, simply presenting him as a fact to be accepted.
As you can see, gentlemen, I am perfectly capable of continuing my duties as CEO. Victoria’s voice had been steel beneath silk as she addressed the board. My personal life is flourishing. My treatment is progressing well, and my vision for this company remains clear. Any further attempts to question my competence will be seen for what they are, opportunistic power grabs.
The men around the table had exchanged glances when a silver-haired man with cold eyes that reminded Michael of a shark had stared directly at him. And your friend Richard Harrington’s voice dripped with disdain. What exactly is his role in all this? What’s your background, Mr. Carter? Before Victoria could answer, Michael had leaned forward slightly.
I’m here to support Victoria in whatever way she needs. He’d met Harrington’s gaze steadily refusing to be intimidated. Some might call that love. Others might call it basic human decency. Either way, I’m not going anywhere. The room had fallen silent. Victoria’s hand had found his under the table, squeezing briefly in what might have been gratitude or warning.
Michael wasn’t sure which, but he’d squeezed back a silent promise that he was committed to their charade, at least for now. After the meeting, as they had walked to the car, Victoria had finally spoken. That was unexpected. Thank you. Don’t thank me. I just didn’t like his tone. Michael had replied surprised by his own protectiveness.
Those guys are sharks. Yes, they are. And you just jumped into the tank with them. She’d looked troubled. Be careful, Michael. These people play for keeps. He’d soon learn just how right she was. Two weeks later, as Michael was picking Emma up from school, a black sedan had pulled into the parking lot, stopping directly behind his truck. Emma waited into the car.
Michael had handed his daughter the keys instinct warning him before he’d even seen who emerged from the luxury vehicle. Richard Harrington Immaculate in a tailored gray suit that probably cost more than Michael’s truck approached with the confident stride of a man accustomed to intimidating others. Mr. Carter, a word, please.
Once Emma was safely inside the truck, Michael had turned to face the older man. What do you want? I want to understand your arrangement with Victoria Wells. Harrington’s smile never reached his cold eyes. It seems unusual for a woman of her standing to suddenly become involved with someone like you. Someone like me, Michael had kept his voice level despite the insult.
A mechanic, a single father from the wrong side of town. Not exactly Victoria’s usual type. I don’t think Victoria’s type is any of your business, Mr. Harrington. Richard Harrington. I’ve been on the Wells board for 30 years. I knew Edward Wells better than his own daughter did. His smile had thinned. And I know when something doesn’t add up.
How much is she paying you, Carter, to pretend to be her boyfriend while she fights this illness? Michael’s blood had run cold, but he maintained his composure. You’re way off base. Am I? Harrington’s voice was soft, dangerous. $1 million for 6 months, wasn’t it? That’s quite a sum for a man in your position. Enough to change your life. Enough perhaps to make you do things you normally wouldn’t.
Michael had stepped closer, his voice dropping. Stay away from me and my daughter, and stay away from Victoria. Harrington had merely chuckled. Or what? You’ll tell Victoria I’m threatening you. She already knows I’m her enemy. No, I think I’ll make you a counter offer. $3 million to walk away from Victoria now. To tell the press it was all a sham.
Imagine what that would do to her credibility with the board, with her shareholders. The sum had hit Michael like a physical blow. $3 million. Emma’s entire future secured. A life without financial worry. For a moment, just a moment, he’d considered it.
Not just the money, but escape from this charade, this world he didn’t belong in. Then he’d thought of Victoria fighting for her life and her legacy simultaneously. Victoria who’d called the wrong number in her darkest hour and found someone who cared enough to show up. You’re trying to destroy her. It wasn’t a question.
I’m trying to protect Wells communications from from a woman too emotional, too ill to lead it properly. Harrington’s voice had hardened. Edward understood that business requires a certain detachment. Victoria has never learned that lesson. Michael had turned away heading for his truck. Not interested. 3 million Carter. Harrington had called after him.
Think about your daughter. What kind of father would turn down that kind of security for his child? Michael had stopped his hand on the truck door. For one terrible moment, he’d actually considered it. 3 million would set Emma up for life. And wasn’t that why he’d taken this job in the first place for Emma? But then he’d thought of his daughter’s face that morning as she’d carefully sewed the torn strap on her backpack instead of asking for a new one.
The quiet dignity in her acceptance of their circumstances, the way she never complained about what they couldn’t afford. What would it teach her if he took Harrington’s money? that loyalty could be bought, that principles were luxuries only the wealthy could afford, the kind of father who wants his daughter to be proud of him. He’d answered and gotten into the truck.
Emma had looked up from her book as he started the engine, her expression curious. Who was that man, Dad? Someone who thought he could buy something that isn’t for sale. Michael had forced a smile trying to hide the turmoil beneath. How was school today, kiddo? That night, after Emma was asleep, Michael had called Victoria.
They needed to talk in person, not over the phone, where conversations could be monitored. She’d suggested he come to the mansion, but Michael had insisted on neutral ground. A small cafe near his apartment, the kind of place Harrington’s type would never frequent.
Victoria had arrived looking oddly vulnerable in jeans and a simple sweater, her silk headscarf replaced by a knit beanie. Without the armor of designer clothes and perfect makeup, she could have been any young woman meeting a friend for coffee. Not the ays to a billion-dollar empire. Harrington approached you at Emma’s school. Her face had pald with anger when Michael told her about the encounter. That crosses a line.
He offered me 3 million to walk away and tell everyone our relationship is fake. Michael had said quietly aware of other patrons nearby. He knows about our arrangement, Victoria. She’d been quiet for a long moment, stirring her untouched tea. And you turned him down.
Her voice was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. Of course, I did, even though it was three times what I’m paying you. Victoria’s eyes had finally met his, searching for something Michael couldn’t identify. Is that all you think this is about? The money Michael had run a hand through his hair in frustration.
Isn’t it that’s why you agreed to this in the first place? I agreed because you needed help and I was in a position to give it. The same reason I showed up at that hospital room. He’d leaned forward, meeting her eyes. The money matters. I won’t lie about that. But it’s not everything. Something had shifted between them in that moment. A recognition perhaps that their arrangement had evolved into something neither of them had anticipated.
Victoria had reached across the space between them, her fingers brushing his. Thank you for being someone I can trust. The next day, the photos had appeared online. Michael entering the Wells estate late at night. Victoria handing him what looked like an envelope of cash. Snippets of documents that appeared to outline their arrangement.
The story had spread like wildfire. Wells paying for fake boyfriend to full board in public. Victoria’s phone had rung non-stop. Her PR team had gone into crisis mode, but the damage was spreading quickly. Wells communication stock had dropped 15 points before the market even opened.
Michael had rushed to the mansion to find Victoria sitting calmly in her study, watching the news coverage with an expression that revealed nothing. “I’m so sorry,” he’d said as soon as they were alone. “This is my fault. Harrington must have had us followed. It’s not your fault,” she’d replied her voice steady despite the dark circles under her eyes. “This is how the game is played. I just didn’t expect him to move so quickly.
What do we do now?” Victoria had turned to him, her gaze direct and unflinching. That depends. Are you still in this with me, Michael? Because if you want to walk away, I wouldn’t blame you. This is about to get ugly. And you and Emma never signed up for that. The mention of his daughter had made Michael pause.
How would this affect Emma, the other kids at school, the whispers, the judgment. But then he thought about the lesson he wanted to teach her. About standing by people when things got tough, about not running when the road got rocky. I’m not going anywhere, he’d said firmly. But we need a new strategy. Denying it won’t work. They have documents, photos.
Victoria had smiled then, a slow, calculating smile that reminded Michael that beneath her vulnerable exterior was a woman who’d been raised to run an empire. We don’t deny it, she’d said. We own it. And then we flipped the script. The press conference had been Victoria’s idea. With cameras rolling and reporters hanging on every word, she’d stood before the world.
Michael by her side and told the truth or a version of it that turned Harrington’s attack on its head. Yes. When Michael and I first met, our relationship began as an arrangement. Victoria’s voice was clear and unwavering as she addressed the crowd gathered at Wells Tower. I was scared facing a diagnosis that terrified me and I reached out to the wrong number in the middle of the night.
But instead of hanging up this man, this extraordinary man showed up at my hospital room. A complete stranger who came because someone needed him. She’d looked at Michael then, and the emotion in her eyes hadn’t seemed feigned. After that night, yes, I offered Michael a position as my companion during my illness.
I needed someone I could trust, someone with no connections to my world or its politics. What I didn’t expect was how quickly this arrangement would become something real, something true. Michael had taken her hand, then a gesture that had started as support, but felt like something more. The money was never the point. His voice was steady, aimed directly at the cameras.
The point was that sometimes people need other people, even billionaire aeryses, even single dads from the wrong side of town. The press had eaten it up. The narrative had shifted overnight from scandal to love story. The billionaire and the mechanic finding each other through a wrong number in a midnight act of kindness.
Hash wrong number. Love had trended for days. Harrington had been furious. Of course, his plan to discredit Victoria had backfired spectacularly. The board sensing which way the wind was blowing had publicly reaffirmed their confidence in her leadership. But Michael knew the battle was far from over.
What he hadn’t expected was how the line between pretense and reality would continue to blur in the weeks that followed. Victoria’s treatments progressed with the brutal rhythm of modern oncology. Poison administered on schedule followed by days of recovery, brief windows of relative normaly, then back to the poison again.
Michael found himself learning medical terminology he’d never wanted to know, developing a sixth sense for when Victoria’s nausea would strike, becoming an expert at the small comforts that made the unbearable slightly less so. Emma surprisingly had adapted to their new circumstances with the resilience of childhood. After the initial media frenzy died down, Victoria had suggested that Emma visit the mansion, thinking the grand house and expansive grounds might delight a 10-year-old girl.
What none of them had anticipated was the immediate connection that formed between Emma and Victoria. It started with a tour of the mansion’s library. Victoria showing Emma first editions of children’s classics sharing how she’d hidden among the stacks as a child to escape her father’s business associates.
Dad, did you know Victoria has the original illustrations from Alice in Wonderland? Emma had burst into the kitchen where Michael was preparing coffee, her eyes wide with wonder. And she’s letting me hold them with white gloves on like a real museum person. It continued with art lessons. Victoria revealing a talent for drawing that surprised even Michael.
She’d studied at the Rhode Island School of Design before her father insisted she get a practical business degree instead. Now she taught Emma techniques for perspective and shading the two of them bent over sketchbooks in the salarium sunlight streaming through windows that overlook Portland’s skyline. The girl’s a natural.
Victoria had whispered to Michael one afternoon as Emma concentrated on rendering the rose garden below. She sees things most adults miss. The way light changes objects, how shadows create depth. She has an artist’s eye. Michael had felt a strange mix of pride and unease. He’d always encouraged Emma’s interest in mechanics, assuming she’d follow in his footsteps someday.
It had never occurred to him that she might have talents he couldn’t nurture, passions he couldn’t guide. What else had he missed about his own daughter? As Victoria’s physical strength waxed and waned with her treatment cycles, Michael found himself taking on more substantial roles in her business affairs.
What had begun as simply accompanying her to meetings evolved into helping prepare for them, reviewing documents, listening as Victoria dictated responses, eventually offering his own insights from an outsers’s perspective. “You know what your problem is,” Michael had said one evening as they sat in Victoria’s home office surrounded by quarterly reports.
“You’re so focused on technological innovation that you’re missing the human element. People don’t just want faster internet or better data plans. They want to feel connected, understood. Victoria had looked up sharply irritation flickering across her face before giving way to thoughtful consideration. Go on, take your customer service model.
It’s efficient, sure, but it’s all automated menus and outsourced call centers. What if instead you created community-based service hubs, local offices staffed by people from the neighborhood who understand regional needs and build relationships with customers? The idea had evolved into Victoria’s flagship initiative, Wells Community Connections, local service centers that doubled as technology training facilities for underserved populations. The board had been skeptical until the pilot program in South Portland showed a 40% increase in
customer retention and significant positive press. Harrington had been notably absent from those board meetings, but Michael knew better than to think he’d given up. The older man was simply regrouping, planning his next attack. It came 3 weeks after the press conference in a form Michael hadn’t anticipated.
He’d been at Carter’s auto checking in with Tony about some paperwork issues when his phone rang. Michael Carter. The voice belonged to a woman he didn’t recognize. This is Diane Kellerman from Portland Public Schools. There’s been an incident involving Emma. We need you to come to Westview Elementary right away.
Michael’s heart had pounded in his chest as he sped across town, scenarios spinning through his mind. Had Emma been hurt? Was she sick, in trouble? The school principal’s grim expression when he arrived did nothing to alleviate his fears. Mister Carter, we’ve had a situation.
Some older students were taunting Emma about the articles in the press, showing her stories on their phones about you and Miss Wells. Principal Morris’s face had flushed with discomfort, calling her names, suggesting her father was involved with Ms. Wells for money. The shame and anger had hit Michael simultaneously, a toxic mix that made it difficult to breathe. Where is she? The nurse’s office. She’s not physically hurt, but she was quite upset.
We’ve already suspended the students involved, and we’ll be having a schoolwide assembly about respect and privacy. We take bullying very seriously, Mr. Carter. Michael had found Emma sitting stiffly on an exam table, her small face blotchy from crying, but her expression rigidly controlled. that stubborn Carter determination to never let them see you break. The moment she saw him, her composure cracked.
“Dad,” I punched Tyler Matthews in the nose and made it bleed. Her voice wavered between pride and distress. He called you a a a bad word I’m not supposed to say. And he said, “Victoria only likes you cuz you’re her boy toy, whatever that means.” Michael had swallowed hard, kneeling to Emma’s level. Are you okay, kiddo? Immal had wiped her nose on her sleeve, a gesture so childlike it broke Michael’s heart. I told them they were stupid and didn’t know anything.
I told them, “You’re the best dad ever, and Victoria is sick, and you’re helping her because that’s what good people do.” Her eyes had filled with fresh tears. But then Tyler showed me the article on his phone with pictures of you taking money from Victoria, and everyone started laughing, and I got so mad I couldn’t see straight.
The drive home had been silent, Emma staring out the window while Michael grappled with the consequences of his choices. This was exactly what he’d feared. His daughter paying the price for his deception. No amount of money seemed worth her humiliation. I’m quitting, he told Victoria that evening, standing in her study with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Emma’s being bullied because of me, because of us.
This whole arrangement, it’s not worth it.” Victoria had set aside the financial report she’d been reviewing her expression unreadable. That’s your solution to run away. It’s not running away. It’s protecting my kid. The anger had bubbled up unexpectedly, directed not really at Victoria, but at the situation at himself. She’s 10 years old, Victoria.
She shouldn’t have to defend me to her classmates. She shouldn’t be hearing about how her father is being paid to date someone. Victoria’s gaze had sharpened. her voice taking on the steel edge Michael recognized from board meetings. So instead of teaching her how to handle difficulty, how to stand up to bullies, and hold her ground, you’re going to show her that when things get tough, the solution is to quit.
The words had hit with precision, finding the exact spot where Michael’s own doubts festered. That’s not fair. This isn’t her fight, isn’t it? Victoria had risen from her desk surprisingly steady despite having undergone treatment just 2 days before. When you became a single parent, did you imagine you could protect Emma from every hardship, shield her from every unkind word? Of course not. But life is hard, Michael. People are cruel.
Children especially so. Victoria’s voice had softened slightly. Quitting won’t solve anything. The rumors won’t stop. The photos won’t disappear. All it will do is reinforce to Emma, to the world, and to yourself that you can be driven away by other people’s opinions. Michael had run a hand through his hair, frustration mounting.
Then what’s your solution? Let my daughter keep getting bullied while we pretend everything’s fine. My solution is to face this head on. Victoria had crossed to stand before him close enough that he could see the tiny gold flex in her green eyes. Let me come to Emma’s school. Let me meet her classmates, her teachers. Let me show them who I really am, not some tabloid caricature. Absolutely not.
The rejection had been instinctive, protective. I’m not parading you around her school for some PR stunt. Victoria’s eyes had flashed with hurt before hardening again. Is that what you think I’m suggesting? A publicity stunt? Her voice had turned cold. I care about Emma Michael.
Maybe that wasn’t part of our original arrangement, but it’s true now, and I’m offering to help in the only way I know how. The standoff had lasted several tense moments before Michael had grudgingly acknowledged the possibility that Victoria’s approach might work. But if I see one camera, one reporter, we’re done. I mean it, Victoria. Emma’s not a pawn in whatever game you’re playing with Harrington and the board.
Neither are you. The quiet assertion had caught Michael off guard. This isn’t a game to me. Not anymore. But Harrington is playing for keeps, and he’ll use Emma against us if we let him. The only way to win is to control the narrative ourselves. The visit to Westview Elementary had been carefully orchestrated.
No media, no fanfare, just Victoria arriving for career day alongside a dozen other parents and professionals. She’d worn simple clothes left her designer handbag at home and covered her wig with a modest scarf that signaled her medical status without drawing undue attention to it.
Her presentation to Emma’s class had focused not on her wealth or position, but on communication technologies and how they connected people across distances. She’d brought prototype phones for the children to examine, explained how satellites transmitted signals, and ended with a surprisingly emotional appeal for using technology to build bridges rather rather than walls.
People think technology is about devices and data, but it’s really about connections. Victoria’s voice had grown soft, reflective. When I was diagnosed with leukemia, I called the wrong number in the middle of the night. Instead of hanging up, the person on the other end came to the hospital and sat with me through the scariest night of my life.
That connection, a voice in the darkness, a hand to hold when I was afraid. That’s more powerful than any technology I could develop. Emma had beamed with pride from her front row seat the same children who had whispered behind her back, now wideeyed with admiration.
After the presentation, Victoria had joined Emma for lunch in the cafeteria, sitting at the crowded table as naturally as if she dined on plastic trays every day, answering questions about satellites and cell towers while deafly deflecting personal inquiries with good humor. By the time they’d left the school, something fundamental had shifted. Victoria was no longer the woman paying Michael to be her boyfriend.
She was Emma’s friend, the cool adult who knew about art and technology, and treated Emma like her opinions mattered. That evening, as Michael tucked Emma into bed, she’d asked the question he’d been dreading. Dad, do you love Victoria? Like, for real, not pretend. Michael had carefully folded the edge of Emma’s comforter, buying time to consider his answer.
The truth was, he wasn’t sure anymore where the pretense ended, and reality began. What I feel for Victoria is complicated. His voice emerged gruffer than intended. Grown-ups always say that when they don’t want to answer. Emma’s skepticism was painfully reminiscent of her mother. I think you do love her and I think she loves you, too. She looks at you like Zoe’s mom looks at her new husband.
That’s enough amateur matchmaking for one night, kiddo. Michael had tapped her nose gently deflecting with humor. Time for sleep. But as Bhe turned off the light and closed her bedroom door, Emma’s observation lingered. Did Victoria look at him differently? Did he look at her differently? The lines had blurred so gradually he hadn’t noticed their disappearance until now, forced to confront the possibility that somewhere along the way, their convenient arrangement had evolved into something neither had anticipated. The next morning had brought new complications.
Michael had arrived at the mansion for their scheduled appearance at a charity fundraiser to find Victoria on the phone in her study, her expression thunderous. James Foster, her ex-boyfriend, had given an exclusive interview to the Portland Chronicle detailing Victoria’s history of manipulative behavior and implying that her illness might not be as serious as she claimed.
He says, “I’ve always used people to get what I want. Victoria’s knuckles had turned white around her phone. that I pushed him away when I got sick because I’m pathologically independent and incapable of accepting help without turning it into a transaction. Michael had plucked the phone from her hand and set it face down on the desk. What James thinks doesn’t matter.
It does when he’s telling the entire city I’m a cold, calculating who’s probably faking cancer for sympathy and business advantage. Victoria’s voice had cracked the carefully maintained composure finally fracturing. People will believe him, Michael. They’ll look at me and see exactly what Harington wants them to see.
A spoiled aerys manipulating everyone around her. Then we’ll have to show them something different. Michael had grasped her shoulders gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. This isn’t about James or Harrington. It’s about you. The real you, not the CEO or the aerys or the patient. The woman who teaches art to a 10-year-old girl.
The woman who came to a public school to talk about satellites. The woman who answers wrong numbers at two in the morning. Victoria had blinked rapidly, fighting tears. That woman feels like she’s drowning most days, like she’s playing a part she never auditioned for. Her voice dropped to a whisper. Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore. I do. Michael’s response had been immediate certain. The conviction in his voice surprising even himself.
You’re Victoria Wells, the most stubborn, brilliant, terrifying woman I’ve ever met. And we’re going to fight this together. The plan they developed had been deceptively simple. No defensive press statements, no legal threats against James. Instead, Victoria would go about her business as usual, attending treatments, managing her company, living her life, but with one crucial difference.
She would allow a documentary filmmaker to follow her, capturing the reality behind the headlines. Ryan Novak was a respected independent director known for his unflinching but compassionate portrayal of subjects in crisis. His previous documentary about pediatric cancer patients had won critical acclaim for its honesty without exploitation.
Victoria’s PR team had approached him cautiously, expecting rejection. To their surprise, he’d been immediately interested. I don’t want a puff piece, Victoria had made her position clear during their first meeting. I don’t want to be portrayed as a saint or a victim.
I want the truth, messy and complicated and real. Novak had studied her thoughtfully. Why most people in your position want control over their image? You’re essentially handing me the keys to your public perception because control is what got me here in the first place. Victoria’s answer had been quietly revoly. I’ve spent my entire life controlling everything. My emotions, my company, my relationships.
And where has it gotten me? Alone in a hospital room at 2 in the morning, calling the wrong number because there was no right number to call. The filming had begun immediately. Novak’s small crew becoming near constant presences in Victoria’s life.
They captured her board meetings and chemotherapy sessions, arguments with Michael, and quiet moments with Emma. Nothing was off limits except Emma’s face, which Michael had insisted remain unfilmed. Harrington had been predictably outraged, filing injunctions to prevent any footage from within Wells Tower from being used, claiming corporate privacy concerns.
But Victoria had anticipated this move, having already secured board approval for the project as a transparency initiative designed to humanize the company. What Victoria hadn’t anticipated was James’ next move. Two weeks into filming, as Michael accompanied her to a crucial treatment session, they’d arrived at the oncology center to find James waiting in the lobby, his handsome face carefully arranged in an expression of concern. I saw the chronicle piece. I wanted to apologize in person.
His voice had carried just enough to be overheard by nearby patients and staff, a calculated performance of contrition. I should never have spoken to the press. I was hurt angry about how things ended between us. But seeing you now knowing what you’re going through, Michael had felt Victoria tense beside him since the fragile control she maintained over her emotions. He’d stepped slightly forward, a physical barrier between her and James. This isn’t the place.
His voice had remained conversational, but with an undercurrent of steel. Victoria has treatment in 10 minutes. Whatever you need to say can wait. I’m not here to cause trouble. James had raised his hands in a gesture of innocence that rang false to Michael’s ears. I just wanted Victoria to know I still care, that I’m here if she needs me.
She doesn’t. Michael’s response had been immediate, definitive. She has everything she needs. The standoff had continued until a nurse had approached clipboard in hand to escort Victoria to her treatment room. James had retreated, but not before ensuring several onlookers had witnessed the encounter.
By that evening, social media was buzzing with speculation about a love triangle involving the Wells Aerys, her new boyfriend, and her repentant ex. He’s working with Harrington. Michael had realized it suddenly as they drove back to the mansion after treatment. Victoria pale and exhausted beside him. That wasn’t a coincidence.
He showed up knowing exactly when your appointment was. Victoria had closed her eyes too drained to maintain her usual defenses. Of course, he is. James always aligns himself with whoever has the most power. When I was CEO with my father’s backing, he was my devoted boyfriend. When I got sick and Harrington started making moves, James jumped ship.
The realization that James and Harrington were coordinating their attacks had prompted a shift in strategy. Victoria had contacted Novak that evening, requesting a sitdown interview specifically addressing James’ claims. The resulting footage was raw, unfiltered.
Victoria, without makeup, visibly weakened by her treatment, speaking with quiet dignity about her relationship with James and his abandonment after her diagnosis. I don’t blame James for leaving. Victoria’s voice had been steady despite her exhaustion. Cancer is terrifying. Not everyone can handle watching someone they care about suffer.
But I do blame him for pretending now that he wants to help when what he really wants is to help Richard Harrington take my company. The interview had gone viral within hours of Novak releasing a short clip online. Ouch. Team Victoria had started trending with thousands sharing stories of partners who’d abandoned them during illness or crisis. James had issued a hasty statement claiming his words had been taken out of context.
But the damage was done. Public opinion had swung decisively in Victoria’s favor. Harrington, however, was not so easily deterred. His next attack came from an unexpected direction. Michael had been at the mansion reviewing documents for an upcoming board presentation when Tony had called from Carter’s Auto in a panic.
There’s some guy from the health department here. Says he’s received complaints about improper disposal of automotive fluids. They’re threatening to shut us down. The inspection had found multiple violations that hadn’t existed during the legitimate inspection just 6 months earlier. The fines would have bankrupted the shop if paid immediately.
Michael had known instantly that Harrington was behind it. Using his considerable influence to attack Michael’s livelihood, his independence, the business he’d built from nothing after Rachel’s death, Victoria had been incensed when Michael told her immediately offering to pay the fines to hire lawyers to use Wells Communications considerable clout to fight back.
Michael had refused his pride, stinging at the idea of being rescued like some damsel in distress. This is my business, my problem. His voice had been sharper than intended. I’ll handle it. Why won’t you let me help you? Victoria had demanded frustration evident in her tone.
You have no problem helping me being there for every treatment, every meeting, every crisis. But the moment I try to reciprocate, you put up this wall. Because I don’t need your money or your connections to fix my problems. The words had erupted with unexpected force, revealing a fissure in their relationship neither had fully acknowledged. You don’t get it, do you? I had a life before you, Victoria.
a business I built with my own hands. When this arrangement ends, that business is all I’ll have left. And I need to know I can still handle my own problems without a billionaire swooping in to save the day. Victoria had recoiled as if slapped.
When this arrangement ends, the words hung between them, a reminder of the transactional nature of their relationship that both had begun to forget. Her voice had turned cool, distant. Of course, I apologize for overstepping. The tension had lingered for days, a new awkwardness emerging between them as both retreated to safer emotional ground.
Michael had resolved the situation at Carter’s Auto by calling in favors from former customers with connections at city hall, successfully appealing the violations. It had cost him considerable time and political capital, but the shop remained open, a victory that felt hollow in the wake of his argument with Victoria. Emma, perceptive as always, had noticed a change.
What happened between you and Victoria? She’d asked one evening as they ate dinner in their apartment, her first visit home in nearly a week. You both act weird now, like when Zoe’s parents were getting divorced and pretended everything was fine, but wouldn’t look at each other. Nothing happened, kiddo. Michael had attempted a reassuring smile that felt stiff on his face.
We just had a disagreement about work stuff. Grown-up things. Emma had stabbed a piece of chicken with unnecessary force. That’s what Zoe’s dad said, too. Grown-up things. And now he lives in an apartment in Seattle and only sees her on holidays. The comparison had unsettled Michael more than he cared to admit. His arrangement with Victoria wasn’t a marriage breaking apart. It was a business deal with an expiration date.
Yet somehow, the thought of returning to life without her felt increasingly like loss rather than liberation. The situation had come to a head the following week at a charity gala for cancer research, a high-profile event where Victoria would be receiving an award for Wells Communications contributions to funding clinical trials.
Michael had arrived at the mansion to find Victoria in her bedroom, surrounded by rejected dresses, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. None of them fit anymore. Her voice had wavered with frustration and something deeper, more painful. I’ve lost so much weight and my stylist can’t get alterations done in time.
I can’t go on stage looking like this, like cancer is winning. The admission had pierced the artificial distance they’d maintained since their argument. Without thinking, Michael had crossed the room and taken her hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. Cancer isn’t winning. You’re still here, still fighting, still the most formidable woman I’ve ever met, whether your dress fits or not.
Victoria’s laugh had been watery but genuine. Are you saying I’m intimidating even when I’m drowning in designer silk? I’m saying you’re extraordinary. The words had emerged without planning simple truth rather than calculated compliment. And anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t looking properly.
The moment had stretched between them, charged with unspoken feelings. Victoria’s eyes had searched his looking for reassurance or perhaps permission. Then James showed up at my treatment and you said I had everything I need. Did you mean that or was it just for show? Michael had been saved from answering by Grace’s arrival with emergency dress options.
The question had remained unresolved as they prepared for the gala, each retreating to safer ground. Victoria behind the mask of public confidence, Michael into the role of supportive partner. The gala itself had been a glittering affair. Portland’s elite gathered in the grand ballroom of the Heathman Hotel Champagne flowing freely as silent auction items raised hundreds of thousands for research.
Victoria had been respplendant in a midnight blue gown that cleverly disguised her weight loss, her wigs styled elegantly, her makeup concealing the power of illness. They’d circulated through the crowd with practiced ease, accepting congratulations and deflecting personal questions with polite deflections. To anyone watching, they appeared the perfect couple. The beautiful Aerys and her devoted boyfriend, a modern fairy tale playing out against a backdrop of wealth and privilege.
What no one saw was Victoria’s hand trembling slightly on Michael’s arm as fatigue set in. Or the way Michael instinctively shifted to support more of her weight, sensing her weakness before she admitted it. Or the silent communication that passed between them as he guided her toward a quiet corner where she could rest momentarily without drawing attention.
It was in that corner, partially concealed by an elaborate floral arrangement that they had overheard two board members in conversation just on the other side of the display. Harrington’s making his move next week. The first voice had been hush cautious. He’s got medical documentation suggesting Victoria’s condition makes her unfit to lead.
Plans to call for a confidence vote. The second voice had sounded concerned. That seems extreme. She’s been managing well all things considered. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. The first voice again more insistent. The treatments are taking a toll. Last week in the private meeting, she could barely stay awake.
had to have that mechanic boyfriend explain the quarterly projections because she couldn’t focus long enough to present them herself. Harington says it’s only a matter of time before she makes a critical error. Thinks we should act preemptively to protect the company.
Victoria’s grip on Michael’s arm had tightened painfully, her expression frozen in a mask of composure that didn’t reach her eyes. Michael had guided her further away before she could confront the speakers, knowing a scene would only validate their concerns. The ride back to the mansion had been silent.
Victoria staring out the window at Portland’s rainlick streets, her reflection in the glass as pale and insubstantial as a ghost. It wasn’t until they reached the privacy of her study that she’d finally spoken her voice hollow with betrayal. They’ve been watching me fail all this time, documenting every stumble, every lapse in concentration, building a case against me.
Her hands had trembled as she poured herself a small measure of scotch. I knew Harrington was ruthless, but this using my illness as a weapon, turning my own board against me. Michael had wanted to comfort her, to offer reassurance, but platitudes seemed worse than useless in the face of such calculated cruelty.
What can I do? The question was simple, direct, an offer without conditions or limitations. Victoria had looked at him, then really looked at him, seeing past the role he played to the man beneath. Harrington knows our arrangement began as a transaction. He’s using that to discredit me to paint me as manipulative and you as mercenary.
She’d set down her glass, squaring her shoulders with renewed determination. So, we need to show them something they can’t dismiss or explain away. Something real. What did you have in mind? The answer had come in the form of a kiss. Victoria rising on tiptoe, one hand against Michael’s chest for balance, her lips meeting his with tentative question rather than practiced seduction.
Michael had frozen momentarily caught off guard, not by the action, but by his own response to it. The immediate overwhelming sense of rightness, as though something long misaligned, had finally clicked into place. When they’d separated, Victoria’s expression had held a mixture of vulnerability and challenge.
I need to know if this is still just business to you because it’s not to me. Not anymore. Michael had struggled to find words for the confusion of emotions coursing through him. Desire and fear, hope, and caution all tangled together in a knot he couldn’t begin to unravel. I don’t know what this is. His voice had emerged rough with honesty. I just know I stopped checking the calendar months ago. Stopped counting down to when our arrangement would end.
started dreading the day I wouldn’t have a reason to walk through your door anymore. Victoria’s smile had been luminous despite the shadows under her eyes. A glimpse of the woman she might be without illness and corporate warfare consuming her strength. Then let’s give ourselves a better reason.
The kiss that followed had contained no questions, only answers neither could articulate, but both understood. Whatever had begun as arrangement had transformed into something neither had anticipated, but both now recognized as essential, a connection forged in crisis, but tempered into something that might endure beyond it.
What neither knew was that their moment of private revelation would soon be thrust into public scrutiny. James Foster had not accepted his diminished public standing quietly. Harrington’s confidence vote loomed and Emma caught between loyalty to her father and growing attachment to Victoria was harboring concerns of her own.
The battle for Wells communications was entering its final phase and the weapons would no longer be press releases and public appearances, but the raw, unvarnished truth about who they were and what they meant to each other. A truth neither Michael nor Victoria was entirely sure they were ready to face. The morning after their kiss, Michael woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains.
For a disorienting moment, he couldn’t place his surroundings. The high ceiling, the expensive sheets, the distant sound of someone moving about beyond the bedroom door. Then memory returned in a rush, Victoria’s lips against his, the wordless decision to stay the careful navigation of intimacy constrained by her physical fragility.
He’d slept in one of the mansion’s guest rooms down the hall from Victoria’s suite. Both of them silently acknowledging that whatever was growing between them needed time, space, and better circumstances to fully bloom. Yet something fundamental had shifted.
The pretense stripped away, leaving them in uncharted territory without the clear parameters of their arrangement to guide them. Michael found Victoria in the kitchen, a space larger than his entire apartment, yet somehow the most normal room in the mansion. She wore loose pajamas and a silk headscarf barefoot as she prepared tea. Without makeup or the armor of designer clothes, she looked younger, more vulnerable, yet paradoxically stronger.
A woman comfortable in her own skin despite everything her body had endured. Good morning. Her smile was tentative questioning. Sleep well? Better than I should have considering. Michael accepted the offered mug of coffee, their fingers brushing in the exchange. The familiar jolt of connection remained unddeinished in daylight.
We should talk about last night. Victoria leaned against the counter, both hands wrapped around her tea mug as though drawing warmth from it. I’m not sorry if that’s what you were worried about, but I understand if you are. This wasn’t part of our agreement. Michael studied her face, searching for regret or uncertainty and finding none.
I’m not sorry either. That’s what scares me. They were interrupted by the arrival of grace tablet in hand already firing off the day’s obligations and concerns. The Wells Communications Aquarterly report needed final approval. Dasharma had called to discuss adjusting Victoria’s treatment schedule.
Ryan Novak wanted to film Victoria’s physical therapy session that afternoon. The charity gala had raised over $2 million for cancer research with photographs of Victoria and Michael prominently featured in the morning society pages. reality intruded, postponing whatever revelation might have emerged between them.
By unspoken agreement, they set aside personal matters to focus on the immediate challenges, victorious treatment, and the looming confidence vote Harrington had engineered. That vote scheduled for the following Monday dominated their thoughts and actions over the next 5 days. Victoria threw herself into preparation with the focused intensity Michael had come to recognize as her response to fear.
working longer hours, pushing through fatigue, refusing to acknowledge physical limitations even as they became increasingly evident. Michael watched with growing concern as she drove herself to exhaustion each day, collapsing into restless sleep, only to wake and begin again. His attempts to slow her pace were met with gentle but firm resistance. I can rest when my company is secure.
The alternative is unthinkable. On Friday afternoon, as Victoria reviewed financial projections for the 20th time, Michael finally intervened. This isn’t sustainable. You need rest before Monday, not just for your health, but for your performance. The board needs to see you at your strongest.
Victoria looked up, shadows beneath her eyes, betraying her exhaustion, despite the determined set of her jaw. What do you suggest that I take a spa day while Harrington finalizes his coup? Her laugh held no humor. Richard has been planning this for years, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He’s not going to win because I was weak when it mattered most.
The vulnerability beneath her defiance was so evident, it made Michael’s chest ache. He perched on the edge of her desk close enough that she had to look at him. Sometimes the strongest move isn’t pushing harder, but knowing when to step back. We have 72 hours until that vote. You’ve done everything possible to prepare.
Now you need to trust that it’s enough, that you’re enough, and give your body the rest it needs to carry you through Monday. Victoria’s resistance had wavered, then collapsed entirely as the wisdom of his words penetrated her exhaustion. The night before the vote found them not at the mansion, but at a small cabin on Mount Hood that belonged to Victoria’s family.
a rustic retreat far from the pressures of Portland where cell reception was spotty and Victoria’s father had enforced a strict no business calls policy during rare family vacations. Emma had joined them delighted by the chance to explore the surrounding forest and lake.
Her presence transformed the dynamic between Michael and Victoria, creating a buffer that allowed them to exist in the moment without confronting the uncertain future that awaited them after Monday’s vote. That evening, as Emma slept soundly in the cabin’s loft bedroom, Michael and Victoria sat on the deck overlooking the darkened lake, a comfortable silence between them, broken only by the occasional call of nightbirds.
I’ve been thinking about what happens next. Victoria’s voice was soft, contemplative. After the vote, whether we win or lose, Michael waited, sensing she needed to navigate this conversation at her own pace. Our arrangement technically ends in 3 weeks. She turned to look at him directly, moonlight silvering her features.
That was the original agreement. 6 months. Michael nodded, unable to articulate the complicated emotions her reminder evoked. The contract that had once seemed so important now felt like an artifact from another lifetime, irrelevant to the reality they now inhabited. I’d like to renegotiate the terms.
Victoria’s tone shifted to something almost formal, a defensive mechanism he recognized when she approached emotionally dangerous territory. Not the financial aspect, but the parameters, the expectations, the duration, understanding Dawn slowly then all at once. She was offering continuation, extension, permanence, but framing it in the language of business because she feared rejection if she spoke plainly of feelings.
The realization was humbling that this woman who commanded an empire could be uncertain of her welcome in his heart. I’ve never been good at this. Victoria’s admission broke the lengthening silence. Vulnerability, asking for what I want personally rather than professionally. Her fingers twisted together in her lap.
But I need to know if what’s growing between us is something you want to explore beyond our original agreement. Without the financial component, without the pretense, just us, whatever that might look like. Michael reached across the space between them, gently untwining her fingers and holding them in his own.
That’s what I want, too. His voice emerged rougher than intended honesty, stripping away his usual composure. I stopped playing a role months ago, Victoria. I’m just not sure when. Relief transformed her features. Years of tension momentarily lifting to reveal the woman beneath the CEO, the patient, the aerys, simply Victoria looking at him with unmistakable tenderness.
So what do we do now? We focus on Monday first. Michael squeezed her hand gently. We deal with Harrington and the board. Then we figure out the rest one day at a time. No contracts, no arrangements, just two people finding their way forward together. Victoria’s smile in that moment was worth more than any amount in their original contract. Genuine, unguarded, luminous with possibility. I think I’d like that.
The peaceful interlude at the cabin strengthened Victoria visibly, giving her a renewed clarity in purpose that radiated from her as they returned to Portland Sunday evening. The woman who walked into Wells Tower Monday morning bore little resemblance to the exhausted figure who had left it 3 days before.
her spine straight, her gaze direct her movements, economical but graceful, despite the toll treatment had taken on her body. Michael walked beside her, conscious of the eyes tracking their progress through the lobby, the whispered conversations that ceased as they passed.
Emma had been left at the mansion with Grace, both for her privacy and because Michael wanted her shielded from witnessing the corporate battlefield that awaited them on the executive floor. Ryan Novak and a small camera crew had been granted permission to film the board meeting. A strategic decision Victoria had made against her PR team’s advice. Whatever happens today, I want it documented. Her voice had been firm brooking no argument.
If I win, the footage shows my triumph over those who tried to use my illness against me. If I lose, it becomes evidence of how Wells Communications treated its first female CEO when she dared to be human. The boardroom was already full when they arrived. 18 men and two women seated around the massive table that had once belonged to Victoria’s grandfather.
Richard Harrington occupied the seat directly opposite Victoria’s position at the head of the table, a deliberate challenge to her authority. His expression as they entered was one of barely concealed triumph, a predator confident his prey was already cornered. Victoria took her place with regal composure, Michael standing supportively behind her chair rather than sitting in the visitor section. The symbolic statement wasn’t lost on anyone present.
He was not merely an observer, but an active participant in whatever came next. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending this special session. Victoria’s voice carried clearly, betraying none of the fatigue Michael news still plagued her. I understand Director Harrington has requested a vote of confidence regarding my leadership.
Before we proceed, I’d like the opportunity to address the concerns that prompted this extraordinary measure. Harrington’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Of course, Victoria, we’re all eager to hear how you justify maintaining your position given your challenging circumstances. The next 30 minutes unfolded like a precisely choreographed duel.
Harrington presenting a damning catalog of victorious supposed failures. Missed meetings, medication induced confusion during presentations, excessive reliance on Michael for tasks that should have been handled by the CEO personally. Each accusation was delivered with practice concern, the verbal equivalent of a knife wrapped in velvet.
No one questions your courage in facing this illness. Harrington’s voice dripped with false sympathy. But courage alone doesn’t protect shareholder value. This company deserves leadership that isn’t compromised by health concerns, medication side effects, and divided attention.
Throughout the attack, Victoria remained expressionless, making notes on the legal pad before her rather than visibly reacting. Only Michael, standing behind her, could see the slight tremor in her hand as she wrote, “Not fear, but carefully controlled anger building beneath her professional mask.
” When Harrington finally finished, Victoria closed her notebook and stood commanding the room’s attention without raising her voice. “Everything Director Harrington has said about my health is true. I have cancer. I undergo treatments that sometimes leave me exhausted, nauseated, and mentally foggy. There are there are days when getting out of bed feels like climbing Mount Hood. The frank admission clearly caught Harrington offg guard.
He had expected defense denial or emotional outburst, not calm acknowledgement. What Director Harrington failed to mention is that despite these challenges, Wells Communications has increased market share by 12% during my tenure. Our customer satisfaction metrics are at a 5-year high.
The Wells Community Connections Initiative has generated positive press coverage worth millions in equivalent advertising and brought technology access to underserved communities. Victoria placed both hands on the table, leaning forward slightly to emphasize her next words. Yes, I’ve delegated more responsibilities than my father did.
Yes, I’ve brought in new perspectives, including Michael’s, precisely because his outsider viewpoint helps us see blind spots we’ve developed over decades of industry dominance. And yes, I prioritize long-term sustainable growth over quarterly profits that look good on paper, but mortgage our future. Her gaze swept the table, meeting each board member’s eyes in turn.
If that’s not the kind of leadership you want, then by all means, vote me out today. But know that you’re not voting against a sick woman unable to fulfill her duties. You’re voting against a leadership philosophy that values people alongside profits, innovation alongside tradition, and ethical business practices alongside expedient ones. The silence that followed her speech stretched taught with tension broken finally by Harrington’s practice chuckle. A lovely speech, Victoria. Very inspiring.
But rhetoric doesn’t change reality. You are physically compromised, emotionally volatile, and increasingly dependent on outside support. He glanced dismissively at Michael. The board has a fiduciary responsibility to ensure stable leadership. Michael felt rather than saw Victoria Tense preparing for another round of verbal combat.
But before she could respond, he stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, a request, not a demand that she yield the floor to him. She hesitated briefly, then nodded, understanding, passing between them without words. Mr. Harrington makes an interesting point about outside support. Michael’s voice filled the room, his tone conversational rather than confrontational.
I’d like to address that directly if the board will permit it. Several members nodded, curiosity evident in their expressions. Harrington’s smile tightened the first hint of uncertainty crossing his features. For six months, I’ve had unprecedented access to Victoria’s professional life.
I’ve attended meetings, reviewed reports, observed her decision-making process in crisis and in calm. Michael maintained eye contact with various board members as he spoke. I’ve also witnessed her receiving treatment that would bring most people to their knees than getting up and coming to work anyway.
Not because she’s stubborn, though she certainly is that, but because her commitment to this company transcends personal comfort. He turned slightly to face Harrington directly, which makes me wonder why Director Harrington is so determined to remove her now, just as several key initiatives are showing promising results. I was curious about the timing, so I did some research.
Michael withdrew a folder from his briefcase and placed it on the table. Inside are documents detailing multiple meetings between Director Harrington and executives from Meridian Communications over the past four months. His tone remained matter of fact, as though discussing the weather rather than corporate espionage.
Meetings that coincidentally began shortly after Victoria rejected Meridian’s acquisition offer. An offer Director Harrington apparently supported despite its significantly undervalued terms. Harrington’s face flushed dark red, his composure cracking visibly. This is absurd. Where did you get those documents? They’re clearly fabricated.
He turned to the other board members, voice rising. Are we really going to listen to accusations from Victoria’s hired boyfriend, a mechanic with no business experience or qualifications? Victoria stepped forward again, reclaiming control of the conversation with quiet authority. The documents are authentic at Richard. We’ve had them verified by two independent forensic accounting firms.
Her voice was almost gentle, which somehow made her next words more devastating. Did you really think my father wouldn’t have contingency plans in place for exactly this scenario? That he wouldn’t have people watching you, especially after he passed away? The revelation landed like a grenade in the center of the table.
Several board members shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances laden with silent communication. Harrington’s expression transformed from confidence to calculation, reassessing his position in real time. This changes nothing about Victoria’s fitness to lead. His voice had lost its smooth conviction, taking on a defensive edge.
Her health concerns remain valid regardless of my business explorations. Victoria’s smile held no warmth. The final page in that folder is a complete medical update from Dr. Chararma dated yesterday. My latest test show the cancer is in remission, not cured. Remission is different, but responding exceptionally well to treatment.
I’ll continue maintenance therapy for another year, but with significantly reduced side effects and physical limitations. The stunned silence that followed was broken by the most senior board member, Margaret Chen, who had worked with Victoria’s father for over 40 years. I believe we’ve heard enough to proceed with the vote.
Her stern gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on Harrington’s thunderous expression. Those in favor of retaining Victoria Wells as chief executive officer, please raise your hands. 16 hands rose immediately. Two more followed after a momentary hesitation. Only Harrington and his closest ally on the board kept their hands down, a futile gesture of defiance in the face of overwhelming defeat.
Victoria nodded once, accepting the vindication without visible emotion, though Michael could sense the relief coursing through her. Thank you for your confidence. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Carter and I have a prior engagement. The regular quarterly meeting will proceed as scheduled on Thursday.
She gathered her materials with unhurried precision, maintaining the dignified composure that had characterized her throughout the confrontation. Only when they had exited the boardroom and entered the private elevator did she allow herself a moment of genuine reaction, not triumphant celebration, but a deep exhalation as months of tension partially released. I’ve been holding that medical news since yesterday.
Her voice was soft, almost wondering. I wanted to tell you immediately, but I needed Harrington to show his hand first. I needed the board to choose me for my leadership, not out of pity or relief about my prognosis. Michael pulled her gently into his arms, mindful of the camera, still documenting their journey.
In this moment, he didn’t care about the footage that would eventually become part of Novak’s documentary. His focus was entirely on the woman before him, her courage, her strategic brilliance, and the vulnerability she allowed only him to see. The remission is real. The question emerged rough with emotion, hope, and fear tangled together.
Victoria nodded against his chest. It’s real, not a cure. The cancer could return, but for now, it’s retreating. Dr. Chararma says it’s responding better than they expected to the experimental protocol. The elevator doors open to the underground parking garage where Michael’s truck waited. Victoria had insisted on taking it rather than her usual town car, a small act of normaly amid the day’s high drama.
As they drove through Portland’s rains streets, Victoria made a call that would fundamentally alter their trajectory. Grace, we won. Harrington’s finished. The board voted overwhelmingly to retain me. Her voice took on a new quality lighter than Michael had ever heard it. Now, I need you to execute Phoenix protocol immediately.
all the arrangements we discussed and Grace, thank you for everything. Michael glanced at her curiously as she ended the call. Phoenix protocol. Victoria’s smile held secrets and satisfaction in equal measure. Contingency planning, something I learned from my father. Always have an exit strategy even when you’re winning.
Especially when you’re winning. The implications of that cryptic statement became clear three days later when Victoria called a press conference to announce a seismic shift in Wells communications leadership structure. Standing before a forest of microphones looking stronger and more vibrant than she had in months, Victoria delivered news that sent shock waves through Portland’s business community.
Effective immediately, I am stepping down as chief executive officer of Wells Communications. Her calm announcement belied the gasps and murmurss that rippled through the assembled journalists. I am not resigning from the company, but transitioning to a new role as chairwoman of the board, focusing on long-term strategy and innovation while delegating day-to-day operations to our new CEO, Grace Chen.
The questions had erupted like a volcano. Why now was this health rellated? Was she being forced out despite Monday’s vote of confidence? Through it all, Victoria maintained the same centered calm, addressing each concern with transparent honesty. This decision comes entirely from personal reflection, not external pressure.
My battle with cancer changed my perspective on many things, including what kind of life I want to lead and how I want to contribute to Wells Communications future. Grace has been my right hand for 5 years. She understands my vision and has the operational expertise to execute it more effectively than I can. while balancing treatment and recovery.
Only after the formal questions had concluded as Victoria was preparing to leave the podium did one reporter call out the question that had hovered unspoken throughout the conference. What about Michael Carter? Will your relationship continue now that you’re stepping back from full-time leadership? Victoria had paused, turning back to the microphones with an expression that combined amusement and affection.
That question falls squarely in the personal category, but since it’s been the subject of so much speculation, she glanced toward Michael, standing supportively at the side of the stage. My relationship with Michael began under unusual circumstances, but it has evolved into something neither of us anticipated.
Whatever the future holds for Wells Communications, Michael will be part of my personal future, if he’ll have me. The public declaration had caught Michael off guard. Their private conversations had acknowledged growing feelings, but neither had defined it what came next in such explicit terms. Victoria’s willingness to commit publicly without prior warning or negotiation, represented a vulnerability he’d never expected from her.
The corporate strategist, who planned contingencies for contingencies, now improvising their personal future in front of rolling cameras. The days following the press conference unfolded in a whirlwind of transition. Victoria gradually handing responsibilities to Grace while maintaining key relationships and strategic oversight.
Her reduced schedule allowed for proper rest between treatments and the visible improvement in her energy and color validated the decision to step back from operational leadership. For Michael, the shift created both opportunity and uncertainty. With Victoria no longer CEO, their original arrangement had effectively concluded regardless of the technical end date.
The million-dollar promised for six months of his time sat in an escrow account untouched since their relationship had evolved beyond its transactional beginnings. One rainy afternoon, as Michael reviewed paperwork in Victoria’s home office, she’d approached with an envelope in hand. “This is yours,” her voice held a note of finality as she placed it before him.
“The final transfer paperwork for the escrow account. All you need to do is sign and the funds will move to your account tomorrow.” Michael stared at the envelope without touching it, suddenly reluctant to complete this last vestage of their business arrangement.
It feels wrong now to take money for this, for us. Victoria sat beside him, her expression thoughtful. Consider it compensation for the career disruption, then for putting your business on hold for the public scrutiny for all the parts of our arrangement that had nothing to do with feelings that developed later. There was logic in her argument.
Yet, Michael couldn’t shake the sense that accepting the money now would somehow taint what had grown between them. Before he could articulate this concern, Emma burst into the office, excitement radiating from her small frame. Dad Miss Chen called and said, “You can have a meeting with Mr. Bronson about the expansion tomorrow.
” She danced from foot to foot, barely containing her enthusiasm. “Can we go see the new space after, please?” Michael exchanged a confused glance with Victoria, who looks suspiciously innocent. What expansion? And how does Grace know? Harold Bronson. Emma’s expression fell slightly, realizing she’d revealed something prematurely. Oops.
Was it supposed to be a surprise? She looked between the adults uncertainly. Miss Chen said you were thinking about expanding Carter’s Auto into a full service center with training programs for kids interested in mechanics, and Mr. Bronson has the perfect building available.
Victoria had the grace to look slightly abashed as Michael turned to her with raised eyebrows. I might have mentioned your long-term goals to Grace, who happens to be friends with Harold Bronson’s daughter from college. And Harold might be on the board of Wells Communications Charitable Foundation, which has an initiative supporting vocational training programs. The pieces clicked together in Michael’s mind.
Victoria had been orchestrating opportunities for him just as she’d been preparing Grace to take over as CEO. Not as charity or payment, but as investment in his vision, his independence, his future alongside her, but not dependent on her. The realization transformed his perspective on the escrow paperwork.
It wasn’t payment for services rendered, but capital for dreams deferred. dreams Victoria had listened to during late night conversations and now sought to nurture rather than replace with her own. That night, after Emma was asleep, Michael found Victoria in the mansion’s library, curled in her favorite window seat with a book she wasn’t really reading.
Her expression as she looked up at his entrance was guarded, uncertain, a rare vulnerability from a woman accustomed to projecting confidence. You’re angry about the Bronson meeting. Her voice was carefully neutral, testing his reaction. I should have discussed it with you first. It wasn’t my place to intervene in your business.
Michael settled beside her in the window seat, taking the book from her hands and setting it aside. I’m not angry. I’m adjusting to this new reality where I’m not your contracted companion, but your actual partner, where your resources and connections are offered from affection rather than obligation. It’s unfamiliar territory for me.
Victoria’s tension eased slightly, though caution remained in her posture. I don’t want to overstep or make you feel diminished, but I also don’t want to pretend I don’t have the ability to open certain doors just because it might bruise your pride. Her directness was refreshing after weeks of careful navigation around sensitive topics. We both bring different strengths to this relationship.
Mine happened to include business connections and financial resources. Yours include mechanical genius, emotional intelligence, and being the kind of Father Emma deserves. The simple acknowledgement of their different circumstances without apology or defensiveness broke through Michael’s lingering resistance.
You know what I realized today? He took her hand, tracing the delicate bones visible beneath her skin. We’ve spent 6 months pretending to be a couple while actually becoming one. Now we have to figure out how to be real partners without a contract telling us the rules. Victoria’s laugh held genuine amusement.
We did everything backwards, didn’t we? Most people date first, then meet each other’s families, then discuss career goals and living arrangements. We started with a business contract, skipped straight to meeting families, and now we’re circling back to the dating part. The observation crystallized something Michael had been struggling to articulate. That’s exactly it.
We need to date not for publicity or business advantage, but because we want to know each other better, because we’re choosing each other every day, not fulfilling an obligation. Victoria’s expression softened with understanding and something deeper, more profound. I’ve never been very good at dating. My last three relationships were with people in my industry or social circle.
Convenient, expected, comfortable. She squeezed his hand gently. I don’t know how to do normal couple things. I’ve never been bowling or to a drive-in movie or on a picnic that wasn’t catered. The confession, so human, so contrary to her public image, endeared her to Michael in a way her wealth and power never could. I think that’s our next project, then.
Teaching Victoria Wells how to be an ordinary girlfriend. His smile tempered the potential sting of his words. Starting with that meeting tomorrow, which I’m going to attend, by the way. but as Michael Carter mechanic and entrepreneur, not as Victoria Wells boyfriend.
Victoria’s answering smile held relief and anticipation in equal measure. I’d like that. All of it. The normal dating, the separate professional identities, the chance to choose each other without contracts or obligations. The following weeks established a new rhythm to their relationship.
Victoria settling into her role as chairwoman while continuing less intensive maintenance treatments. Michael developing plans for Carter’s Automotive Academy with Harold Bronson’s support. Emma flourishing with the stability of a consistent routine that included both her father’s apartment and Victoria’s mansion.
They dated, as Michael had suggested, bowling at a run-down alley where no one recognized Victoria beneath her casual clothes and knit beanie, hiking forest trails with Emma, and picnicking beside mountain streams, cooking dinner together in Michael’s modest kitchen rather than being served by Victoria’s chef. Each ordinary experience revealed new dimensions of compatibility, new reasons to continue building something lasting from their extraordinary beginning.
The conversation they’d both been circling occurred on a crisp autumn evening 6 weeks after Victoria’s press conference. They’d taken Emma to dinner at her favorite pizza place, then ice cream at the shop near Michael’s apartment. The domesticity of the outing um so normal, so unlike the glamorous events that had characterized their public appearances, highlighted how much their relationship had transformed.
As they walk back to the apartment, Emma skipping ahead to greet neighbors she hadn’t seen in weeks. Victoria broached the subject they had been avoiding. I have a flight to New York on Thursday. Meetings with our East Coast affiliates, my first major trip since the transition to chairwoman. Her voice was carefully casual, but Michael heard the underlying question.
How long will you be gone? His own tone matched hers, acknowledging the significance beneath the mundane inquiry worry. Two months potentially. Victoria maintained her focus forward watching Emma M rather than gauging Michael’s reaction. We’re launching several new initiatives that need personal attention. It’s work I can do while continuing my treatment protocol with specialists there.
2 months, the longest they would have been apart since their arrangement began. Michael absorbed the information considering the implications. The apartment’s lease is up next month. I’ve been postponing the decision about renewing. Victoria slowed her pace slightly, finally turning to meet his eyes. We haven’t talked about living arrangements.
It’s been convenient to split time between my place and yours, but with Emma changing schools next year anyway for middle school, the unfinished sentence hung between them filled with possibility and uncertainty. Michael found himself at a crossroads he hadn’t anticipated reaching so soon.
Yet another decision about entangling his life further with Victoria’s, this time with direct implications for Emma. The past six months have shown us we can navigate living together part-time. His voice was thoughtful, measuring each word. But moving in permanently is different, especially for Emma.
She’s already attached to you, and if things didn’t work out, Victoria nodded, understanding the unspoken concern, the damage would be significant for all of us. Her expression grew more serious. Which is why I have an alternative proposal. I bought a house. Not a mansion, not an investment property. A home. Four bedrooms a yard for Emma to play in a detached garage you could convert into a workshop.
It’s in a good school district 20 minutes from both our businesses. Michael absorbed this information with surprise that quickly gave way to deeper understanding. Victoria wasn’t suggesting he and Emma move into her world, but rather that they create a new one together. neutral territory that belonged to none of them yet could become home to all of them.
I haven’t decorated it or even moved any furniture in. Victoria continued her usual confidence, giving way to uncharacteristic nervousness. I wanted us to make those decisions together if you’re entered. If not, I’ll sell it. No pressure.
It was presumptuous, I know, but Michael silenced her unusual rambling with a gentle finger to her lips, then replaced it with a brief, tender kiss. It’s not presumptuous. It’s forward thinking, strategic planning. Isn’t that what you’re best at? Victoria’s tension dissolved into a relieved laughter. So, you’ll consider it. Moving into the finding our own space that isn’t yours or mine, but ours.
Michael glanced ahead at Emma now chatting animatedly with the owner of the corner bodega, who always slipped her extra candy. His daughter had adapted to their changing circumstances with remarkable resilience, forming a genuine bond with Victoria that transcended their unusual beginning. Looking back at Victoria, he saw not the billionaire Aerys who had hired him 6 months ago, but the woman who had become essential to his happiness, complicated, brilliant, stubborn, and unexpectedly vulnerable in ways only he was privileged to witness.
I’ll more than consider it. His decision crystallized with sudden clarity. Let’s see this house of yours tomorrow. If Emo approves, we can discuss terms. Victoria’s expression brightened with hope. Terms? Are we negotiating again, Mr. Carter? Michael’s smile held promise and certainty in equal measure. Different kind of terms this time.
More permanent ones, if that’s something you might be interested in. Victoria’s breath caught audibly, understanding the implication behind his casual phrasing. I might be very interested, in fact. Her voice softened, emotion, bleeding through her usual composure. But first, you’ll need to meet Margaret. Michael blinked at the apparent nonsequittor. Margaret, my mother.
She’s flying in from London next week. Wants to meet the man who answered a wrong number at 2:00 in the morning and ended up changing her daughter’s life. Victoria’s expression held amusement tinged with nervousness. Fair warning, she’s more intimidating than an entire boardroom of Harringtons.
Michael laughed, the sound, carrying forward to make Emma turn and wave enthusiastically. After everything we’ve faced together, I think I can handle meeting your mother. He took Victoria’s hand as they continued walking their fingers intertwining with comfortable familiarity. Besides, I have excellent references now.
CEO of Wells Communications, chairwoman of the board, and a very persuasive 10-year-old who happens to think I’m the best dad in Portland. Victoria squeezed his hand, her expression softening into something tender and private. I think she might be on to something there. The house Victoria had purchased was nothing like Michael had expected.
Not a scaledown mansion or sleek modern showplace, but a century old craftsman with a character and history evident in every handcarved banister and leaded glass window. It sat on a treeine street in a neighborhood of similar homes, distinguished not by ostentation, but by the care previous owners had invested in maintaining its original charm while updating its systems for modern living.
Emma had fallen instantly in love with the window seat in what would become her bedroom, already planning where her books would go and what color she wanted for the walls. Michael had been drawn to the spacious kitchen with its farmhouse sink and butcher block island, envisioning Sunday breakfast and holiday gatherings in the warm, welcoming space.
Most surprising was Victoria’s clear delight in the home’s modest proportions and practical features so different from the dramatic architecture and showcase spaces of her family’s mansion. She’d moved through the rooms with almost childlike enthusiasm, pointing out original woodwork and clever storage solutions, with the appreciation of someone who valued craftsmanship over cost.
A month later, as summer transitioned to fall, they’d begun the moving process, carefully selecting which pieces from their separate lives would combine to create their shared future. Victoria had shocked Michael by suggesting they use his comfortable, if worn sofa in the main living room rather than any of her more expensive options, admitting she’d always found her formal furniture more impressive than inviting.
The question of the million dollars remained unresolved until the day before Victoria’s scheduled departure for New York. She’d found Michael in what would become his home office, unpacking books on built-in shelves that had sold him on the room immediately. I have a proposal about the escrow account.
Her tone was business-like, but her expression soft as she leaned against the doorframe. I’ve been thinking about how we can resolve this in a way that honors both the original agreement and what we’ve become to each other. Michael sat down the books he’d been arranging, giving her his full attention. I’m listening.
Victoria entered the room, fully perching on the edge of the antique desk they’d found at an estate sale the previous weekend. What if we use the money to establish a foundation, the Carter Wells Educational Trust? It would fund scholarships for vocational training, particularly for single parents or at risk youth interested in the automotive industry.
The suggestion rendered Michael momentarily speechless, not just for his generosity, but for how perfectly it balanced their separate priorities and shared values. That’s perfect, his voice emerged rough with emotion. Emma’s college fund is already established through the original payments.
This way, the final amount goes toward helping others in situations similar to where I was after Rachel died. Victoria’s smile held relief and something deeper. Love partnership. The pleasure of truly understanding someone else’s heart. I thought you might approve. We can structure it however you like with you as primary director if you want. It’s your money after all.
Michael shook his head, moving to stand before her and taking both her hands in his. It’s our foundation, equal partnership, just like everything else going forward. His voice softened, filling with quiet certainty. I love you, Victoria Wells. Not because you’re generous or brilliant or the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, though you are all those things.
I love you because you see me, really see me, and still choose to build a life with me anyway. Victoria’s eyes glistened with uncharacteristic tears as she pulled him closer. I love you too for showing up that night and every night since. For Emma. For making me laugh when everything hurt. For seeing me as a woman, not an aerys or a patient or a CEO. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
For answering the wrong number and turning it into exactly the right one. The morning of Victoria’s departure for New York brought unexpected complications. A minor kitchen fire caused by Emma’s attempt at making farewell pancakes, resulting in a chaotic rush to clean up and still reach the airport on time.
In the hurried goodbyes, Michael had pressed something into Victoria’s hand as Emma hugged her fiercely. Only on the private jet after takeoff did Victoria discover what he’d given her. A small velvet box containing not the diamond she might have expected, but a simple key. Attached was a note in Michael’s distinctive handwriting for when you come home to us. P.S. Check your carry-on.
Puzzled Victoria had opened her bag to find a larger box carefully packed among her things. Inside was a meticulously restored vintage telephone, the exact model that had been standard in American homes the year she was born. Another note accompanied it for remembering that sometimes wrong numbers lead to the right connections. Call us tonight.
We’ll be waiting. Two months later, Victoria returned to Portland on a crisp December evening. Michael and Emma waited at the airport. Emma bouncing with excitement. Michael more contained but no less eager. As Victoria emerged from the secure area, Emma broke away, running full tilt to embrace her with a force that nearly toppled them both.
You’re back for good now, right? No more long trips. Emma’s voice held the vulnerability of a child who had experienced too much impermanence already in her young life. Victoria knelt to Emma’s levels, brushing copper hair, so like her own, from the girl’s forehead with gentle fingers. I’m back for good. I might have short trips sometimes, but nothing longer than a week, I promise.
Her gaze lifted to meet Michael’s as he approached more sedately. This is home now. You and your dad are home. Later that evening, after Emma had finally exhausted her supply of stories and fallen asleep, Michael and Victoria stood in the kitchen of their new home, now fully furnished and lived in, bearing the comfortable marks of family occupation.
I have something for you. Michael reached into his pocket, extracting a small box similar to the one he’d given her before her departure. But unlike the key, this box contained a ring. Not a traditional diamond, but a unique design featuring a small, perfect gear crafted from platinum, surrounded by tiny sapphires, the exact color of Emma’s eyes.
Victoria’s breath caught as she recognized the symbolism. The mechanical heart of Michael’s world, combined with the most precious aspect of his life, his daughter, is this. Michael took her hand, his expression solemn yet illuminated with quiet joy. Victoria Wells, would you do me the honor of continuing to answer my wrong numbers for the rest of our lives? Victoria’s laugh bubbled up joyous and uninhibited. That’s the strangest proposal I’ve ever heard.
Her eyes shimmerred with unshed tears as she extended her hand, allowing him to slide the ring onto her finger. “Yes, Michael Carter, I’ll answer your calls. Wrong numbers, right numbers, and everything in between for as long as you keep making them.” As they sealed the promise with a kiss, the vintage telephone in the hallway rang.
Emma calling from upstairs to ask for water, blissfully unaware of the moment she’d interrupted. Victoria and Michael exchanged glances of amused affection before Michael moved to answer it, their shared laughter echoing through the rooms of the home they’d created together. Some
times the wrong call at 200 a.m. is exactly the right one. Sometimes showing up for a stranger changes everything. And sometimes the most unexpected connections lead to the most perfect ones. Not despite the wrong numbers and mistaken identities, but because of them.
