His By Contract

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

T he next evening, Georgia sat cross-legged on her living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of sketches and unpaid bills. A sharp ping cut through the silence. Her stomach twisted as she reached for the phone, knowing what waited for her. The screen glowed in the dim light, casting shadows across the papers scattered around her. The numbers blurred together: past due, final notice, urgent payment required. Just like the last dozen notifications that had slowly chipped away at her resolve.

Memorial Hospital: Your balance of $52,892 is now thirty days past due. Additional fees have been applied.

The new total made her chest tighten. Fifty-two thousand dollars. The number burned into her retinas, mocking every sacrifice she’d made to keep her mother’s treatments going. How had it grown so quickly? It seemed only yesterday the total had been manageable, or at least something she could pretend to manage.

Her email notification chimed. The hospital administrator’s message was cold, clinical:

Dear Ms. Phillips,

This serves as final notice regarding your mother’s outstanding medical balance. Without immediate payment arrangements, we cannot continue providing nonemergency care. Treatment will be suspended effective end of business day Friday.

Please contact our billing department to discuss payment options.

Regards,

Memorial Hospital Administration

Georgia’s hands trembled as she set the phone down. Three days. They were giving her three days to come up with money she didn’t have, couldn’t borrow, and had no way of earning. Not now, not after Celeste had destroyed her reputation with a single, calculated move. The memory of that night burned in her mind: the spilled wine, Celeste’s icy glare, and the whispered condemnations that followed her out of the gala, sealing her fate.

The walls of her tiny apartment seemed to close in. Dress forms loomed in the shadows, draped in half-finished projects she’d never complete. Fabric worth thousands lay useless, an investment that would never pay off. Her mother’s life hung by a thread, and she sat powerless, surrounded by the wreckage of her dreams. All those nights she’d promised her mother they’d get through this together now felt like cruel lies.

Georgia’s fingers shook as she logged into her bank account. The screen loaded, revealing a balance that made her stomach drop: $247.13. Not even enough for groceries, let alone her mother’s medical bills. She’d been ignoring how quickly the number had been dwindling, hoping somehow things would turn around before she hit bottom.

She opened her email, scrolling through a sea of rejections. Her chest tightened with each one, the weight of disappointment becoming almost physical.

“We regret to inform you…”

“Unfortunately, at this time…”

“While your portfolio is impressive…”

She clicked through her contacts. Former clients. Design houses. Even small boutiques where she’d done alterations. Few had answered her calls. The ones who did gave excuses that rang hollow, the awkward pauses in their voices betraying the real reason—they’d heard what happened.

“Sorry, we’re fully staffed.”

“Our budget’s tight right now.”

“Maybe check back in a few months.”

Georgia pulled up the local pawn shop’s website. Her sewing machine. The vintage dress her mother gave her. The silk she’d been saving for her first collection. She calculated the value. Barely a fraction of what she needed. Each item represented a dream, a promise to herself, and now they might become just transactions, converted to cash that would disappear into the hospital’s coffers without making a dent.

She could beg Martha, her first employer, for cash work. But Martha’s boutique relied on the same elite circles that had just cut Georgia off. One whisper from Celeste, and Martha’s business would suffer too. Georgia couldn’t bear to drag someone else down with her.

A credit card? Her score was shot from the previous hospital bills.

Illegal moneylenders? The thought made her skin crawl, images of threats and broken fingers flashing through her mind.

A sharp knock at her door cut through the silence. Three firm raps that echoed through her tiny apartment.

She stared at the door, her heart pounding against her ribs. The knock came again, more insistent this time. No one ever visited her here, especially not now, when the world was turning its back on her.

The air felt heavy, charged with something she couldn’t name. Whoever stood on the other side wasn’t going away.

Georgia pulled open the door, and everything in her stilled.

The man who filled her doorframe didn’t match the peeling paint and flickering hallway lights of her building. He commanded the space like he owned it. Which, for all she knew, he might.

Adrian Adler.

Dark suit, crisp white shirt. His presence was jarring against the backdrop of her shabby building, like a diamond tossed in the gutter.

His eyes swept over her, taking in her wrinkled blouse and the mess of papers visible behind her. There was a flicker of something at his mouth, more habit than warmth, the kind of look reserved for people beneath him.

“Ms. Phillips.”

His voice carried the weight of old money and absolute authority. She’d seen him in financial magazines, heard whispers of his name in elite circles. Adrian Adler didn’t just run Adler Capital—he ruled it, along with half the city’s wealth.

“Adrian Adler?” Georgia’s fingers tightened on the doorframe. What could possibly bring someone like him to her door? Nothing good, her instincts screamed.

He glanced past her shoulder at her apartment. “May I come in?”

It wasn’t really a question. Men like Adrian Adler didn’t ask permission; they took what they wanted. The hallway felt smaller with him in it, like the air itself bent to his will.

Georgia’s instincts screamed at her to shut the door, to keep this predator out of her space. But something in his stance told her he wouldn’t leave until he got what he came for. And what could she do, call security? In this building? The thought was almost laughable.

She stepped back, letting him enter her world. His presence transformed her tiny apartment into something less. Every crack in the walls, every cheap piece of furniture stood out in stark relief against his perfectly tailored suit and polished shoes. She’d never been ashamed of her modest home before, but now she saw it through his eyes: small, shabby, desperate.

She stood frozen as Adrian moved through her apartment with casual ownership, his presence making the space feel smaller. Her worn furniture and secondhand decor screamed poverty against his pristine appearance. Even the air felt different—thicker, charged with something that made her pulse quicken.

She crossed her arms, too aware of the coffee stain on her sleeve and the loose thread hanging from the hem. Her fingers itched to fix it, to present some illusion of control, but she forced them still. She’d spent her life making things beautiful, yet here she stood, unable to polish the tarnish from her own circumstances.

Adrian’s gaze swept over her makeshift workspace, the fabric samples spread across her floor, the stack of unpaid bills she hadn’t thought to hide. He stopped at her desk where her mother’s medical records lay exposed. Her most private struggles laid bare for his inspection.

His mouth curved slightly, though the smile didn’t reach his icy eyes. “Quite a contrast from last night’s gala.” His words flowed with calculated smoothness, a cold dissection beneath the neutral tone as his eyes continued their slow sweep of her space.

Georgia’s cheeks burned. Of course he’d been there. He’d witnessed her humiliation, watched Celeste destroy her career with a few carefully chosen words. The memory of it made her shoulders tense, her jaw tight. Had he come to witness the aftermath, to see how far she’d fallen in just twenty-four hours?

He turned to face her, an unspoken question hung in the stillness, coiling tighter with every passing second. Georgia lifted her chin, refusing to shrink under his assessment. She might be broke, might be ruined, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower. She’d lost enough dignity already.

Adrian reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a thick envelope.

“A contract.” The crisp white paper caught the dim light as he set it on her coffee table. “Marriage. One year. You’ll follow my rules, attend the events I choose, play the role I need you to play.”

“Marriage?” The word felt foreign on her tongue, absurd in this context.

“In exchange, your mother’s medical care will be covered. All expenses, past and future.” His voice carried no emotion. “Your debts will vanish. Your reputation in the fashion industry will be… adjusted.”

Georgia picked it up, her fingers twitching against the crisp pages as she took them from the envelope and they shook in her grasp. The legal language blurred before her eyes, but certain phrases jumped out: mutual agreement, binding terms, financial compensation.

The amount listed made her breath catch. More zeros than she’d ever seen, enough to save her mother and restart her life ten times over. The figure seemed unreal, like Monopoly money, yet she knew it was pocket change to someone like him.

“Why me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

“You’re convenient.” Adrian’s gaze swept over her apartment. “You need money. I need a wife to block an arranged marriage my family is pushing. You have nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.”

Georgia’s chest tightened as she stared at the contract. The solution to every problem that crushed her lay within these pages. Her mother’s life. Her future. All she had to do was sign away a year of her life. A business transaction disguised as marriage. It made her skin crawl even as it dangled salvation before her.

“You have until tomorrow morning to decide.” Adrian straightened his jacket. “The hospital’s deadline is Friday. I suggest you choose wisely.”

Georgia’s fingers tightened on the contract, the expensive paper crinkling under her grip. Her throat closed as she stared at the terms laid out in black and white. Marriage. Her freedom traded for financial salvation.

“I won’t be your puppet.” The words came out raw, scratchy. A last grasp at the dignity she’d always clung to.

“You already are.” Adrian’s voice cut through her apartment like steel. “The moment Celeste blacklisted you, you became a pawn in a game you can’t win. I’m offering you a way to change the rules.”

Adrian moved across the room with fluid grace. His cologne wafted toward Georgia, a subtle blend that spoke of wealth and refinement. The scent made her painfully aware of the contrast between them, from his tailored suit to her modest apartment. His dark eyes tracked her reaction, studying her with that unnerving intensity that seemed as natural to him as breathing.

“Your mother has three days before they cut off her treatment. Your bank account won’t cover this month’s rent. Every contact in your phone has already turned their back on you.” His words stripped away her defenses one by one. “You can preserve your pride, or you can save your mother’s life. Choose.”

Georgia’s chest burned. He’d investigated her, dissected her life down to the smallest detail. Of course he had. Men like Adrian Adler didn’t make offers without knowing exactly what cards they held. The violation of her privacy stung almost as much as the truth of his words.

“What happens if I say no?”

“Then I leave. The contract disappears. Your mother’s treatment stops. You lose everything.” He adjusted his cufflinks. “But we both know you won’t say no.”

The casualness of his tone made her want to scream. He spoke about her life, her mother’s life, like items on a balance sheet. Numbers to be calculated, assets to be traded. Was this how the wealthy viewed the world, as a series of transactions where everything and everyone had a price?

“You’re a bastard.”

“I’m efficient.” Adrian’s gaze was steady. “Sign the contract, Georgia. Stop pretending you have a choice.”

Georgia stared at the contract, her hands trembling. Each wrinkle in the paper was a physical manifestation of her resistance. Her mother’s face flashed through her mind: pale against starched hospital sheets, trying to smile through the pain. The memory cut deeper than any of Adrian’s calculated words.

The medical bills scattered across her floor seemed to mock her. Fifty-two thousand dollars. A number that had haunted her dreams, grown larger with each passing day. Now the solution lay in her hands, wrapped in legal terms and Adrian’s cold authority.

Her gaze drifted to the dress form in the corner, draped in unfinished dreams. Everything she’d worked for, every sacrifice, every late night bent over her sewing machine, gone in an instant because of Celeste’s cruelty. And now this man offered to erase it all, to give her back her life, her mother’s life.

The price? Only her freedom. Only her body, her time, her identity. Everything that made her Georgia.

The contract’s weight felt like chains. Such simple terms for such a devastating choice. She could feel Adrian’s presence, solid and unmovable as a stone wall. He didn’t push, didn’t speak. His silence filled her tiny apartment, suffocating her with unspoken expectations.

Time ticked by, each second driving her deeper into the corner he’d built around her.

Georgia’s fingers traced the signature line. She could practically hear her mother’s labored breathing, see the worry lines deepen around her eyes as she tried to hide her pain. What would she say if she knew what Georgia was considering? Would she tell her daughter to run, or to sign?

Adrian’s presence weighed on her skin like a steel edge, each silent second carving deeper into her resolve. He stood there, statue-still, not bothering to waste breath on arguments or pleas. His gaze stayed fixed on her trembling fingers, his jaw a granite line of certainty. The ticking of her wall clock echoed through the apartment, and with each sound, Georgia felt her defenses crumble a fraction more, felt the walls of her tiny sanctuary shrink beneath his immovable shadow.

Georgia set the contract down on her coffee table. The expensive paper whispered against the cheap wood, a sound that echoed through her cramped apartment.

“No.” The word came out softer than she intended, but firm. It felt like the first real choice she’d made since opening her door.

Adrian’s features remained carved in marble, his assessment as clinical as ever. No flash of anger creased his brow, no hint of surprise softened the sharp angles of his face. Only his eyes moved, dissecting her refusal with the same cold precision he probably used to evaluate a business acquisition.

The silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. Georgia’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her chin lifted, her gaze steady on his. The contract lay between them like a loaded gun.

His eyes held hers for a long moment. His mouth moved slightly, an expression that acknowledged her defiance the way one might note a crack in a glass. Interesting, but irrelevant.

“Friday.” He straightened his already perfect jacket. “The offer stands until then.”

He turned and walked to her door. The handle clicked under his grip, and he paused, framed in the doorway.

“Choose wisely, Ms. Phillips.”

The door closed behind him with a soft finality. Georgia stood frozen, staring at the space he’d occupied. His presence lingered like smoke, choking her with possibilities and consequences.

The contract remained on her coffee table, the white pages stark against the worn wood. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it again, but she couldn’t look away either. It sat there, patient and poisonous, waiting for Friday. Waiting for her surrender.

Georgia’s hands shook as she stared at the red notice plastered on her apartment door. Final Warning: Pay or Leave. The paper crumpled in her grip as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar knot of dread tightening in her stomach like it had every day this month.

Her phone buzzed. Another message from the hospital’s billing department flashed across the screen. Payment Overdue. Her mother’s treatment couldn’t wait. The cancer wouldn’t pause while Georgia figured out how to conjure money from thin air. Wouldn’t give her a grace period just because she was drowning.

The memory of her mother’s hands, always moving, always creating, filled her mind. Those same hands had sewn countless dresses, mended torn clothes, worked until they were raw and aching. Evelyn Phillips never stopped, never complained, even when exhaustion carved lines into her face.

“We’ll manage,” her mother always said, smoothing Georgia’s hair back with callused fingers. “We always do.”

But now those steady hands lay still against hospital sheets. The woman who’d carried their world on her shoulders couldn’t fight this battle alone. And God, how Georgia wished she could be half as strong, half as resilient.

Georgia opened her banking app. The same numbers as before glared back at her. Not enough for rent. Not enough for groceries. Not enough to keep her mother alive. Each digit seemed to mock her efforts, her failures.

She’d called every contact in her phone. Former clients. Industry connections. Even her mother’s old friends. Each conversation ended the same way: polite refusals, awkward silences, empty promises to keep her in mind for future work. The phantom weight of their pity followed her long after she hung up.

The hospital bill sat on her coffee table, the amount due burning into her retinas. Fifty-two thousand dollars. The number that would haunt her forever if she didn’t find a way to pay it. How could a life be reduced to numbers on a page?

Her mother’s voice echoed in her memory: “Never let anyone own you, Georgia. Your independence is everything.”

But independence wouldn’t pay for chemotherapy. Pride wouldn’t keep her mother breathing. And she was running out of principles she could afford to keep.

Georgia’s phone rang, the hospital’s number flashing on the screen. Her stomach dropped as she answered, a cold wave of premonition washing over her.

“Ms. Phillips? Your mother has collapsed. We need you to come in immediately.”

The words hit like physical blows. Georgia grabbed her keys and rushed out, not bothering to lock her apartment. The bus crawled through evening traffic, each stop an eternity. She gripped the metal pole, knuckles white, while the city lights blurred past the grimy windows. Every red light felt like a personal betrayal.

A baby wailed somewhere behind her. An old man coughed. The normalcy of it all felt wrong when her world was falling apart. How could they all just continue, oblivious, when her mother might be—no, she couldn’t finish the thought.

The hospital loomed ahead, its windows gleaming like dead eyes in the darkness. Georgia sprinted through the automatic doors, past the gift shop with its cheerful balloons, down corridors that reeked of disinfectant. The smell always reminded her of failure, of battles lost.

On the oncology floor, the nurses’ station stood empty. Her footsteps echoed against linoleum as she approached her mother’s room. The door hung open, revealing rumpled sheets and medical equipment, but no sign of Evelyn. The empty bed sent a spike of terror through her chest.

A nurse appeared, clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face revealed nothing.

“Ms. Phillips?”

“Where’s my mother?” Georgia’s voice cracked.

The nurse’s expression remained neutral, professional. “The doctor will be with you shortly. Please, have a seat in the waiting area.”

Georgia’s legs gave out as she sank into a plastic chair. The clock on the wall ticked, each second stretching into infinity. Other families huddled in corners, their whispers and stifled sobs filling the heavy air. Were they receiving good news or bad? Would she be crying or sighing with relief in a few minutes?

She clenched her hands in her lap, knuckles aching from the pressure. A nurse walked past without stopping. A cart squeaked somewhere down the hall. Footsteps approached, then retreated, but none slowed in her direction. Every passing second felt like sand slipping through her fingers.

Her breath came in uneven pulls. How long had it been? Time twisted strangely in hospitals. Minutes stretching to hours, hours collapsing into heartbeats.

Just when she thought she would shatter under the weight of uncertainty, a door opened down the hall. A doctor emerged, white coat pristine, expression unreadable. Georgia’s heart hammered against her ribs.

“Ms. Phillips?”

The words barely registered. Georgia stood on unsteady legs, pulse roaring in her ears as she followed him into the room. Please let her be alive. Please .

The doctor’s words faded into white noise as Georgia stared at her mother’s unconscious form. Evelyn’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her skin pale against the stark hospital sheets. The machines beeped in steady rhythm, monitoring every precious heartbeat. She’d never looked so small, so fragile.

“Ms. Phillips?” The doctor’s voice cut through her haze. “Did you hear what I said?”

Georgia tore her gaze from her mother’s face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Without immediate treatment, your mother’s condition will deteriorate rapidly. The cancer has spread.” He adjusted his glasses, glancing at his clipboard. “The hospital requires payment before we can proceed with the next round of treatment.”

The room spun. Georgia gripped the metal railing of her mother’s bed. “How much?” The question tasted bitter on her tongue.

“The outstanding balance needs to be cleared first. Then we’re looking at another fifty thousand for the new treatment protocol.”

Her mother’s hand lay limp in hers, cold and unfamiliar. This wasn’t the woman who’d worked multiple jobs to put food on their table. Who’d taught Georgia to thread a needle, to stand tall when the world tried to break her. How could someone so fierce be reduced to this?

“When do you need the payment?” Georgia’s voice sounded distant, hollow.

“By tomorrow morning, or we’ll have to discharge her.”

Tomorrow. The word echoed in her skull like a death sentence. She thought of her empty bank account, the overdue rent notice, the clients who’d abandoned her. The walls seemed to close in around her.

“Please,” Georgia whispered. “She needs more time.”

“I’m sorry.”

The doctor’s footsteps retreated, leaving Georgia alone with the steady beep of monitors and her mother’s labored breathing.

She pressed her forehead against their joined hands. Every breath felt like drowning. Her mother had given everything to keep her safe, to give her a chance at life. Now, when Evelyn needed her most, Georgia was powerless to help. The irony cut deeper than any knife.

A tear splashed onto their intertwined fingers. Her mother’s words from years ago haunted her: “Sometimes love means making impossible choices.”

Georgia pulled her phone from her pocket, staring at the number Adrian had included on the front page of the contract. Her thumb hovered over the screen, trembling. The hospital machines continued their steady rhythm, marking each precious second of her mother’s life. His offer still rang in her ears, so simple, so impossible.

She’d called everyone. Maxed out her credit cards. Begged the hospital administration. Nothing worked. No one would help. And now there was only one door left.

The woman who’d sacrificed everything, who’d gone hungry so Georgia could eat, who’d worked until her fingers bled, now lay helpless, dependent on Georgia to save her life. Wasn’t it Georgia’s turn to sacrifice now?

The phone felt heavy in her hand. One call could change everything. One year of her life traded for her mother’s survival. A price that seemed simultaneously too high and not high enough.

Georgia’s throat closed as she pressed the call button. It rang once. Twice. Each ring sent her heart racing faster.

“I knew you’d call.” Adrian’s voice carried no triumph, just quiet certainty. Of course he knew. Men like him always did.

“I’ll do it.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth. “Whatever you want. Just help her.”

“I’ll have my driver pick you up in twenty minutes. We’ll handle the paperwork tonight.”

Georgia squeezed her mother’s cold hand. “The hospital needs payment by morning.”

“I’ll have it taken care of. The full amount, plus the next round of treatment.”

“Twenty minutes,” she repeated, her voice hollow.

The line went dead. Georgia leaned over and pressed her lips to her mother’s forehead, just as Evelyn had done countless times when Georgia was sick or scared. The familiar scent of her mother’s skin lingered beneath the antiseptic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I can’t lose you.”

The monitors beeped steadily, her mother’s face peaceful in unconsciousness. She’d never know the price Georgia paid to save her. Never understand why her daughter had broken their cardinal rule: never depend on a man for anything. Some secrets were better kept unspoken.

Georgia gathered her coat and purse, each movement feeling like moving through water. The weight of her decision pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. One year. She could survive one year of anything. Couldn’t she?

Georgia stepped out of the hospital into the night air. The city lights blurred through her tears, but she brushed them away. Crying wouldn’t save her mother. Crying wouldn’t pay the bills. Tears were a luxury she couldn’t afford right now.

A sleek black car idled at the curb. The driver opened the door, and she slid into the leather interior without hesitation. The rich smell of leather and cologne enveloped her. A world away from hospital disinfectant.

The streets passed in silence as they drove toward Adrian’s office. Each mile carried her further from the life she’d built, the independence she’d guarded so fiercely. But independence was a luxury she could no longer afford. Not when her mother’s life hung in the balance.

The car stopped outside a towering glass building. Georgia’s reflection stared back at her from the window, a ghost of herself, hollow-eyed and desperate. She didn’t recognize the woman who climbed those steps, who rode the elevator to the top floor, who walked toward Adrian’s office. Had she already started to disappear?

This wasn’t surrender. This was survival.

Adrian stood at his floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread before him like a kingdom. He turned as she entered, his eyes assessing her with cool calculation. He looked exactly as he had in her apartment: immaculate, untouchable, powerful.

“You understand the terms?” His voice carried no emotion.

“One year.” Georgia’s voice didn’t shake. “You pay my mother’s medical bills. All of them. And I become your wife.”

He moved with deliberate grace to his mahogany desk. Georgia watched as his long fingers extracted a thick contract from a leather portfolio, the paper whispering against the polished surface as he laid it down. His expression remained impassive, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in those ice-blue eyes as he indicated the signature line with one elegant gesture. “Sign here.”

Georgia took the pen. The weight of it felt like chains in her hand. But she thought of her mother lying in that hospital bed, of machines keeping her alive, of time running out. This wasn’t a choice. It never had been.

Her signature flowed across the paper in black ink. A contract. A cage. A sacrifice.

Adrian’s fingers brushed hers as he took the pen. “The money will be transferred to the hospital within the hour.”

Georgia nodded once, unable to speak, the reality of what she’d just agreed to settling like lead in her stomach. She’d done it. Traded her freedom, her future, everything she was, to save her mother. The enormity of the choice pressed against her chest, both crushing and oddly liberating. At least now there was hope, even if the price was herself.

Pride no longer mattered. Only survival.