Chapter 8 Vulcan
Vulcan
As I scrub away at the fire truck, lost in thought, the station door swings open with a rush of hot summer air.
I look up to see Minji, dressed in a pink sundress that stops just above her knees.
Not only are her clothes a distraction, but it’s her presence—like a bomb ready to disrupt my routine and bring uncertainty and change—that has me standing at attention.
“Got the list,” she announces. Her bob swings as she thrusts a manila envelope at me. Slowly, I slide the paper out and stop.
“You never told me last night how you found these women.”
“They’re all single and meet the criteria.
There are ways to secure these types of relationships discreetly, you know.
You’re not the first to have run into this type of dilemma, as absurd and foreign as it might feel to you now.
” She leans against the gleaming truck. “So, does it matter where they came from?”
“It does. I don’t want to marry a psychopath.”
“And you won’t. Just look at the list, Vulcan.”
I let out a deep breath, staring at the folder.
“This isn’t just about picking a dinner date,” she reminds me.
“Haven’t forgotten,” I mutter, though the truth is, forgetting would be a hell of a lot easier.
The magnitude of all this hits me like a tidal wave: I have to get fucking married.
I slide my thumb under the seal and open the envelope, trying to think of this as a tactical decision rather than a personal one.
I pull out the paper. Names leap out at me, a jumble of possibilities. Some are actually familiar, I realize, while some I’ve never come across. I can practically see their résumés floating in front of me, detailing not just their occupations, but how they might fit or clash with mine.
My eyes scan down the list, heart pounding like a drum.
Allison Chang. I remember her from an event last year—she’d spoken passionately about her nonprofit.
She was all money and social influence, groomed to perfection, but maybe too perfectly groomed?
I’m not sure I could live up to that image for more than three days.
Emma Bowers. I’m pretty sure she’s the physical therapist I keep running into when I visit Val at her clinic. Huh. Small world. From what I’ve gathered, Emma’s got a cheerful energy that’s hard to resist, but she’s also got a wild streak that could burn me out quickly.
As I work my way further down the sheet, I try to see myself through their eyes and can’t help but wonder what they each think they’re signing up for.
Do they know the real stakes here, or do they just see dollar signs?
Maybe they think I’m the one who’s desperate.
I pause at a name that makes my skin prickle with a mix of confusion and intrigue.
Karina Reyes.
My heart skips a beat, then two. The image of her from the gala yesterday pops into my head, that emerald dress clinging to her in ways that had made it hard to think of anything else.
What’s she doing on this list? No way she’d willingly put herself in this type of situation.
Not the career-focused doctor who needled me for wasting her time.
Unless Minji has kept the subject of the charade from these women, the same way she dropped the inheritance bomb on me…
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on, something I’m not seeing. I stare at her name, the bold ink practically burning into the page.
“Karina?”
“Mmm, Karina Reyes,” Minji says. “Emergency medicine doctor. Impressive résumé. And she’s got a spirit that could keep up with yours. She’s busy, so this could be a great match.”
“Go on,” I say, leaning back against the cool metal of the nearest truck.
“She was at the top of her class at NYU, dedicated to her work. Lives to make a difference.” Minji ticks off Karina’s qualities as if she’s listing features on a luxury car.
Part of me feels deceptive for learning this information from a third party, but I’m guessing Minji dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s, legally speaking.
These women have offered up this information, and I’m aware it is above board… but it still doesn’t sit totally right.
“Her father passed away when she was sixteen. She has two brothers in college, and her mother is a homemaker.”
“Only catch,” Minji adds, raising an eyebrow. “She’s twelve years younger than you.”
“Age is just a number,” I counter, remembering our conversation. “If I go with her.”
She gives a nonchalant shrug, but I know better. Her eyes are anything but casual. They’re locked on to me, as sharp and calculating as ever, dissecting my reaction like it’s spelled out in neon lights.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I say.
“Think it over. Hard.” She doesn’t let up, her gaze drilling into me, making sure I understand the implication. “She’s young.”
“You wouldn’t have put her on the list if you thought it would be an issue.” I lift a brow slightly. “Or was her name not supposed to be here?”
“She’s a great candidate. However, there are others on that list. I want you to make the best choice for you. You haven’t even looked at the other names.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Vulcan, you don’t have the luxury of time. You’ve got one day.”
“Twenty-four hours? That’s it?” I choke out in disbelief. “I thought I had two months to get married.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, as if it’s the last alarm I’ll ever hear.
One day to pick a woman who’ll be my wife—a week, tops.
I’d thought I had at least a month, some luxury of time to consider, to flinch, to change my mind.
Instead, I’m left with one lousy day to sort through names and faces, to picture a future out of this chaos.
How am I supposed to build a life with a stranger in just twenty-four hours?
This whole arrangement suddenly feels less like a cruel joke, the punchline aimed squarely at my sanity.
“Deadlines wait for no man,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching as though she’s aware of just how absurd it sounds. “And I can’t trust you to do this alone. If I let you dictate how this process goes, that money will be funneled into a trust and you’ll lose autonomy.”
She’s right.
The list in my hand is a grenade without a pin.
I’m not just choosing a date for some high-society gala; I’m picking the other half of a contract that will legally bind us.
Everything in me wants to hurl the papers into the nearest fire and watch them burn, but before I can spiral further, Minji drops another bombshell.
“Three years, Vulcan. That’s the minimum requirement to secure your inheritance. Three years married.”
“Three…”
“Years,” she confirms. “You will get twenty million up front.”
Three years is a lifetime. A lot can happen—fires extinguished, lives saved, the slow burn of a marriage turning to ash.
This is insane. I swear a child is going to be the next bomb she drops on me.
“Three years.” I glance at the list again. Karina’s name seems to leap off the page.
“Exactly. Think about what you stand to gain. Or lose.”
Gain. Lose. Two sides of the same coin flipping over and over in my head.
Her gaze softens, but only by a fraction. “It’s about securing the future. You do have a sister who can also benefit from this. I’m sure.”
“Right. Tomorrow, then,” I finally say. My decision is already made, but I don’t want to seem too eager. “I’ll have an answer for you.”
“Or do you already have an answer?” She knows and wants me to say it aloud.
My gaze drifts back to Karina’s name. I can’t shake the memory of her at the Heroes Gala, the way her laughter seemed to light up the room.
I remember the instant spark of attraction toward her even before that run-in, the way it caught me by surprise and lingered long after she’d left Riley’s.
What would life with Karina be like? Would she be happy to find out that her “marriage of convenience” husband is me?
“Damn it.” I grip the pages. Maybe I should just go with Emma the physical therapist.
“So, you don’t have a choice as of now?”
I close my eyes, choosing to ignore Minji’s prodding.
I search for solace, for some kind of sign from the man whose expectations shaped me as much as the flames I’ve battled.
He thought this was some grand fucking adventure, tying up my future with all the guarantees of a blind jump from a burning rooftop.
He thought it’d test me, break me, mold me into something else.
I wonder if he knew I’d end up here, tangled in choices that feel more like shackles than freedom.
“I can’t believe my old man thought this was a great idea.”
“Oh, come on, Vulcan, you know better than anyone why these stipulations are in place,” she says.
“Our parents think they know us better than we know ourselves. From what I gather, he watched you pour everything into this job until there was nothing left for you.” Her voice softens slightly.
“I can only assume he wanted you to have something real. A connection, a future that wasn’t just about the next fire. ”
“By blackmailing me into it?”
“By giving you a push.” She sighs. “This isn’t punishment. It’s an opportunity.”
I scoff, but the truth in her words sting.
“Fine. I have my wife-to-be,” I finally say. It’s a gamble, all of it. But sometimes, the greatest risks forge the strongest bonds. My gaze drifts from the list to Minji’s expectant face, and then back again. “I want…” I start, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes on me.
“Karina?”
“Karina,” I confirm.
“Okay.” She nods, her professionalism masking the curiosity in her eyes. “I’ll reach out to her.”
“Does she know who she’s marrying if she agrees?” I ask.
“Sort of.” Minji clears her throat. “I kept your identity hidden from all the candidates. It seemed… prudent.”
“Good.” Anonymity provides a layer of comfort, a small buffer against immediate judgment.
However, this can go two ways. When she sees me, she’ll either run for the hills or accept this weird agreement.
I’m hoping for the latter, but I told her just last night, in no uncertain terms, that I didn’t have time to give to a relationship.
And now, I’m looking for a wife—fucking hell.
“Let’s get down to what you’re willing to offer for this arrangement.”
Hell if I know. What do I even want out of this whole thing? “She should be well compensated. I’m thinking a million at the minimum, but I’m willing to go up to five. If she wants more than that she and I will have to discuss it in person.”
“So, you want to meet her? I mean, of course you do, but before she signs the contract? I will have an NDA in place for both of you.” Minji makes it sound like a business transaction, which it is, but when it comes to Karina, for some strange reason, I want this to be real.
Actually, it’s best if I meet her after. My gut tells me not to make this more complicated than it already is. I still don’t know how she will react to learning it’s me behind the veil. Would it make her laugh at the fucked-up irony of it all?
“Have her sign first and let her know I would want her to move in with me after the wedding.” I’m pushing it, but if this is going to work, it’s got to be all in. No halfway measures.
Minji raises her eyebrows, almost like she wasn’t expecting me to come out swinging like this. “You don’t have to move in together. But if you want that… are you sure?”
I huff out a breath, steeling myself for the road ahead. “Sure as I’ll ever be.” I’m betting on this plan, on everything. I’m betting on Karina, on the spark between us that I hope will ignite instead of fizzling out.
“I’ll reach out to her and schedule a meeting time for you two. In the meantime, try not to get yourself killed,” she jokes.
“No promises. Danger’s part of the job description.”
She rolls her eyes, a gesture that feels more like camaraderie than exasperation. “Just try not to get barbecued before you meet the bride, Vulcan. It would be a shame to waste that pretty face of yours.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I watch as she leaves, leaning against the truck again and feeling the cool metal press into my back like a lifeline.
I’m about to marry a woman who doesn’t even know she’s engaged to me.
Hell, she might bail the second she finds out.
Maybe I’m an idiot. No, I’m definitely an idiot.
I blew her off not once but twice, and now my grand plan is to make her my wife?
I run a hand through my hair, frustration growing as my mind spins out of control. It could get messy. Real fucking messy.
She’s a smart woman. The thought of her rejecting this crazy proposition, rejecting me, ties my guts into tighter knots.
My palms begin to sweat, and my heart hammers a frantic beat like I’m battling a blaze I can’t control.
What if she never wants to speak to me again?
I almost feel the ground shifting beneath me.
The alarm blares through the station, jolting me from my spiral of doubt, followed by the voice over the intercom. “Engine 37, residential fire on 106th and 3rd Ave. Four-story complex with possible rescue situation.”
I’m moving on autopilot. This is what I know. This is what makes sense. The weight of my turnout gear settles on my shoulders, familiar and grounding. The helmet clicks into place, and suddenly, Karina, Minji, and the inheritance all fade to background noise.
“Let’s move!” I call out, climbing into the rig as the siren wails to life.