Chapter 87

Levi

I got into my car, slammed the door, and gripped the steering wheel like it could anchor me to reason. My heart was pounding. My head was a mess. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or regretful that I was finally far from her—and from the storm of emotions she stirred in me.
I was about to turn on the engine when—
**Bang, bang, bang.**
A fist pounded hard on my window.
I looked up.
It was her.
Tears still clung to her lashes. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, as if holding herself together took every ounce of strength she had left.
“I’ll take the damn job,” she said, her chin trembling. “What am I supposed to do? What is this job?”
I pushed open the door and stepped out. The night air was sharp, but not nearly as cutting as the sight of her—broken but still defiant, trying so hard to stand tall it actually *hurt* to look at her.
“First,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended, “you have to stop crying.”
Her eyes flared, that familiar fight flashing through them. The pride. The fire. But I couldn’t keep pretending her tears didn’t undo me. Every drop felt like it was carving into my ribs.
“Trust me,” I added, softening my tone. “I’m having a hell of a night too, if that’s any consolation. Though yours might get worse if you’re too stubborn to accept help.”
She turned as if to walk away again.
I cursed under my breath. “Come back here!”
She paused. Slowly turned back toward me.
Still crying. Still angry.
“You’re the one who needs a worker,” she said, her voice shaky but clear. “Fine. I’ll do the job. I’ll work for you. But you’ll treat me like a human being. You won’t speak to me like trash again.”
I gave a short nod, impressed despite myself.
“Fair enough,” I said. “Here it is: you’re going to marry me. For a week.”
She blinked, stunned. “What?”
“I’ll pay you whatever price you name. But I need a wife—fast.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. She stared at me like I’d grown another head.
Maybe I had.
Because in that moment, watching her—crying, proud, furious, and still beautiful—I knew one thing for sure:
I was *not* done with her.
Not even close.
“Marry you? For a week? What kind of job is that?” she scoffed, brows lifting, voice hoarse. The tears were gone now, replaced by disbelief. The shock must’ve driven the sadness out of her like a hard slap, and the thought nearly made me laugh.
“Simple arrangement,” I said, as calmly as I could. “You pretend to be my wife. That’s it. No strings. Just business.”
She hesitated. I could practically *see* the war raging behind her eyes—desperation and disbelief locked in a brutal tug-of-war.
“And what do you gain from this?” she asked slowly.
“That’s my business,” I said. “All you need to know is that you’ll be well-compensated. Name your price.”
“You don’t just walk around asking strangers to marry you,” she muttered, frowning. “That’s not a job. That’s a—what the hell is that even?”
“Call it whatever you want,” I said, unbothered. “I’m not asking for your love, your loyalty, or your time beyond seven days. Once it’s over, I pay you, and you’re free to go. But until then, I’ll make sure all your immediate needs are covered.”
She backed away slightly, her eyes narrowing, voice quieter now. “I don’t know why you’d make a proposal like this to me. I’m not sure what you intend to *do* with me.” Her words trailed off, a tremor in her voice. There was fear in her eyes, deep-seated, but behind it… was that joy?
She was a confusing mess of contradictions. So raw it was almost painful.
“Are you in or not?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
She didn’t answer. Just stood there—silent, still. Then, all at once, she started laughing. Hysterically. Wild, manic laughter that rolled out of her like she’d snapped some invisible thread.
The kind of laugh that says *fuck it*—I’ve got nothing left to lose.
“What’s funny?” I asked. “Get in the car. We’ll talk.”
This time, she didn’t argue. She got in, her eyes distant. Hollow. I started driving and talking—explaining the basics, the timeframe, what I needed from her, what she’d be required to do.
Then I noticed her glance out the window.
A man—Ford—was standing under the dim glow of the bar’s flickering light. Just watching. Cold, still, and unreadable.
She stiffened the moment she saw him. Her whole body locked up.
“Did you get what I just said?” I asked.
No response.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”
I shook my head. “No way I’m repeating myself. Go your way. I’ll find someone else.”
Her head snapped toward me. Panic bloomed in her eyes, quick and sharp. And just like that, I understood.
“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “Even if I didn’t hear the details—I’ll do it. Can I…” She hesitated. “Can I get payment for my immediate needs?”
I looked at her—*really* looked. She wasn’t just desperate. She was exhausted. Done fighting the world on her own. And for some reason, the universe had thrown us together in the middle of this chaotic night.
“All right,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could. “We’ll start now. What is your name?”
She paused, just for a second—but it was enough for the world to tilt.
“Isabella,” she said softly.
And something in me… shifted.
My heart—God, my heart—started pounding in my chest like it was trying to break free. Like it had been asleep for years and had just now remembered how to feel.
*Isabella.*