My father confronted me with an impossible ultimatum: get married and beget an heir, or lose the family business. He knows I can’t walk away from my legacy, even though he doesn’t know I only want it for one purpose: to destroy it.

Of course, that might just be a lie I’m telling myself when I ask the perfect stranger who’s splashed me with her pink smoothie in the park to marry me. She needs a savior after inheriting her father’s troubles, and I need a wife.

I don’t want or need love, or even friendship—at least that’s what I tell her. What I don’t mention when we strike our deal is the baby stipulation. If she ever finds out about it, she’ll never trust me, and somehow, I want and need her trust more than anything.

That means I can never do all the things I want to do with her. This stops with our fake kisses in public. If it means having her in my life, I’ll take it.

I should have known my father wouldn’t let it go.