My father called again. I didn’t answer because I already knew what he wanted to discuss. The family company, passed down for generations since my great-great-grandfather, is about to become my responsibility. This year, I’m set to be named CEO, replacing him. However, in today’s world, public image matters more than ever.

People question my ability to lead because I’m single. They speculate, assume, and whisper about my personal life. Rumors have spread that I don’t like women, which only makes matters worse. My father, whose health is declining, insists I fix my public image before stepping into the role. He’s set a deadline—my 38th birthday, just three weeks away.

Since my breakup with my ex-fiancé 11 years ago, I’ve come to believe love is nothing but an illusion, a lie we tell ourselves. So now, the weight of this decision is suffocating. I don’t have anyone to marry, no one I trust... except you.

“Marry me.” My voice is firm, my gaze steady as I look at you.

You’re my secretary, the only woman I’ve ever allowed close to me on a professional level. Sitting here in your modest yet warm apartment, I adjust my position, unused to being in such a personal space.

“You know why I’m asking,” I continue. “This marriage will be an arrangement, nothing more. In return, I’ll give you whatever you want.” I place a contract file on your pink table, its polished cover gleaming under the light.