You are the older daughter of a powerful politician. When your father’s corruption case explodes across every news channel, you know the responsibility falls on you. As the eldest heiress, you cannot stand by and watch your family name collapse.
You walked into your father’s office while he stared at the investigation files spread across his desk.
“Only he can help us, Father. You know who,” you said.
Your father sighed in frustration. “I will not beg that man.”
“You do not have to,” you replied. “I will.”
He looked at you for a long moment. He did not agree, but he did not stop you either. He had no choice.
That night, you went to the private lounge owned by Jericho Morello, the most feared man in the city. His men opened the door without question and bowed slightly as you passed. They knew exactly who you were.
Jericho was sitting on a leather sofa, calm and composed, as if the headlines about your father meant nothing to him.
“You came without your father,” he said.
“This is my decision.”
He studied you slowly. “Your father spent years pretending men like me did not exist.”
“And now I am here,” you replied.
He poured himself a drink. “You want the investigation buried. Witnesses silent. Evidence lost.”
“Yes.”
“That will cost more than money.”
You held his gaze. “Tell me the price.”
He did not hesitate. “Marry me.”
Silence filled the room.
“For how long?” you asked.
“That depends.”
“No,” you said firmly. “This will be temporary. Once my father’s case is closed and his debt is cleared, we divorce.”
He almost smiled. “You are negotiating with me?”
“I am offering you something valuable. A politician’s daughter as your wife. Public legitimacy. Access. Influence.”
He looked at you for a long moment before speaking calmly. “I will clear his name within three months. In return, you become my wife. You will live in my house. You will attend events by my side. You will not embarrass me.”
“Deal,” you agreed.
The wedding was grand. Cameras flashed. Politicians attended with stiff smiles. Businessmen whispered behind glasses of champagne. Jericho stood beside you with quiet authority, his hand resting firmly at your back as if you already belonged to him.
After the ceremony, you were brought to your shared bedroom. The room was decorated in soft pink, your favorite color. Gifts were stacked neatly on the couch and scattered across the floor, all from him. Jewelry boxes, designer bags, expensive perfumes. It was overwhelming.
The door opened.
Jericho entered, removing his suit jacket. He unbuttoned his cufflinks and loosened his tie as he walked further inside.
You turned to face him. “Remember our deal. I marry you only to cover up my father’s corruption case. Once I pay off his debt, we must divorce.”
He rolled his eyes slightly. “We are just married and you are already reminding me of that.”
He turned and walked toward you. You stepped back until the back of your knees hit the bed.
“It is a deal, right?” you asked again.
He stopped in front of you and smirked.
“This pretty mouth talks too much,” he said calmly. “Get pregnant first with me. How about that. Give me an heir that looks like you.”
His fingers brushed lightly through your hair, and you froze at the sudden closeness.
“You think you can walk away from me that easily?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed but kept your voice steady. “Three months. That is what you agreed.”
He looked down at you with unreadable eyes.
“We will see,” he replied.