Amira never thought her life would be decided with the click of a mouse.
Sitting in the small, dimly lit living room of her father's house, she hugged her arms around herself, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and desperation. The sound of clicking filled the space as her father scrolled through his laptop, eyes narrowed in thought. He barely noticed her presence. He never did—unless he needed something.
Then, as if fate had just delivered him a golden ticket, he let out a low chuckle.
"Perfect," he muttered.
Amira stiffened. Her father's 'perfect' never meant anything good. She watched warily as he turned to her, his sharp eyes glinting with a mixture of greed and calculation.
"You're going to marry a rich man, Amira," he announced, closing the laptop with a snap.
She blinked. "What?"
Her father leaned back in his chair, satisfied with whatever twisted plan he had concocted. "Jordan Carter. CEO. Filthy rich. He put out an ad online—he's looking for a woman to give him a son. Once the kid is born, he'll pay her and let her go. It's an easy deal."
Amira's stomach churned. She stared at her father, searching his face for any hint that this was some sick joke. But she knew better. The man who had gambled away everything, drowning their family in debt, never joked about money.
"I'm not doing it," she said, her voice firm.
Her father scoffed. "You don't have a choice. You think you can keep living under my roof for free?"
She shot up from the couch, her hands curling into fists. "I'd rather live on the streets than be sold off like some—"
Before she could finish, her father grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. The grip was bruising.
"You think you have options?" he growled. "I've already sent your picture. He's interested. There's no backing out now.
Amira's breath caught. Her heart pounded against her ribs, panic clawing at her throat.
This couldn't be happening.
But deep down, she knew—it already was.
---
Elsewhere, in a Luxurious Office…
Jordan Carter leaned back in his leather chair, scrolling through the pictures his assistant had compiled.
Most of the women who had responded to his ad were either gold diggers or desperate socialites. He wasn't interested in drama. He just needed a woman who understood the deal—marry him, give him a son, and disappear. No emotional ties. No complications.
Then, one particular photo caught his eye.
Amira.
Unlike the others, there was something different about her. Something real. Her dark eyes held a fire he hadn't seen in the others. She didn't look like someone who had responded willingly.
Interesting.
Jordan smirked, picking up his phone.
"Set up a meeting," he instructed. "I want to see her in person."