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The Two-Million Dollar Fake Fiancée

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 1372    |    Released on: 09/09/2026

a P

traffic. In under twenty minutes, Zoe's bright blue Fiat 500 s

ach for my handle, Zoe yanked my door wide, reached

miliar smell washed over me, finally coaxing the su

murmured against my

eyes that were usually bright with mischief. Right now, they held nothing but raw, unfiltered worry. She wiped a rogue tea

g: Julian's icy smear campaign, Felix's cowardly ambush in the glass-walled boardroom,

, volcanic fury-she cursed Julian and Felix with a string of creative,

n steering wheel. "It's a band-aid on a bullet wound, Zoe. Six mont

lly intimate with the cruelty of American healthcare-the astronomical copays, the relentless denial letters, the sheer exhaustion of having a body that actively betrayed you. Even no

me. We take this one miserable step at a time. First rule: you cannot go home looking like a ghost. Aunt Diana is to

otest, but she cut me o

's heading over to Diana's tomorrow morning with a tin of her famous cinnamon rolls. She'll t

neighbor every struggling family prayed for-unconditional

me across the bridge before the t

eights. The space was an explosion of thrifted velvet, half-finished canvas

ropped onto the corduroy sofa beside me. "Right. The mourning period is officially over. Time

f laughter that slipped out. "You

ith better hair and

weariness that always shadowed her illness. Mid-level management salaries, even in prime Manhattan firms, hovered around numbers that made my stomach churn. After taxes, not a single one came close to covering

ed yawn of her own, Zoe reached over, swiped two fingers acros

"Your brain is smoking. Look at some pret

in bold, screaming tabloid

GAIN: MILES VANCE SPIRALS IN W

king district club. He wore dark designer sunglasses at two in the morning, an unbuttoned silk shirt revealing the rigid contours of his chest, and a sneer aimed directly at

handed the world on a silver platter, earns millions for pushing a piece of

e. "Yeah, he's a walking red flag. But you have to admit, Maya... he's gorgeous.

" I deadpanned, starin

d cover an entire week of Mom's blood filtration sessions. We lived on the same island, breathed the same air, yet existed in

sed, returning us to the stark white grid of job

idn't argue. She squeezed my shoulder and

oe's cramped guest room, staring at the peeling plaster on the ceiling

ne. I pulled up my messages and

t early tomorrow. Crashing at Zoe's tonight so I do

s appeared al

k too hard. Make sure you eat a

her lie. She was sleeping peacefully in our tiny apartment, believing her brilliant, capable daughter was con

ges wouldn't stop. Endlessly scrolling job boards with dead-end paychecks, colliding violent

ouchable heaven. And I was trapped

hadows. I had six months of runway, a

r high water, I was g

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The Two-Million Dollar Fake Fiancée
The Two-Million Dollar Fake Fiancée
“I was fired so my boss could give my desk to his incompetent, harassing nephew. Even after clawing a six-month severance out of him, it wasn't nearly enough. My mother's cancer had spread to her liver, and the only experimental drug that could keep her alive cost fourteen thousand dollars a month. Out of pure desperation, I applied for a mysterious executive assistant role paying two hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year. To secure the money, I signed an ironclad non-disclosure agreement with a one-million-dollar penalty clause. I sold my silence, my privacy, and my freedom to a troubled NHL star just to afford her medical escrow. I rushed home with the good news, thinking I had finally pulled us back from the edge of the cliff. But instead of relief, my mother looked at me with profound sadness and told me she had secretly seen her pathology report. "We are stopping treatment, darling. I want to die in my own bed." She was transitioning to palliative care. Everything I had swallowed-the humiliation at work, the desperate lies, the monstrous contract I had just signed with my own blood-was all for nothing. The fortune I just secured couldn't save the only thing that mattered. Tomorrow morning at eight, a black town car was coming to take me to the Upper East Side. My mother was dying, and I was already trapped in a stranger's cage.”