The Proposal

It was yet another cold, lonely night—another shift to cover, another long waste of precious time. That was how I felt about my job every single damn day, but then again, it was only because I wasn’t doing what I was passionate about. I was working to survive, not to live.

Acting was my dream, my passion, my purpose. Back in junior and high school, I always landed the lead roles in every play because I was just that good. I could captivate an audience, draw them into my world, and make them believe. But dreams are fragile things, and mine shattered four years ago when my parents died.

Ever since, my sister and I had lived with our grandmother. I managed to scrape through one year of art college before reality hit me like a brick wall—I couldn’t afford to continue. The little money left in our trust fund wasn’t enough for both of us, so I did what any big sister would do. I sacrificed my education so she could have hers. It was a painful decision, but not one I regretted. She’d be graduating high school in a few months, and that was all that mattered to me. As long as she was okay, I was okay.

Now, I was twenty three and a bartender, with no hope or sight of what the future would be.

Most days, I could swallow my frustration, but tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

I walked into Billy’s, the small but upscale bar where I worked. The warm, dim lighting and the low hum of conversation barely soothed my irritation. I was covering a shift for Aisha, my friend and colleague, who apparently had a date while I was stuck here, pouring drinks for strangers who drowned their sorrows in liquor.

I sighed, shrugged off my jacket, and tied a tiny apron around my waist.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Aisha said, looking both excited and apologetic.

“Sure, no problem,” I muttered, forcing a small smile.

She didn’t waste a second before dashing outside, where a young man was already waiting. He kissed her, opened the car door like a perfect gentleman, and waited for her to settle in before closing it after her.

I scoffed. “Better hope that lasts,” I mumbled to myself.

Maybe it was just my frustration talking.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Men had never been anything but disappointments in my life. I’d had my fair share of heartbreaks, so excuse me if I thought something as romantic as that was nothing but a fleeting illusion.

Shaking off my bitterness, I got to work, occasionally entertaining myself by people-watching. That was when I noticed him.

A man sat alone at the end of the counter, wearing a tuxedo.

I snorted. Who the hell wears a tuxedo to a bar?

Despite my initial amusement, my gaze flickered back to him, this time with curiosity. He was strikingly handsome—high cheekbones, strong jawline, piercing blue eyes. His dark hair was neatly styled, and everything about him screamed elegance as if he belonged at a black-tie event rather than here, drinking alone.

He didn’t even look up as he poured himself another drink, his long fingers gripping the glass with an odd mix of control and desperation.

Why was he alone? Why did he look so lost?

I shook my head. Not my business.

Men like him were nothing but trouble—enticing, charming trouble. I tore my eyes away and busied myself with meaningless tasks, scrolling through TikTok at intervals just to kill time.

By the time my shift ended, most of the patrons had left, but the tuxedo guy remained, still comfortably seated.

I sighed and approached him. “Excuse me, sir, we’re closing for the night.”

“Just a few more minutes,” he murmured without looking up.

I frowned. “I’m sorry, but I’ve already stayed past my—”

“I’ll pay for your time,” he cut me off.

Something about the way he said it rubbed me the wrong way. The words felt transactional, like he was offering to buy me rather than my time. I was offended.

“You can even keep me company… if you want,” he added, finally lifting his head. The overhead light illuminated his eyes, and for a brief moment, I found myself unable to look away.

God help me, he was gorgeous.

Still, I knew better. “I have to get home. To my family.”

“Family,” he muttered, pouring another glass. “I wish I could get away from mine.”

His words hit me unexpectedly.

I had no reason to get involved in a stranger’s troubles, yet I hesitated. Why would anyone wish to escape their family? I would give anything to have mine back.

Before I could stop myself, I sat down across from him. “If I sit with you, will you stop drinking?”

He studied me, tilting his head slightly. Before he could answer, I took the bottle and set it out of his reach. “I’ll be your therapist for today,” I offered. “So, tell me—what’s making you drink like your life depends on it?”

He exhaled slowly. “Apart from my dreams being ruined? Not much.”

“Well, life sucks,” I said bluntly. “Not everyone gets to live their dreams. Take me, for example. I wanted to be an actress, but here I am, pouring drinks instead. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up.”

I didn’t know why I was sharing this with a complete stranger, but somehow, I felt compelled to.

He was silent for a moment before leaning forward, his gaze locked onto mine. “Maybe we can help each other.”

I arched a brow. “How?”

“I have a proposal for you.”

I scoffed. “What could you possibly offer me right now?”

“I can make your dream come true,” he said smoothly. “I have connections. I can help you become the actress you want to be.”

I blinked, momentarily speechless. Was he serious? Could he actually do that?

“And what do you want in return?” I asked warily. A deal like this always had a price.

His lips curved into a faint smirk. “Be my wife.”

I stared at him, my brain short-circuiting. “What?”

Was he drunk? Of course he was. What was I doing sitting with him anyway?

“You’re clearly drunk, and I’m wasting my time here.” I stood up to leave, but he caught my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

I froze, my breath hitching as I stared at his hand in surprise.

“I might be a little drunk,” he admitted, his voice steady, “but I mean every word I say.” With that, he released me.

“It’s a business arrangement,” he explained. “We both get what we want, and we are happy.”

“I don’t see how I’d be happy being your wife. And why do you need to arrange a marriage? You could literally charm anyone to marry you in a day.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” I countered. “If you want me to even consider this, you need to tell me everything.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My family demands I get married. I had no intention of doing that, but now I have no choice. I need someone to play the role, to be my wife. After a year, we divorce, and I get my freedom back.”

“Just like that?” I asked, suspicious.

“Just like that,” he confirmed.

“For how long?” I asked.

“One year,” He simply answered.

For a brief moment, I actually considered it. Then sanity kicked back in.

“I can’t do it,” I said.

“At least think about it,” he said, sliding a card across the counter. “If I don’t hear from you in a week, I’ll assume you’re not interested. But I’d really like it to be you.”

With that, he stood and walked out, leaving me alone with a proposal that could change my life.

What the hell just happened?