"You want me to marry you?" I ask for the thousandth time, still doubting my hearing.
"How many times are you going to repeat my statement back to me?" he deadpans.
"You don't even know my name— heck, I don't even know your name. Why on earth do you think I'd want to— " I'm interrupted by him handing me a card. I take it from him and read it. It's his business card.
"Now, you know my name," he says.
"Aaron, of course. The universal name for assholes." I spit, he lets out a chuckle. "Oh really? I was so sure it was Damien," he muses.
"I don't know what games you're playing, but I want no part in it. I was right, you're no different from your sick prick of a friend who thinks he can do just about anything and get away with it just because he's rich," I spew and if this causes an internal reaction from him, I can't tell.
He stands up from the couch, so he's towering over me. "Darling, if there's anything I detest it's repeating myself," he runs his hand through his hair, like he's trying to keep a lid on it.
"You're wrong. He's merely a business associate, not a friend. There is one thing you're right about though, I can in fact do just about anything and get away with it. It's how I know you're going to be my wife, whether you like it or not," I open my mouth to counter him but he shushes me with his finger.
"Your brother, Darius- "
"How do you know that name?" I blurt out, cutting him short.
"It's not the 'how' but rather the 'why' you should be worried about, Leona," he drawls.
"He's battling leukemia, you're drowning in expenses, I sure as hell know you can't afford the treatment with this job or the other one at that library. You're stretched thin and you need me, Leona," his voice is cold, like shoving the cruel reality of my life down my throat is just another Tuesday for him.
"You've been stalking me?" I ask, to which I get no response, just a cocky nod.
Who is this man and how does he know all this information about me?
I bite down on my lower lip, to keep my eyes from watering up, "What are you getting at, Aaron?"
"I'm offering you a deal, Leona. A chance to actually live. You'll marry me, I'll cover the medical expense for your brother's treatment and at the end of our contract, you get a million dollars," the look in his eyes is one of pure cockiness. He can't imagine that I'll turn this down.
He just handed me lifeline, one that I've quietly, wishfully prayed for but never fully believed I'd get. l'd be a fool not to grab onto it, l'd be an even bigger fool not be skeptical about it.
They don't just hand out a million dollars like its candy, this is probably a ploy to harvest my organs.
"You know what, Mr. Aaron? I think I'm gonna pass on your very generous offer to be your wife," I say to him and start to leave.
"This isn't a joke, you know. I don't need a wife; I need a deal and you need money." He states, stopping me in my tracks.
"And what exactly do you stand to gain from this deal?" I ask him, my face void of expression.
"I'll let you know once you agree," he replies.
I roll my eyes at him. Of course he will.
"Look, I have places to be and tables to tend to. I'm gonna leave now," I don't wait for him to reply before I turn on my heel and walk out the door.
That's enough madness for one evening.
***
An hour later, I'm outside the club in my normal clothes, waiting for a cab but my conversation with Aaron is still at the back of my head.
I try my best to brush it off as a weird, scammy, encounter. Even if I lucked out, my prince charming won't be offering a million dollars to marry him, that just sounds like a badly written telenovela.
I shove my thoughts of him to the pits of my brain and focus on getting a cab so I can get to Darius as fast as I can.
The ride to the hospital breezes by, l greet some of the nurses I've gotten familiar with as I walk past the hospital's reception and head for my brother's room.
His case had worsened so much the doctors had to have him admitted so they could monitor him.
That meant choosing two days out of the week to actually have a meal and powering through the rest of the days by sheer will, but I don't mind. He's the only family I have left and I'd do anything to make sure he recovers.
"Miss Carter," someone calls out to me. I turn around and it's Darius's doctor.
Oh gosh, I thought I wouldn't run into him, he's definitely here about the bill that's due today that I definitely don't have.
"I hoped I would run into to you today. Darius's chemotherapy is scheduled to start this week, I made sure to have the doctors start on his treatment as soon as possible per your request," The doctor states and I just stare at his face in confusion waiting for him to realize he probably has the wrong person.
A beat passes, then another and he arcs a brow, "Miss Carter?" Oh…he has the right person.
I don't remember paying for Darius's chemo though or having the funds to do so either.
I clear my throat and force myself to find a reply, "Oh that'd be really nice, doctor. Thank you," I say with a smile on my face, then turn on my heel to leave but the doctor places his hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.
"You're heading in the wrong direction, we've transferred your brother to the private room you requested for," he says.
At this point, I just nod and follow the nurse who offers to show me to said room. This has to be a dream, what is going on?
I keep glancing back, thinking to myself, this is a whole different wing from the one my brother had been in.
He has been in a shared ward, with chipped walls and curtains barely hanging between beds. But now, the nurse stops at a room with a solid door and a golden plaque. Private.
I hesitate. "This isn't... this can't be right."
The nurse offers a gentle smile. "It's correct. He was moved here early this morning."
I step inside cautiously. The room smells faintly of lilies and antiseptic. The lights are dimmed low, and a small TV hums softly from a corner. Darius is there, propped up on crisp white pillows, a navy beanie pulled low over his bald head.
He looks tired, paler than I remember, but when he sees me, he smiles.
"You made it," he murmurs, his voice scratchy.
"Of course I did," I say, exhaling hard. I rush to him, breathless from the unbelievability of it all. My purse still dangles from one shoulder. "I told you I'd come."
I scan the room while I speak. Everything is... different. The machines look newer, quieter. There's a bouquet of red roses sitting by the window in a white ceramic vase, big and deliberate, not cheap hospital flowers.
Darius notices me looking.
"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend," he says with a teasing lilt.
I blink. "What?"
He motions to the roses with a weak nod. "They dropped those off with the nurse. Said it was part of the private transfer. And the doctor said someone already paid for the first round of chemo."
I turn to him shaking my head. "What does that even mean?"
"I mean someone paid," he repeats. "Up front. They said they didn't want to be named. But come on. Who else would do that for us?"
I stare at the flowers, heart thudding."I don't know... I don't have a boyfriend."
Darius chuckles dryly. "Well, you've got someone looking out for you. And for me."
I fold my arms tightly. Could it be? He's the only one apart from Tasha that knows about Darius's condition "I don't—this doesn't make sense."
"I know you're always on edge when it comes to men," Darius says gently. "But not everyone's like him, Leona."
I don't reply. Just stand there, jaw tight, eyes locked on the roses. He's talking about our father, of course. I don't need the name to feel the weight of it in the room.
"You might want to give this one a chance," Darius adds. "Whoever he is."
I cross the room slowly and pluck the small note from between the roses. My fingers hesitate before opening it. A single line is scrawled in clean, purposeful handwriting: "Give me a call."
No name. Just that. How cocky.
I read it twice, then fold it back into its envelope.
"Maybe," I say softly, though my fingers tremble around the note.