His contract wife

The scent of bleach clung to Mia Williams like a second skin. It lingered under her fingernails, seeped into the folds of her worn apron, and clashed with the sharp tang of sweat on her skin. No matter how many times she scrubbed her hands, it never left not really. Like the weight she carried on her shoulders, it followed her home every night.

The clock above the staff exit blinked 11:47 PM in tired red digits. The restaurant had emptied hours ago, but the cleaning staff always stayed late. The floors had to shine for morning, the trash bins emptied, the bathrooms spotless. No one noticed her when they walked in to order their overpriced steak and wine. They didn’t see the girl who stayed long after they left, sweeping their messes into plastic bags and smiling at her reflection in smudged glass just to remind herself she was still alive.

Mia stretched her aching legs and stood from scrubbing the baseboards, her knees stiff and burning from hours spent crouched. Her back protested as she stood straight. She winced, pressing a hand against her lower spine.

The cold water in the sink bit at her skin as she rinsed the last of the chemicals from her hands. The skin around her knuckles was cracked, red from overuse. She dried them on her apron, then leaned her forehead against the locker, closing her eyes.

Just a few more hours, she reminded herself. Then a few more days. Then… who knew?

Her phone vibrated in her apron pocket. She fished it out with a sigh, already guessing who it would be.

Leo: Sis, Coach said I need a new football kit. The old one’s torn. Can we get it soon?

Her heart tugged painfully. Leo. Always hopeful. Always trying not to sound like he was asking for too much.

She started typing.

" I’ll see what I can do."

She didn’t add that she was already three weeks behind on rent or that the envelope sitting in her purse was a final notice. There was no extra. Not for kits, not for hope, not even for a night of peace.

Another ping.

Dad: Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Just a little pain. I’ll sleep it off.

Her fingers hovered above the screen.

“Of course you will,” she whispered, biting back a tear. He always said that. Every night. Even when she knew the pain was worse than he let on. The limp in his leg had deepened this week, his breathing sometimes shallow. The doctor had said surgery could help, but surgery cost money and they barely had enough for rent.

Mia tucked her phone away and grabbed her jacket, her mind swimming. Outside, the air had cooled and the streets were damp with earlier rain. The glow of streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement as she walked without direction. Her body was exhausted, but her thoughts raced with numbers she couldn’t balance and bills she couldn’t pay.

If something didn’t change soon, she didn’t know how much longer they could hold on.

She passed the same cracked bookstore she walked by every night. Only tonight, something made her stop.

A paper flyer was taped hastily to the dusty glass window. Bold, black letters stared back at her:

“ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A JOB?”Text ‘INTERESTED’ to [XXX-XXXX].No experience required. Discretion guaranteed. Immediate offer.

Mia frowned. It screamed scam. But even scams usually didn’t promise “immediate offer” in bold like that. Her first instinct was to ignore it. She wasn’t desperate enough to fall for vague promises and sketchy numbers.

Except… maybe she was.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Just one text. It wouldn’t mean anything. She could always ignore the reply if it felt wrong.

But something in her chest, some flicker of hope she hadn’t felt in months pushed her forward.

Mia: Interested.

She hit send.

And waited.

Elsewhere…

Jason Cruz leaned back in his chair, scanning the influx of messages flooding into the company burner phone. Fifty applicants in a few hours. It was expected. The offer was vague but tempting. That was the point.

Most were exactly what he didn’t want young models looking for attention, influencers who'd leak screenshots before the contract even reached legal. A few sob stories. A couple of bots.

But then he paused.

One stood out.

Mia Williams.Age: 23. No scandals. No online presence. Lives in a modest two-bedroom flat in a quiet neighborhood. Mother: deceased. Father: disabled. Younger brother: high school student, top of his class.

Jason clicked through her file again. There were photos, clean, raw, untouched. No filters. No glamour.

Just a girl who looked like she hadn’t smiled in a while.

He leaned forward, speaking to no one in particular.

“She’s perfect.”

The apartment smelled faintly of eucalyptus balm and damp carpet. Mia slipped off her shoes quietly, careful not to make noise. The living room was dark, save for the soft glow of the old lamp beside the couch where her father lay, his leg propped on a pile of worn pillows.

He stirred as she walked in, the blanket slipping slightly from his shoulder.

“You’re home late,” he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep.

“I stayed to help with inventory,” she lied, gently adjusting the blanket. “How’s the leg?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Still attached. That’s something, right?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. They both knew it was getting worse.

She walked into the small kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared at the nearly empty shelves. A single carton of eggs, half a bottle of water, and a plastic container with leftover rice. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it.

She glanced at the sticky note taped to the freezer:

Rent Due: 28th

Utilities: Pending.

Leo’s game: Friday.

It was always the same routine. Work. Worry. Repeat.

In the room they shared, Leo slept curled under a worn blanket, his schoolbooks stacked beside his pillow. His breathing was soft, even, peaceful.

She smiled faintly. He still had dreams. Still believed in happy endings.

Mia sat on the edge of her narrow bed and pulled out her phone. No new messages. Her gaze lingered on the last one she sent earlier.

“Interested.”

What had she just done?

She wasn’t impulsive. But something about that flyer so bold, so blunt had pulled her in. It wasn’t hope exactly. Hope was too fragile. It was more like a last attempt before she stopped trying.

She curled under her blanket fully clothed, her body too tired to care. Her fingers clenched around the phone like it was a lifeline.

Maybe it was.

Let it be something. Please. Anything.

She closed her eyes.

Elsewhere… that same night

Jason stared at Mia’s profile one last time before closing the file. She fit every requirement. Clean background. Emotionally grounded. Nothing flashy. No risk.

And most importantly she’d do anything for her family. That kind of loyalty? You couldn’t fake that.

He poured himself a drink, leaned against the edge of the penthouse window, and looked out over the skyline. The city was alive, buzzing, ruthless. He’d known Desmond wouldn’t like her at first. But that wasn’t the point.

He didn’t need Desmond to fall in love.

He just needed someone who could clean up the mess.

Still, as he looked at her photo again, something tightened in his chest.

“She doesn’t know what she’s walking into…”

Morning sunlight bled through the thin curtain, casting a soft gold glow over the small bedroom. Mia blinked against the light, disoriented. Her back ached from sleeping fully clothed again, and the stiffness in her joints reminded her she’d barely rested at all.

The hum of the city had already begun cars honking in the distance, the clink of cutlery from a neighbor’s kitchen, a child crying down the hallway. Another day. Another cycle.

She reached for her phone without thinking.

1 New Message.

Unknown Number:

“Thank you for your interest. We would like to proceed. Please send your full name, age, address, and a recent photo. Confidentiality is required.”

Mia stared at the screen. Her heart thudded once, heavy and uncertain. She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples.

This could be something.

It could also be nothing.

Or worse a scam, or some trap.

But she didn’t delete it.

She read the message again. And again.

A k