Chapter 1

The lawyer slid the contract across the polished mahogany table. It was thick, heavy, full of words I didn't understand.

But I understood the number on the last page. Enough to pay off every medical bill my parents had. Enough to let them retire without worrying about the next hospital visit.

"You understand the terms, Mr. Hayes?" the lawyer asked. His name was Mr. Sterling, and he had a face that looked like it was carved from expensive stone.

"I marry Victoria Blackwood," I said, my voice flat. "I act like a devoted husband while she's in a coma. I smile for cameras. I don't touch her money, but I get paid a salary."

"An allowance," he corrected smoothly. "And a significant completion bonus when Ms. Blackwood recovers and the marriage is dissolved."

Or if she didn't recover. That part was in the fine print.

I picked up the pen. It felt heavier than my guitar. I signed my name, Ethan Hayes, on the dotted line. I was officially the husband of a woman I'd never met. A comatose Silicon Valley CEO.

The next day, I was in a private room at the most expensive care facility in San Francisco. It looked more like a five-star hotel. And in the center of it all was Victoria "Tori" Blackwood.

She was hooked up to machines that beeped softly. Her face was pale, still, but even unconscious she looked intimidating. The kind of woman who fired people for fun.

Her mother, Eleanor Blackwood, stood beside me. She looked me up and down like I was a piece of furniture she' d just bought.

"The press will be here tomorrow," she said, her voice like ice. "You'll sit with her. Hold her hand. Look sad. Can you manage that?"

"I'm a musician," I said. "I can play a part."

She left. I was alone with my new wife. The room was silent except for the beeping. I sat in a plush armchair, pulled out my phone, and started scrolling. This was my job now. Sit here and be a living, breathing press release.

Boredom set in fast. I stared at the ceiling. I counted the beeps from the heart monitor.

And then, a new sound. A voice. It was inside my head.

Ugh, this Jell-O tastes like sadness. Can't a comatose billionaire get a decent meal around here? I'd kill for a greasy double cheeseburger with extra pickles.

I shot up in my chair. I looked around the empty room. The voice was female, sharp, and sarcastic.

And this nurse, Brenda. She hums off-key. It's torture. Absolute torture. If I ever wake up, she's the first to go.

I stared at Tori. Her face hadn't moved. Her lips were still. But the voice was coming from her. I was sure of it.

This wasn't in the contract.