A Contract Marriage With The Billionaire's Mad Son

I returned to the hospital all tears and sucked into my gloom. My head heaved upon me and I felt withdrawn from this world. What was that? Can somebody remind me what just happened at the Fanny’s mansion?

Am I dreaming or what? God forbid that I marry a mad man. How could they be so cruel and heartless? They knew I was in dire need of the money. They perceived the money meant the whole world to me right now and the only way they could rip me off it was to give me the condition of marrying their mad son.

Who does that? Can you imagine! I can’t picture myself settling down for a mad man all in the name of marrying a billionaire’s son. I was often niggled by its impossibility whenever I thought of it.

Mother’s health was plunging me into all this. I didn’t want my mother to die. Neither did I have money for burial. I was naïve and rudderless at the moment. I would be twenty two in few days and the last factor on my mind was marriage.

What would become of me now?

“You could still scuttle back to the Fanny’s and sign the contract marriage.” A voice said in my head.

“No. No” I mumbled within myself, rejecting the idea of returning to the Fanny’s villa to sign the contract marriage agreement. If I could remember the last time I peered between my legs I was still a virgin. I looked forward to the day I would fall in love, with a handsome looking, responsible man with his sanity intact and before that I would have been through with college.

I couldn’t imagine myself opening my legs for a madman. Oh my God. How would I survive staying in the same room with a mad man, who could bite me to death the next minute? I could feel the palpitation going in my heart and I could tell I was not fated to be married to a mad man.

His unkempt looks were still in my thought. The saliva that smeared around his mouth and unshaven beards still offended my decency. Hmm! no! There must be a way out.

A contract marriage wasn’t the way out and would never be.

I would speak sense into the doctor and he would treat mother on credit, later I will work hard and pay up; I thought.

Did I actually hear myself? Will I be able to pay back half a million dollars? Is it with the dirty looking vegetables I sell?

“Oh my God! I am stuck! No!”

I was swallowed in my predicament when the door creaked, opened, and the doctor pranced into the ward hastily.

I looked at his lab coat and the badge pinned on his chest and I saw his name; Dr. Peter Northwick. He looked elegantly charismatic and easy-going, but inwardly he could be a hard nut to crack.

“Oh Melissa, you are back right on time today” his voice sounded optimistic, and I wanted to take advantage of his contagious smile to demand he treat mother on credit.

“Yes, Dr. Peter,” I said calmly and lowered my gaze, not interested to lock eyes with him each time he dared to meet my gaze.

I wanted to speak yet further when he interposed me, “Do you have the half a million dollars now?”

I kept silent as the wind and fondled with my fingers. Would he ever be smart to know that this girl fondling with her fingers couldn’t afford a square meal let alone half a million dollars?

“Melissa! Am I not talking to you?” he let an emphatic tone and his expression hardened.

I cast a pitiable look at mother, who was on live support now. I stole a glance at mother and wished the doctor could follow my gaze and see enough reason that poor woman shouldn’t ‘kick the bucket.’

Doctor peter ground his jaw at me; indeed he was upset now. “Well I can see you don’t have the money. I believe you can see your mother’s condition; she is on life support. Do you know the meaning of life support?” he queried with his face peered at me as though he was my class teacher.

I raised a furrowed brow at him and forced a nod.

His lips curled when he said, “It means your mother is an inch away from death. I gave you twenty four hours. And by the time now it is eight hours to twenty four hours. As soon as it is time, I will disconnect the life support mechanism and she will breathe her last. That will be her abrupt end. I don’t think you know what autosomal dominant polycystic is.”

I fell on my knees. My eyes swam with tears as I pressed my lips together to fight back sob.

“Please doctor, I beg of you. Attend to my mother on credit. I promise to work hard and pay up later,” I wailed, and clenched on his feet.

“Can you hear yourself? If I may ask; may I know what you do for a living?” he queried, and gave me anxious glare.

“I didn’t want to reply him initially but for the anxiety hanging in his eyes.

“I – I” I stuttered, sniffed repeatedly and got swallowed in shame and peril. Unhesitant, I mumbled, “I am a vegetable seller.”

“Or did you forget to add poor to it? Do you think I don’t know you ar the poor vegetable seller at Rio Hondo Market? Listen up Melissa, or whatever you call yourself. You can’t afford half a million dollars even if you and your generations sell vegetables till the end of time.”

Those words by the doctor ravaged my heart so greatly that I covered my face in shame. Most of the horrible words spoken to me by people often resurrected forgotten nightmares about my poverty.

Indeed the poor were limited in this life and I have experienced it.

My lower lip trembled as I said coldly, “Ok doctor, please attend to my dying mother. Let her just stay alive while I and my generation work for you till the end of time without any salary. Please,” I begged and fell down to his legs.

“You must be insane,” he pulled out his feet from my grip. “Let go off my feet. You have twenty four hours! Twenty four hours!” he beamed and gave me a dirty look.

The door slammed – he had left as thunder.

I wailed, carried mother’s palms into mine as my tears trickled and dropped into her palms.