They were greedy, pathetic fucking losers. God himself could materialize in this room right now and tell me to leave Chrissy Jones alone, and I’d tell him to go fuck himself because that’s never going to happen.
Chrissy deserved fire, strength, and someone who wouldn’t cut and run at the first sign of difficulty.
She deserved someone who would walk through hell for her without a second thought.
I kept flipping, scanning the section that chronicled her family dynamics.
A printed transcript of her ongoing group text with her parents made me snarl.
Her parents insisted that Granny Irene should be brought home so they wouldn’t have to pay hospice bills.
Chrissy hated that idea, insisting that Granny Irene get the best care she could afford, and insisted on paying for it herself, if that was what it took.
Her mother accused Chrissy of being dramatic, too sentimental, and financially irresponsible.
Her father said: She’s dying anyway. Why are you wasting money to drag that process out?
My jaw locked so tight it hurt.
Chrissy had paid every single hospice bill all by herself. She had taken extra shifts at work to cover the shortfalls and kept her grandmother fed, warm, cared for, and safe.
And she did it without help or thanks or praise, all without a single complaint.
I pressed a hand to the folder, steadying myself as a familiar ache curled through my chest.
She wasn’t doing all that because she had to. No, she was doing it because she loved fiercely and quietly and without asking for anything in return.
Chrissy Jones wasn’t the kind of woman you dated for eight weeks and let go of when an admittedly unhinged billionaire offered you twenty-five thousand dollars to get the fuck out of her life. She was the kind of woman you built a life around… if she’d let you.
I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging the cold air as I thought over the proposed prize for the Game.
I slid the old draft of Henry’s ‘enrichment retreat’ idea out of the folder and shoved it aside. It was too soft, too subtle, and far too easy to walk away from.
Chrissy Jones wasn’t the kind of woman who took charity. She wasn’t the kind of woman who reached for comfort, and shedamn sure wasn’t the kind of woman who ever thought to put herself first.
But she would put down her metaphorical sword and pick up a pen if the terms you put in front of her could save her Granny Irene.
Her hands would shake the whole time, she’d chew her lip raw, and she’d probably hesitate, but she’d sign in the end because Chrissy always chooses love over fear, and taking care of others before she ever stops long enough to worry about herself.
I opened the newer draft that Henry and I had argued over for months. It was simple, blunt, and entirely unforgiving.
Prize for winning The Game: $750,000 to be delivered in cash, cashier’s check, or trust allocation immediately upon completion of all Final Round requirements.
That would be more than enough to pay for every overdue hospice bill, the next year of Granny Irene’s care, and all of Chrissy’s own outstanding debts. It would give her three things I was fairly certain she’d never had before: breathing room, safety, and financial freedom.
And more importantly? It was more than enough to make anyone in her position feel like they had no choice but to try their damndest to win it.
My father had wanted me married when he’d written that godforsaken clause, but he hadn’t specified how the marriage had to happen, and he hadn’t specified who I had to marry.
And Chrissy? Chrissy was the only woman in this entire godforsaken world I’d ever felt anything for that wasn’t hollow or forced.
She was the only one besides Henry who’d made me feel like I wasn’t a monster after my accident, the only one who made me breathe deeper, the only one who made me want something badly enough to lie, cheat, or steal to obtain it.
I turned the page.
Mandatory Contractual Clause:
“The winner of The Game agrees to enter into legal marriage with Benjamin Stonewood within seventy-two hours of competition completion. The marriage must be maintained for a minimum duration of five (5) years. If the marriage is annulled, abandoned, or dissolved prior to the five-year mark, the winner agrees to repay the prize money in full, plus interest accruing at 12% per annum.”
