Two years to live. Three months to get pregnant. One insufferable stranger who ruins everything. The doctor's words still echo. Terminal, progressive, two years maximum. But it's the three month deadline that sends me running. Three months to conceive before my body becomes a graveyard for the legacy I'll never leave behind. So I fly to Thailand, pretend to be poor, and search for a desperate man willing to marry me for money. Until I meet him. Arrogant. Annoying. Sharing my rented rooftop and seeing through every lie I tell. We hate each other. Establish rules. Agree to stay away. Then he collapses, burning with fever, and I have to make a choice: let him die alone, or miss the deadline that could save my billion dollar empire. I choose him. The company crashes. My father's legacy crumbles. Then I find his passport. He's not some poor stranger. He's the heir to my father's biggest rival. He's been lying since the moment we met. I run, choking on tears and rage, swearing I'll destroy him. Three weeks later, I'm at an engagement party, about to meet the stranger my dying father picked to save our company. The doors open. It's him. He steps closer in that perfectly tailored suit, his mouth curving into something dangerous, and leans in to whisper against my ear: "Hello, wife. Miss me?" I realize with crushing, devastating clarity... I did.