Chapter 6: The Contract
3/365
VICKY.
I opened my eyes. A new day.
Just yesterday, I found out my husband was cheating on me with my sister.
She was pregnant. For him.
And no, he didn’t apologize. Instead, he threw me out like trash. And my dear sister? She didn’t even flinch.
But the real plot twist?
I signed a contract marriage with a billionaire.
That explains why I woke up in a penthouse this morning.
Last night, Rue got an urgent call and had to leave. He told me to feel at home before walking out, and since I had nowhere else to go and was now his supposed fiancée,I stayed.
I doubt he was back overnight. I was up for hours, and I didn’t see or hear him come in.
I looked down at my hand. The wedding ring was gone.
I had taken it off last night and dropped it in the bathroom sink.
Just like that…
I was no longer Mrs. Jakes.
“Good morning,” came Rue’s voice from the hallway.
Calm. Steady. Like I wasn’t just some stranger he was about to marry.
We barely knew each other.
He walked in with two cups of coffee and a folder tucked under his arm. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly messy. Somehow, he still looked put-together, like someone who didn’t just orchestrate a life-altering lie the day before.
“I figured you’d be awake by now,” he said, handing me a cup.
I took it silently.
“When did you get back?” I asked.
“This morning, actually…”
He held up the folder. “I drafted the contract. Thought we’d go through it before the press release goes out today.”
I blinked. “Wait… what? You’re telling people today?”
Rue sat on the edge of the bed, calm as ever. “It’s better if we act fast. The longer we wait, the harder it is to control the narrative. Besides… this is just a formality.”
A formality.
A whole fake marriage. Just a formality to him.
“The terms are simple,” he said. “You’ll be my wife publicly for a set duration, but we end it ten days before the contract expires—your idea, by the way. No strings. No emotions. No physical intimacy unless mutually agreed. In return, you get whatever you want: new identity, money, revenge… freedom.”
I stared at the paper in my lap.
“This is crazy,” I muttered.
“Maybe. But it’s also perfect,” Rue said, his eyes on mine. “For both of us.”
I crossed my arms. “I want to add my own terms.”
His brow lifted slightly, but he nodded. “Go on.”
“One,” I said, “I want a private account. In my name only. I decide what goes in and out of it.”
“Done.”
“Two… you don’t touch me unless I let you.”
“But we’re married…” he said, tilting his head.
“It’s a fake marriage.”
“Nope,” he corrected, “a contract marriage. Still makes us married, doesn’t it?”
I glared. “You don’t touch me unless I let you,” I repeated firmly.
He smirked, amused. “Agreed.”
“Three… I want personal time. One day a week—no pretending, no playing wife, and no you.”
He chuckled. “Wow. You really don’t like me, do you?”
I looked away. “It’s not that. I just… need air.”
“Alright. One day off a week. Deal.”
“And lastly,” I added quietly, “I want you to donate to a charity in my name. Every month.”
Rue looked at me curiously, like he was trying to figure something out. “What kind of charity?”
I shrugged. “Something that helps people… people who don’t get a second chance.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re full of surprises, Vicky.”
I didn’t reply.
He signed the contract first, scribbling his name like it was nothing.
Then he handed me the pen.
My fingers trembled as I held it.
This was it.
My new life.
Or maybe… my last one.
I stared at the paper for a long time, then signed it.
Rue smiled. “Congratulations, fiancée.”
I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. Maybe all three.
He stood, adjusting his sleeves like we hadn’t just sealed a deal that could ruin both of us.
“The PR team will call you by noon,” he said. “They’ll handle your wardrobe, your backstory—everything. I’ll introduce you to my mother over dinner this weekend. She’s… a different case entirely, so prepare yourself.”
“Does she know about my marriage to Williams?” I asked, my voice low.
“No. We don’t have to mention that. I’ll take care of it.”
He was halfway to the door when I spoke again.
“Rue…”
He paused and looked back.
“What happens if someone finds out this is fake?”
He gave me a calm look. “They won’t. Because we won’t give them a reason to suspect.”
And then… he left.
I sat there with the signed contract on my lap.
362 days.
That’s all I had left.
And no one ,not Rue, not his sweet grandmother, not the entire world was ever going to know what would happen after that.
My phone beeped.
Williams.
My ex-husband.
What the hell did he want now?
I picked up the call and stayed silent, waiting for him to speak.
He didn’t.
So I did.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He laughed, He Actually laughed.
“It’s quite shocking that you picked up. I thought you’d be dead by now.”
My jaw clenched.
“You guys must really hate me,” I said slowly. “Wanting me dead even after everything you did… You must be monsters.”
“Oh please,” he scoffed. “I’m not here to pretend I care. I just called to ask—when are you coming to get your stuff?”
I gave a cold chuckle, clapping softly. “You really kept the hate well-hidden. Bravo. Great acting, honestly.”
“Hm. You sound…”
“Not sad? Shocking, right?” I said, smiling bitterly. “You actually thought I’d kill myself, didn’t you?”
“I mean… your life’s already miserable. Why waste space and resources?”
I nearly hung up. But he wasn’t done.
“When are you coming to get your things? My fiancée will be moving in soon, and I don’t want her seeing your stuff in my house.”
“Our house, Williams,” I snapped. “I paid almost 70% for that house. It’s mine too.”
“Whose name is on the documents?” he replied smugly. “Anyway, I don’t have time to argue. You have until tomorrow. After that, I’ll burn everything. Every single thing.”
I wasn’t planning to go back. But there were important documents there—things I couldn’t afford to lose. So I ended the call without giving him the last word.
The coffee cup was still on the table. I picked it up and headed to the kitchen.
Rue was in the living room when I passed by. He looked up.
“Vicky,” he called softly.
I stopped and turned. Silent. But listening.
“I got you food… and some clothes you can change into before my team arrives,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, turning to the kitchen.
I rinsed the coffee cup and came back out.
I didn’t want to go back upstairs to that cold, unfamiliar room… but I didn’t want to sit with him either.
Still, my legs didn’t move.
“You can sit with me,” Rue said gently. “If we’re going to get married, we should at least be friends.”
I hesitated. Then asked, “Are we actually going to have a wedding ceremony?”
Rue paused the TV and turned toward me, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“We don’t want anyone suspecting, right?” he said. “So yes—we’ll have a wedding ceremony. And trust me, it’s not just any ceremony…”
He leaned in slightly.
“You’re marrying a Roger. Not just any Roger. You’re marrying The Rue Rogers.”
