TERMS AND CONDITIONS

Aliyah stared out of the tall, arched window, watching the rain streak down the glass like tears. Three days had passed since her arrival, three days since Pedro had entered her room without warmth or explanation. Three days since her innocence had been stripped and replaced with silence.

She hadn’t seen him since, except a doctor who stopped by to perform checkups and elicit samples from her body.

The vastness of Perez Manor made her feel like a ghost — a specter gliding through marble halls, unseen and unheard. No one looked her in the eyes. The maids were tight-lipped and formal. The butler, Mr. Halston, barely acknowledged her presence.

She was Lady Perez in name, but a prisoner in reality.

“Elena,” Aliyah called softly, setting aside the untouched breakfast tray.

The maid appeared from the hallway, her dark hair pulled back, face taut with exhaustion.

“Yes, Señora?”

“Where is he?” Aliyah asked, voice small. “Pedro. My… husband.”

Elena hesitated. “Señor Perez is at the office. He doesn’t stay here unless necessary.”

Aliyah’s mouth twisted. “And am I… necessary?”

Elena didn’t respond. Her silence said everything.

Aliyah rose from the edge of the bed. “Am I allowed to leave this room?”

“You are free to move about the east wing. The west wing is off-limits without Señor’s permission.”

“Of course it is,” Aliyah muttered.

She wandered through the corridor, trailing her hand along the wall. Everything smelled like money and wax polish. Family portraits stared down at her—portraits of a family she wasn’t truly part of.

She paused before one oil painting. A tall, elegant woman with icy eyes and red lipstick stared back at her from a gilded frame.

“Who’s she?” Aliyah asked Elena, who lingered nearby.

“The Señora… Mandy Perez.”

Aliyah blinked. “His wife.”

Elena gave a tight nod. “The public believes she is. There’s no divorce on record.”

Her heart dropped. “So, to everyone else… I don’t exist.”

“You exist,” Elena said gently. “Just not in the way that matters to men like him.”

Aliyah turned away from the portrait. She wanted to scream. Instead, she asked, “What does he do all day?”

“He runs Perez Holdings. Oil, tech, real estate. Very powerful. Very secretive. He doesn’t let people get close.”

Aliyah scoffed. “Except when he needs an heir.”

That night, the fire crackled in her room, but it did nothing to warm her.

She sat curled on the velvet couch, her hands around a cup of tea she didn’t drink. Her thoughts spun dark and fast.

A knock on the door made her spine go rigid.

Not again.

The door creaked open — and there he was.

Pedro Perez entered like a shadow stitched in bone and silk, his black coat heavy with rain, collar damp. His eyes swept over her once, unreadable.

“You’re awake.”

Aliyah didn’t answer.

He removed his coat, folded it neatly over the back of a chair. “I didn’t expect a warm welcome, but silence is tedious.”

“What did you expect?” she snapped. “Gratitude?”

He walked toward the fire and stood with his hands behind his back. “I expected compliance.”

Her stomach twisted. “Why are you here?”

“To fulfill the agreement.”

Her voice shook. “You got what you wanted. You don’t even look at me.”

Pedro turned, his face sharp. “I look at you when I need to. That is the arrangement.”

“You treat me like I’m nothing.”

“You are not nothing, Aliyah. You are a function.”

Her face contorted into a look of anger and infuriation. Her hands shook and involuntarily swung in the air, her palms connecting with Pedro’s cheeks.

The slap rang through the room before she even realized her hand had moved. His cheek turned slightly, but his expression didn’t flinch.

Aliyah stepped back, horrified at herself — and more horrified that he didn’t even raise his voice.

“Get out,” she whispered.

“You forget the terms.”

“To hell with your terms!”

Pedro studied her in silence. Then he walked to the table, opened a drawer, and set a folder down in front of her.

Inside were test results. A fertility report. Her cycle. Medical records.

“You are ovulating,” he said simply.

Aliyah’s knees nearly gave way. “You’re tracking my body?”

Pedro’s voice was cool. “I’m investing in it.”

Her rage boiled over. “You’re disgusting.”

Pedro took a step closer. “This is business. Not romance. The sooner you understand that, the less painful this will be.”

She slapped the folder shut and threw it across the room. “You can’t keep doing this!”

“I can,” he said, “and I will, until the child is conceived.”

Aliyah covered her mouth with her hand, fighting the scream rising in her throat. She turned away from him, and her shoulders trembled as she asked, “What happens after? When the child is born?”

Pedro didn’t answer immediately. Then he said, “You’ll be compensated. The child will remain here.”

Aliyah spun on him, eyes blazing. “You’ll take my baby?”

He didn’t flinch. “Heir to the Perez estate. Raised properly. Trained. Protected.”

“And me?” Her voice cracked. “What happens to me?”

Pedro looked at her for a long moment. “You go back to your life, but after we deem it  fit to release you.”

Her breath left her like a knife to the chest. “There is no life left.”

But he was already turning toward the door.

“Goodnight, Aliyah.”

When he was gone, she fell to her knees. Rage burned behind her eyes, grief pouring down her cheeks.

She looked at the scattered pages of the folder. Ovulation charts. Medical plans. A schedule like she was livestock.

Something inside her hardened.

They thought they owned her. That her womb was currency. That she would birth a child and vanish.

They had no idea who they were creating.

Not a victim. Not anymore.

She picked up the documents and fed them, one by one, to the flames.

“Burn it all,” she whispered. “I’ll give you your child. But I’ll come back for him. And when I do… I will burn your world to the ground.”

***

Aliyah awoke to silence.

For a moment, she didn't move — afraid that if she opened her eyes, she would find herself still trapped in that awful night, that Pedro would be standing over her again, shadowed and cold. But it wasn’t night. It was morning.

The fire had burned out. The sheets were tangled around her legs like restraints. Her body ached in places she didn’t want to think about.

She sat up, blinking through the dull light filtering through the drapes.

“Good morning, Señora,” Elena said quietly as she entered the room, balancing a silver tray of breakfast.

Aliyah flinched at the title.

“I’m not a señora,” she murmured.

Elena paused, eyes softening just slightly. “It’s what I must call you.”

Aliyah pulled the silk robe around herself. “Even if I’m just here to breed a child for him?”

Elena glanced toward the hallway before lowering her voice. “Don’t say such things. The walls here… they remember.”

Aliyah let out a bitter laugh. “Then let them remember this. I’m not his wife. I’m a glorified surrogate with no rights, no name, and no voice.”

She pushed the tray aside. “I don’t want to eat.”

“You have to keep your strength up. It’s… important for what he wants.”

Aliyah’s head snapped up. “You mean the pregnancy.”

Elena hesitated. “Yes.”

Aliyah stood, her voice trembling. “Why are you still here, Elena? Why do you stay in a house like this?”

The maid didn’t meet her eyes. “Because I know what happens to women who don’t follow orders.”

Aliyah was quiet a moment, then asked, “Has he done this before? Brought girls here?”

“No,” Elena said. “Only you.”

That didn’t make it better.

***

Later that day, Aliyah sat in the library — a place she’d discovered on her cautious wandering of the manor. The air smelled of paper and varnish, the shelves lined with leather-bound books no one seemed to touch.

She found a journal tucked into a corner of a bottom shelf, buried behind finance ledgers and estate records. It was blank. She turned the pages slowly, then picked up a pen.

Day 1.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

She hesitated, pen hovering.

He came again last night. Not as a man. Not even as a monster. But as something worse — a shadow with skin.

He doesn’t speak unless he must. He doesn’t touch me like a person. He touches me like a task.

The ink smudged slightly as her fingers trembled.

They said it was marriage. It’s a lie. It’s a transaction sealed with pain.

She closed the journal quickly when she heard footsteps.

Pedro entered the room, his suit perfectly tailored, his jaw freshly shaven. He looked like a man who had just stepped out of a magazine cover — polished, cold, untouchable.

“You’re not in your room,” he said.

“I didn’t know I was locked in.”

He walked to the fireplace, inspecting something on the mantel. “You’re not. But your presence outside that wing should be discreet.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Because God forbid your house staff knows what you’re doing behind closed doors.”

His eyes met hers. “They already know.”

“Then you don’t have to hide me.”

“I’m not hiding you, Aliyah. I’m protecting the illusion.”

“Of what? A perfect marriage to a woman who can’t give you what you want?”

Pedro’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t speak of Mandy.”

She folded her arms. “Why not? Isn't she the reason I’m here?”

His silence was answer enough.

Aliyah moved toward him slowly. “You had to find someone else, didn’t you? Someone young. Fertile. Quiet. Replaceable.”

“I didn’t replace Mandy. I supplemented her.”

Aliyah recoiled. “You make it sound like I’m an appliance.”

Pedro walked toward her, stopping just inches away. “You agreed to this.”

“I didn’t agree to this!” she hissed, pointing to her bruised wrists. “To being bred like livestock! To being locked away while you play family with someone else!”

“You signed the contract.”

Her voice cracked. “I was seventeen.”

Pedro’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker — something that almost looked like guilt — before it vanished.

“You have everything you need here,” he said coldly.

“I need my freedom,” she whispered. “And I need to know what happens when that baby is born.”

Pedro’s face darkened. “The child is mine. Heir to Perez Holdings. He will remain here. Raised with dignity.”

“And his mother?” she asked. “What happens to her?”

Pedro’s voice was low. “She will have been compensated generously.”

She stepped back like he’d struck her.

“You’re a monster,” she said.

But even as she said it, she could see something behind his eyes. Guilt? Regret? She couldn’t be sure.

He turned and left without another word.

The next few days passed in a blur. More meals brought to her room. More cold nights. More visits from Pedro — scheduled like appointments, devoid of affection, mechanical and clinical. She learned to disconnect. To imagine herself somewhere else. To count the days in her journal.

One night, as she lay in the dark, she whispered aloud, “You will not break me.”

***

Weeks passed. A doctor arrived at the estate, discreetly escorted to her room. Blood drawn. Samples taken.

Three days later, Pedro entered without knocking. She was sitting in the corner, brushing her hair.

“You’re pregnant.”

She froze.

The brush slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

He approached, his face unreadable. “Six weeks.”

Aliyah’s heart thundered in her chest. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, too numb to speak.

Pedro crouched in front of her. “This changes everything.”

She looked at him, tears threatening. “For you.”

“For both of us,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “You’ll take him. You’ll raise him like a trophy. You’ll erase me.”

“No one will erase you,” he said. “Not if you cooperate.”

“I will never cooperate,” she whispered. “But I’ll play your game.”

He didn’t reply.

When he left, Aliyah went to the window, her hands wrapped protectively around her belly.

“My little one,” she whispered. “They think they’ve won. But they’ve just made the biggest mistake of their lives.”