Chapter 7– The deal

Camilla’s feet carried her down the hall like she was half asleep. Her chest was tight, and every step hurt her, like walking barefoot on glass. She had run from his office minutes ago, swearing she would never give him the answer he wanted.

But the hospital smell still clung to her. Roseline’s weak smile was burned into her mind. The doctor’s words chased her like ghosts. Without treatment, her chances aren’t good.

She reached the elevator and pressed the button, the soft light blinking back at her. When the silver doors slid open, she caught her reflection: wet hair clinging to her cheeks, eyes red and swollen. She looked like a woman already defeated.

Her hand hovered at the threshold. She could leave. Go home. Pretend she never heard Adrian’s offer. Pretend she hadn’t seen the hospital bills stacked like an avalanche waiting to fall.

But then Roseline’s voice came back, faint and fragile: Don’t worry yourself out because of me.

Her throat burned. She pressed her palm against the cool elevator frame, but her fingers wouldn’t move. Slowly, she stepped back, her movement was heavy and reluctant, as if she were dragging her body out of a water.

Camilla turned. The hall stretched ahead of her, long and quiet, carpet muffling her steps. Each step felt heavier than the last. By the time she reached Adrian’s door, her hand was shaking so hard she almost missed a step, she knocked.

Silence. Then footsteps.

The door opened.

Adrian stood there, his jacket now folded neatly over the back of a chair, his shirt sleeves rolled higher, exposing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. His tie was gone, but his composure remained intact. His eyeswere dark, sharp as he searched hers like he already knew why she had returned.

Tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered. “I can’t pretend that I have a choice.”

Adrian didn’t move. His voice was quiet but firm. “Come inside.”

The door clicked shut behind her, locking out the quiet hall. His office felt too big, the ceiling too high, the glass windows pressing her with the whole city’s weight.

Camilla stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched at her sides. “You knew this would happen,” she said, her voice shaking. “You knew I would come back,right?”

“Yes,but not so fast” Adrian said simply.

Her tears blurred her sight. “Then you’re cruel.”

“No,” he said, his tone low, even. “I’m realistic.”

She wanted to scream at him, throw something, break through that stone mask he always wore. But she was too tired. Her anger didn’t matter when Roseline was lying in a hospital bed, barely breathing.

“I will do it,” she said at last, her voice breaking. “I will sign. I will marry you.”

He didn't speak. Adrian didn’t smile. He just studied her like he was memorizing her face. Then he nodded once. “Sit down.”

The contract was already on his desk. It looked harmless,just papers and ink. But Camilla knew it wasn’t harmless at all.

Her hands shook as she sat. She stared at the black letters, the clauses, the rules. One year. No intimacy. Appearances only. A business deal dressed up like a wedding.

Adrian placed a pen on the table , beside her hand. His voice was calm, but it carried weight. “Read it. Carefully. I want you to understand everything.”

Camilla’s chest tightened. Her eyes moved as she reads, but they blurred together. The only line that remained clear to her,was the one that promised her aunt’s medical bills would be paid in full.

She glanced up at Adrian. He had moved behind her chair, silent, patient. His presence loomed over her like a shadow, a heat at her back. She could smell his cologne, something cool and sharp, like cedar and smoke.

Her fingers trembled on the paper. This isn’t marriage, she thought. This is a transaction. But every time she pictured walking away, she saw Roseline’s fragile hands gripping the hospital sheets.

She wiped her eyes quickly, ashamed to cry in front of him.

“You have read enough?” he asked, voice low.

“Almost,” she whispered. She forced herself to focus, tracing each clause with her finger, as if touching the words would make them more real.

When she reached the last page, she stopped. The pen lay beside her hand like a dare.

Adrian stepped closer, his shoes silent on the carpet. “Sign,” he said softly.

Her hand hanged on air above the pen. Her breath came shallow .She thought of her small apartment, of Zoe waiting at home, of mornings when she could still decide for herself what coffee to drink, what clothes to wear. She thought of all the invisible threads that tied her life together with threads. She was about to hand over.

Camilla pressed her palm flat against the desk, calming herself. Her chest rose and fell.

This was supposed to be simple. Sign, save Roseline, endure for one year. But the pen felt heavier than it should, like iron pressing into her skin. Her fingers closed around it.

Adrian’s reflection in the glass window caught her eye. He was tall, intimidating, a dark silhouette watching her surrender.

She looked at the contract. The letters blurred.

Her heart drummed. Her throat closed.

She had come back to say yes. She had come back to give in.

She came back to save Aunt Roseline.

But she still hadn’t signed.

She still hadn’t crossed the line.

Her held the pen tight. She closed her eyes, and for a heartbeat she could hear Roseline’s voice again: Don’t wear yourself out because of me.

Camilla’s tears fell onto the page, small dark spots blooming on the paper. She bit her lip hard enough to taste iron.

Adrian moved slightly behind her, but he didn’t touch her. “Camilla,” he said quietly, “it’s time.”

She opened her eyes. Her hand shook harder.

She wanted to save Roseline. She wanted to breathe. She wanted to keep even a single piece of herself.

The pen hanged above the signature line.