Contract Marriage With My Childhood Best Friend

Isabelle Rivers ran her fingers over the edge of the glossy wedding photo sitting on the table. She stared at the couple in the frame, their smiles frozen in time. The woman in the photo looked like a stranger—red-head, bright-eyed, radiant, and full of hope. Hope that had drained away, a long time ago. The reflection in the mirror beside the photo told a different story. She was the same woman in the picture but this time, she looked totally different. She was pale, she had dark circles around her eyes, and her lips were pressed into a thin, resigned line.

The house around her was silent, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Richard hadn’t come home last night. It wasn't the first night that he had done this, but it hurt her every night. More so, when he didn't apologize or give a reason why he didn't come home. She tried not to think about where he had been or, more painfully, who he might have been with, but she couldn't help it. She also couldn't bring herself to ask him because she didn't want to make him angry. His anger was like a ticking time bomb and she seriously didn't want to pull out the pin. So, every time he didn't come home, she just stayed silent. No questions asked.

Today, she made a decision. Things had to change. If she wanted her sweet marriage and romantic husband back, she had to act fast. She grabbed her phone, typing a quick message.

Isabelle: I’m bringing you lunch today.

She waited, but no reply came. Not even the double tick that indicated he’d seen the message. Her chest tightened. Isabelle reminded herself that she couldn’t keep sitting back, waiting for things to improve on their own. She had to take action. She had to take the first step.

Isabelle went into her room and freshened up, if she was going to visit her husband at his office, she had to look beautiful and live up to her status as the wife of  Richard Carter of Carter & Co.

An hour later, Isabelle stood outside Richard’s office building, balancing a carefully packed lunch box in her hands. She walked in, proudly and met the receptionist, a young woman with sharp bangs and a bored expression. The receptionist glanced up as Isabelle walked in.

“Can I help you?” She said boringly, just like when the expression was.

“I’m here to see Richard Carter,” Isabelle said, mustering a small smile.

“Do you have an appointment?”

The question hit her like a slap. An appointment? She was his wife. “I don’t need one. I’m his wife.”

The receptionist blinked, clearly unimpressed. “Ma'am, you shouldn't go around lying about your identity. You could go to jail for identity theft. Please leave now or I'll call the security men on you.”

Isabelle was shocked at the lady's response. Didn't they all know that Richard was married? “Look here, Lady. Why would I lie about being Richard's wife? I just want to see my husband.”

The receptionist sighed, obviously tired from having to explain to the weird woman claiming she was Richard Carter's wife. “Fine. Show me proof that you're Mr Carter's wife.”

Isabelle proudly removed her phone from her bag, eager to show the receptionist that she was the mistaken one.

“Here. That's our wedding photo.”

The receptionist got an idea. Maybe the weird woman was Richard Carter's side chick and his private business. Careful not to cause a scene the receptionist spoke with a fake smile. “Mr. Carter is in a meeting. You’ll have to wait.”

Isabelle’s confidence wavered, but she nodded, moving to sit in the plush leather chairs in the lobby. She fiddled with the edge of her blouse, ignoring the receptionist’s pointed glances as minutes turned into half an hour.

Finally, Richard’s voice broke through the air. “I told you, the figures don’t add up, you'd have to—”

Isabelle stood, her heart leaping at the sound of him. But her relief was just a moment.

Walking beside him was a woman Isabelle had never seen before: tall, elegantly dressed, with a toddler, about a year old, balanced on her hip. Richard laughed softly at something the woman said, his hand resting lightly on her back.

“Richard?” Isabelle’s voice came out sharper than she intended.

He froze mid-step, his eyes snapping to hers. For a split second, a flash of panic crossed his face before it hardened into a mask of irritation.

“What are you doing here?” He spoke sharply, stepping closer to her.

“I—I brought you lunch,” Isabelle stammered, lifting the container as if it were a shield.

The woman beside him raised a perfectly arched brow, looking Isabelle over with mild curiosity. “Who’s this?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with possessiveness.

“I’m his wife,” Isabelle said, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Ah! That Isabelle Rivers?” The woman said with a slight smirk on her face.

Isabelle's mind went into confusion. “Who are you?” She asked, fighting so hard for her voice to not break.

“Pleasure meeting you here, Miss Rivers. I'm Ashley and this cute boy right here is Junior Carter” The woman spoke, to intentionally let Isabelle know about her status with Richard.

A tense silence followed. The receptionist behind the desk had gone deathly quiet, her previous disinterest replaced by wide-eyed fascination.

Richard stepped forward, his hand gripping Isabelle’s arm firmly. “Not here,” he hissed under his breath. “Follow me.”

He pulled her into his office, closing the door with a snap. The polished decor and expansive view of the city did little to ease the weight crushing her chest.

“Who is she, Richard?” Isabelle demanded. “And that child—is he yours?”

“Keep your voice down,” he said sharply, pacing behind his desk.

“You didn’t answer me!” she snapped. Her hands shook, and she tightened her grip on the lunch box to steady herself.

He sighed, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” Isabelle’s voice broke. “You’ve been lying to me for years.”

Richard leaned over the desk, his expression cold. “It's nothing. You’re embarrassing me, Isabelle. Leave. Now.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Isabelle’s voice rose. “I saw her, Richard. I saw your other family.”

His movements stilled, and for a moment, she thought she saw guilt flash in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by cold fury.

“You have no right to show up at my office,” he snapped, stepping toward her.

“I have every right! I’m your wife!”

“Then act like it,” he snarled, the words followed by a sharp slap that sent her staggering.

The room seemed to tilt, the sting of his hand lingering on her cheek. Isabelle stared at him, her tears falling freely now.

Richard’s expression was unmoved, he just hit her and didn't feel the slightest guilt. “This is your fault, Isabelle. You pushed me to this. You better be out before I come back and wipe those stupid tears off your face.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. As he disappeared from the room, the only sound in the office was her ragged breathing.

Isabelle went to their home and that night, before Richard returned, Isabelle packed a small bag with trembling hands. She moved like a ghost through the house, silent and unseen. She slipped out the front door, the cool night air hitting her face as she stepped into the unknown.