Chapter Four

Sonia’s POV.

I didn’t even want to talk about it.

But Bailey wouldn’t let me escape. Not this time.

I sat cross-legged on her couch, staring blankly at the floor as she paced like a hawk. “So… he came,” she said, matter-of-factly, and then added, “And you said no.”

I sank into Bailey’s couch like I was letting the weight of the world fall onto her cushions. “I can’t do it, Bailey,” I whispered, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I just… I can’t marry him. Not like this.”

Bailey plopped down beside me, a frown tugging at her lips. “Sonia, you’ve got to stop pretending like you have a choice in this. You do. But if you don’t do something, the pregnancy is going to destroy you. You know that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not ready. I can’t lie to someone like that. Even if it’s a contract. Even if he… even if he’s just fulfilling my grandmother’s wish. It’s… wrong.”

“Wrong? Sonia,” Bailey said sharply, leaning closer. “He doesn’t know. And he doesn’t need to. This is survival. You don’t have to love him. You just… live, and you protect your child. That’s it.”

I bit my lip, thinking of that afternoon. Margaret’s eyes had shone in a way that I couldn’t ignore, like she had seen something good in me, something pure. She had smiled as she watched me struggle with the inhaler, gently adjusting my hair as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Even in her nagging, her persistence, there had been a sweetness. A tenderness.

“I can’t just use him like that,” I said. “Even if… even if Grandma is so sweet. She’s… she’s lovely, Bailey. I couldn’t do this to him.”

Bailey groaned. “Sweet doesn’t fix the world, Sonia. You think she will be here forever? You think you can do this alone? Stop being so noble. It’s not a game. You don’t have forever.”

I pressed my palms to my eyes. “I just… I can barely look at him without feeling… weird. And now I’m carrying this baby, and I can’t… I don’t know how to hide it forever"

Bailey’s hand landed on my shoulder. “You’re going to have to lie. Just a little. One year. One year of pretending. He doesn’t need to know. He’s just a contract, Sonia. That’s all.”

“I can’t,” I whispered again. “I can’t lie. I won’t.”

“Stop being so cool, Sonia,” Bailey snapped, exasperated. “Unless you want to go through this pregnancy alone. You’re not invincible, and neither is the baby. You think you can just… survive without some kind of plan? Think of the child. Think of yourself. Just find a way to make him yours and push the pregnancy on him unless you want your bady dying of poor nutrition ”

I swallowed hard, guilt twisting in my stomach. She was right. Every instinct screaming at me said no, stay away, don’t get involved, but the rational part, the part I hated admitting, whispered that Bailey was right. That one year of this arrangement could be the difference between surviving and… falling apart.

“One year,” I muttered, trying to convince myself. “It’s just one year. And then… then I’m done. I just… I have to make him see me, make him… take responsibility for the baby. That’s it.”

Bailey’s frown softened. “Exactly. That’s the plan. One year, Sonia. You’re smart. You’re clever. You can do this. You just need to survive. Keep the pregnancy hidden. Keep your dignity intact. That’s all you need.”

I nodded slowly, my fingers pressing into my lap. “Fine. One year. But I… I don’t know if I can make him notice me. I don’t know if he’ll ever look my way.”

Bailey smirked. “That’s your first challenge. Make him notice. Make him pay attention. You can do it. And if he doesn’t… well, you’ve got a plan for that too.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “I hate you for saying that.”

“I know,” she said with a grin. “But you’ll thank me later.”

I leaned back, finally allowing myself a brief sigh. And now, this one year contract, this forced marriage, it felt like I was stepping into a life I wasn’t ready for. But maybe, just maybe, I could survive it. Maybe I could make it work for the baby.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, feeling the faint movement of the baby. “Okay,” I whispered. “One year. Let’s see if I can make him notice me.”

I hated how small the wedding felt, and yet, somehow, it seemed impossibly large in my mind. Margaret smiled at me often warmly, approving but I could never forget why I was here. Not for love. Not for happiness. I was here for survival, and to make sure this unwanted life growing inside me didn’t spiral into chaos.

Clinton didn’t smile. Not once. Not even when Margaret fussed over him. He stood straight, calm, composed, yet distant, like a stranger attending someone else’s wedding. Every glance I gave him was met with neutrality. Nothing. I tried to catch the smallest flicker of recognition, some hint that this arrangement mattered to him, that I was not invisible. But there was nothing. Nothing but that quiet, unreadable distance.

The first week after the wedding was the hardest.

I tried everything. Cooking meals he might like. Leaving subtle notes in his briefcase. Sitting close in the living room when Margaret wasn’t around, hoping he’d glance at me. Laughing quietly at his rare, polite attempts at conversation. I even tried the softest touches, brushing past him, letting my hand linger on his shoulder. Nothing worked. He didn’t notice. He didn’t care.

I spent nights thinking about what to do, obsessively. Every morning, I applied makeup like armor, hiding the faint swell of my stomach, disguising the dark circles beneath my eyes from endless anxiety and sleepless nights. I couldn’t risk him seeing weakness. Not yet.

Bailey had been right: I couldn’t survive alone. But she hadn’t prepared me for how heavy it felt, carrying someone else’s child and trying to make a man see me as anything more than a stranger.

Days blurred into each other. A month passed. A full month of pretending, hiding, scheming, failing. And then one night, I reached my breaking point.

I fell asleep on the couch in the living room, exhausted from planning, thinking, waiting. The dim lamp cast soft shadows across the room, highlighting the subtle curves of my face and the secret I carried within me. I woke at some point to the faint creak of the bedroom door opening.

Clinton’s silhouette was there, tall and composed, the quiet tension in his posture unmistakable. “Sonia,” he said softly, almost hesitant. “Come with me.”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Now,” he said again, firm this time, leaving no room for argument.

Something in his voice made my heart race. Not fear, anticipation. Curiosity. Something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in weeks. I gathered my shawl and followed him silently.

He stopped at the bedroom door. “Sit,” he said.

I shook my head. “No. You should also sit. I’m not sitting here while you stand there.”

He blinked. A hint of surprise flickered across his face. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said, stepping closer. “I’ve been trying for weeks. Waiting. You don’t care. I know that's part of the contract , at least, just a small compliment from you isn't bad.”

For a moment, he studied me in silence. Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped inside the room.

I moved closer, hand brushing his arm. “I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered, heart hammering. “

He looked down at me, a shadow of emotion flickering in his eyes. His hands trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly but it betrayed the calm, controlled facade.

Then, he reached for me. Slowly. Tentatively. His fingers traced the edge of my jaw. My breath hitched.

Something passed between us in that small room. Recognition. Loneliness. Desperation. The months of silence, of distance, of invisible days poured into that touch. I pressed closer, closing the gap, dragging him with me.

This is the moment I've been waiting for. 

When our lips met, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw. Hungry. Tentative at first, then demanding, desperate. I clung to him as if I might disappear if I let go.

He held me tightly, his hands roaming my back, sliding over the curve of my waist. Every touch, every motion was measured, careful, yet full of unspoken longing.

“I’ve been waiting,” he murmured against my lips, voice rough, almost breaking.

“So have I,” I whispered, pressing my hands to his chest. “Waiting for you to notice me.”

There was no hesitation anymore. I pulled him fully onto the bed, our bodies tangling, hearts racing, breaths mixing. The night stretched long and heavy, dark and soft. Every movement became a promise, unspoken, forbidden, intoxicating.

And for the first time since this madness began, I felt seen.

3 Weeks later, Clinton was eating with Granny in the dining room when I walked in with a smile.

"Hey, I've been looking for you. How was it? " Clinton smiled standing up to help me sit.

I dropped the initial test results that I got from the doctor that claimed my 3 weeks pregnancy. Since the night has been 3 weeks, my plan finally fell into place.

I look at them both with a smile. "I'm pregnant. “