Falling For My Contract Husband

"Huh, Sir, why is my house sealed?" Mario asked in confusion as he arrived home to find his door locked, and marked with the word "SEIZED" by bank officials.

A group of burly men dressed entirely in black had carried out the seizure without his consent.

Mario had just returned from the gym after finishing a personal training session with one of his exclusive clients. He was bewildered to discover his home had been seized by a bank he didn’t even recall ever borrowing money from.

"This is the court order for asset seizure by the bank, Sir. Please read it. You’ve been delinquent on your loan for six months," one of the men in black said, handing him a document.

The letter stated that Mario had put up his house as collateral for a 1 billion rupiah loan two years prior. What? How could he have no idea? The lending institution wasn’t even a well-known national bank, it seemed more like a predatory lender. Mario pressed his palm to his forehead, suddenly feeling dizzy.

"Sir, all my belongings are still inside. Can I go get my things first?" Mario pleaded with the debt collector.

"I’m sorry, Sir, that’s not possible. Also, we’ll need the keys to your Pajero Sport. It was included as collateral for the loan," the collector added.

Mario felt his legs give out beneath him, and he sank to the floor of his porch.

"This is insane, Sir! I’ve been tricked by my ex-wife. I never signed any loan documents!" Mario protested weakly.

The debt collector grew impatient, showing no sympathy for his plight. "That’s not my concern, Sir. Hand over the Pajero keys now!" the bald, burly man demanded sharply.

Reluctantly, Mario handed over the keys to his Pajero Sport.

"Now I’m locking the front gate. Please leave the premises," the collector said, ushering Mario out of his own home.

Mario ran both hands over his face, his thoughts in complete disarray. He was unprepared for the string of misfortunes that had hit him that morning. Shuffling unsteadily, he stepped off the porch of his once-luxurious home, and moved toward the front gate.

With a pained gaze, he looked back at his house one last time. He was now officially homeless, suddenly without a roof over his head.

Mario sat down on the sidewalk in front of his former home, still unsure what to do next. His body felt weak; he hadn’t eaten breakfast all morning, and had only drunk bottled water at the gym.

Mario had officially divorced his wife, Rosita Mulya, two months earlier, and they’d been living apart for three months. Before becoming his spouse, Rosita had been his manager. They’d first met when Mario was launching his career as a fitness celebrity.

Mario Chandra had risen to fame after winning first place in a men’s bodybuilding competition several years ago. The victory brought a flood of offers to model fitness products, and muscle-building supplements.

At the peak of his career, he’d married his manager, the beautiful woman who’d captured his heart. Rosita handled all his needs as a model, and together they’d built up a substantial fortune as his career soared. Mario never had to worry about logistics, everything was always taken care of.

Recently, however, Rosita had grown distant, and his workload had begun to dwindle. Many of the supplement and fitness product ads he’d starred in were discontinued, and his contracts were terminated one by one.

His only steady work left was as a personal trainer at his own gym, located in a popular downtown mall. While the space was rented, all the fitness equipment belonged to him, and he had a small group of loyal private clients.

After composing himself, Mario booked a ride-hailing motorcycle to return to his gym, he needed a quiet place to think.

All he had with him was his wallet, phone, and a gym bag containing a towel, and sweat-soaked workout clothes.

When he arrived at PS Mall, he thanked the driver, and headed inside. His gym was on the fifth floor, so he took the elevator up.

But when he reached his space, his shock was overwhelming: the same debt collectors who’d seized his home were there too. A knot formed in his stomach. Had Rosita put up his gym equipment as collateral as well? He cursed under his breath.

"Sir, why are you here again?" Mario asked the collector who’d given him the house seizure notice earlier.

The bald, burly man replied flatly, "We’re here to seize the assets in this location. Did you think you’d still be able to run a gym?"

Mario’s eyes widened, his worst fear had come true. "Do you have a seizure order for this too? I want to see it," he said.

The man handed him another document, then roughly told the few clients using the equipment to leave.

"Sir, please don’t be rough with my customers," Mario said quickly.

His clients hastily gathered their belongings, and left, looking annoyed.

"Enough, save your words. We’re closing this place down, and we’ll be moving all the equipment out," the collector snapped.

Feeling devastated and confused, Mario stepped out as the collectors began hauling his fitness gear away.

Now he had nothing left, every asset he’d built up over his career was gone in a single day. Was this all just a nightmare? he wondered to himself.

He found a bench in the mall corridor, and sat down to clear his head. He needed to contact his ex-wife immediately.

What Rosita had done was completely out of line.

Without delay, he pulled out his phone, and called her number. After several rings, she answered.

"Hello, Rosita. It’s Mario. Where are you right now? I need to meet you," he said urgently.

"Hello ... oh, Mario. I’m at Aldo’s office right now. Sure, come over, I’ll wait for you," Rosita replied casually.

Mario’s mind spun further. The "Aldo" she mentioned was Rinaldo Situmorang, the lawyer who’d handled their divorce. Why was she there? Their divorce had been finalized two months ago.