Chapter 7: Consider me Domesticated

The door clicked shut behind them with a satisfying finality. Dahlia stepped into the penthouse and let the soft hush of the place wash over her-glass walls framing the city like a constellation, oak floors that still smelled faintly of polish, a minimalist sofa the color of storm clouds, and a kitchen island so wide it could host a board meeting. Sculptural lamps cast pools of light over an artful scatter of books and a single antique clock that had belonged to her father. Everything here was polished, expensive, and very Dahila.

Nate dropped onto the couch with the dramatic flair of someone who had five jobs. “What a day,” he exhaled, stretching one long arm across the back of the sofa. “I can’t believe you live here alone, wife. How lonely.”

Dahlia, still steadying herself after the adrenaline of the party, cleared her throat and crossed to the kitchen island. He glanced up at her, confused. “Do you need something?”

“For goodness’ sake, come here,” she ordered.

He rose and sauntered over as if obliged to a domestic command and not an imposition. “Sit down,” she said, pointing at the stool along the island as though it were a throne he’d been invited to.

Nate smirked and perched on the stool. Dahlia slid a neat stack of papers across the counter, the pen clipped on top. The title at the head of the page was simple and deliberate: Marriage Agreement -Temporary Terms.

“You can read it if you want,” she said calmly. “It doesn’t change anything.”

He looked down, one eyebrow arching as he skimmed. “What is this for?” he asked, his voice light.

“Boundaries,” she said flatly. “If I’m going to be stuck with you for a year, we will have rules.” She watched him carefully.

He skimmed, lips moving silently. A laugh threatened the surface. “No sleeping in the same room? Really.” He glanced up, mock-innocent. “And here I was thinking we were going to have our wedding night tonight.”

Her glare could have cut glass. “There will be no such thing.” she said too quickly, turned away for a heartbeat, long enough to hide the quick heat in her cheeks.

“And I’m not allowed to work-interesting.” He looked at the clause, voice teasing. “You’ll not be continuing that job of yours for the duration of this contract”

Nate’s mouth quirked. “Little jealous, I see.”

“It’s called self-respect, blockhead.” She rolled her eyes.

Dahlia met his gaze, steel under the practised softness. “ Not while we’re legally tied, at least”

“Nate’s amusement only grew. “Interesting. So my entire career—”

“You are a threat to my reputation as long as you keep doing that,” Dahlia cut in. “And I will not deal with possible public scandal if anyone connects you to me.” She watched him, deliberate and guarded; there was steel under every syllable.

He raised his eyes to hers, a grin tugging at one corner. “No touching, no close proximity…” He rattled off a few clauses. “What is this, a quarantine?”

She didn’t smile. “I’m trying to be fair. You get nothing from me when the year is over. You are not entitled to any of my possessions. You keep your hands off my accounts. You do not speak of this marriage.”

Nate let out a slow, theatrical sigh and then flicked through the pages, appreciation twinkling in his gaze. “Honestly,” he said, “there’s nothing in here in my favor.”

“Good” Dahlia said.

“Just sign the document” she urged

He picked up the pen and held it between two fingers, weighing it like a weapon. “By signing this contract, am I what-a housewife?” he asked, grinning devilishly as he made a flourish with the pen and signed.

“Done. Consider me domesticated.” he added

Dahlia checked the signatures-everywhere he needed to sign, his name sat like a proclamation. She could have sworn it made the ink look more permanent. “I would say more like ‘house-husband,’” she corrected, and for a fraction of a second something like a giggle escaped her. Then she turned and walked toward the door leading to her private wing.

“Wait-where will I sleep?” Nate called after her, following with exaggerated concern.

She pivoted, eyes cool. “Downstairs.” She pointed to the stairwell. “On the lower level.”

“You mean-way down on another floor,-” he began but she had already gone and closed her bedroom door with a soft click.

He shook his head with a mock-solemn bow and wandered toward the staircase. The lower floor was a mirror of the one above. Nate took it all in with a sad smile. “You really are planning to social-distance from me,” he muttered. “You don’t even plan to see my face for a year.”

Wrong move, wife. I plan to make you fall for me.

Dahlia pressed both palms to the drawer and slid the agreement into a folder.

The ring at her finger felt foreign; she unhooked it and set it on the nightstand, unable to meet its reflection

For a few minutes she existed in the raw quiet of the suite, alone with pictures of her parents on the bedside table, a small shrine of two smiling faces in a frame.

She picked up the photograph, fingers trembling ever so slightly. “I miss you so much,” she whispered, and folded into the portrait as if it might somehow return the shape of what she’d lost. Tears gathered and then fell, hot and real, while the city outside continued its glittering indifference.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand and she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand before answering with the crispness of the CEO she must still be.

“Hello?”

“Hello, ma’am. Sorry to disturb so late.”Penny’s voice was bright but quick. “I just wanted to-well, I saw the news-congratulations?”

Dahlia blinked. The world had indeed seen her announcement. “Thank you, Penny,” she said, twisting a small, tired smile into place. “I appreciate it.”

“May you spend many years together,” Penny added, genuinely pleased.

“Hopefully not,” Dahlia muttered before she could stop herself.

There was a beat of confusion on the other end. “Penny? Why did you call me this late? That wasn’t just to congratulate me, was it?”

Penny’s tone shifted immediately, professional and urgent. “No, ma’am. Your Aunt Beatrice has called an emergency board meeting for tomorrow afternoon—

-two o’clock. She’s claiming you’re impulsive and unfit to run the company.”

Dahlia’s jaw tightened.Of course. She had expected it- since she inherited her father's company, the corporate vultures had circled. Aunt Bea had always coveted what Dahlia now held. She believed she should have inherited the company and not Dahila's father. But Dahila wasn't about to sit back and let her get her slimy hands on what her father had worked so hard to bring up.

“What day is the meeting?” Dahlia asked firmly.

“Tomorrow at two, ma’am.”

Dahlia let out a short, humorless laugh. The calendar rearranged itself in her head-plans shifting to accommodate a new battlefield. The year that had looked like something to endure now looked like something to weaponize.

“I’ll be there” she said. The promise in her voice had the weight of a gavel. “ And Penny-arrange for legal counsel to meet me an hour before. Quietly.”

“Penny hesitated a moment, then concluded, “Of course, ma’am. I’ll handle it.”

Dahlia ended the call and looked around the room. The wedding band glinted on the counter where she’d left it-an absurd little loop of metal that had turned her life into paperwork and public scrutiny.

She slid the photograph of her parents back into its frame and set it face-up.

Tomorrow, she would walk into that meeting not as a woman who’d been allowing people walk over her, but as a leader who had been underestimated. She would show them competence. She would show them fire.

She straightened, squared her shoulders, and went to her bathroom to wash the tears from her face.

When she emerged, Nate’s voice drifted up from the door, light and sure. “You know what? You think rules are the way to keep a man like me at bay. But I plan on breaking all of them.”

Dahlia paused at the doorway, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself. “You’re charming,” she said, more to herself than him. “And dangerous.”

“Mostly irresistible,” he called up, his footsteps fading downstairs.

She didn’t answer. She picked up the ring, held it between her fingers for a breath, and slid it back onto her hand. The metal felt heavier now.

Tomorrow would be Aunt Bea’s meeting-and Dahlia would go. She would not cower. She would not sign away what was hers because a pack of vultures wanted a quick feast. She would sit at that boardroom table and she will win.