The Agreement

You forget who you’re talking to."

She goes silent. Not a breath. For a moment, I think the call has dropped.

She speaks again, lower this time. “I just want to talk.”

Her voice shifts. Softer now—uncertain, but steady.

“You couldn’t have said that yesterday? Or the day before? Maybe even the day you threw me out of your room? Today isn’t just any other day, Roland. My mother thinks you’ve been kidnapped. Your parents said you told them you’d come alone. They're frantic, and you're... what? Brooding?"

Another silence—this one longer. Heavy.

“If you're waiting for an apology, don't hold your breath. I won’t marry a stranger who can't even pretend to care. And if I could rewind time, I’d make the same choice—again and again." Her tone sharpens. "I said I want to talk. I chose today because... today is when I wanted to. So stop pretending you're the reasonable one here and just get over here."

She snaps, but I don't feel anger—not even irritation.

I feel… amused. Almost impressed.

I smile.

“Where are you?”

---

Of course. Somewhere unexpected . Somewhere nobody would think she'd be . Somewhere bold.

I move through the empty hallways of my house, each step echoing. The maids scatter out of sight—they always do. Fear is useful. Predictable. It keeps the world obedient.

My room is just how I left it: curtains drawn, air thick with the morning’s silence.

But I’m no longer alone.

Through the glass doors of my mini office, she’s there. Diana.

Barefoot in white socks on my dark carpet. Gray baggy jeans, white hoodie, hair in that wild bun she never bothers to fix.

She’s watching me.

Her heartbeat is loud enough to feel, even across the room. But her eyes give nothing away—not fear, not hesitation. Just… presence.

I walk toward her, slow, deliberate. Open the glass door. Close it. Lock it.

She turns her eyes briefly to the door. Then back to me.

I take the last few steps. Close enough to feel her breath. Towering over her, but she doesn't flinch.

“Hello, Diana.”

"h..hi." Her voice is breathy, but steady.

"You're very daring, I'll give you that. How did you get in here?" My tone is flat, cold.

"Your workers wouldn't let me in, so I used the window." My eyes flick to the glass doors. The window above is still slightly ajar.

"It's a pretty high window."

"Not high enough to stop me." She doesn't look away. Bold. Annoyingly bold.

"You wanted to talk." I move to my chair and sit, back to her for a moment before I turn to face her.

"We need to come to an agreement."

"I thought we were in an agreement." My voice is cold. As impressed as I am, it doesn’t change the fact that she irritates me.

"Our agreement. Not the one our families made."

"What do you want, Diana?" I start scrolling through my phone, just for show—anything to get under her skin.

"I'm talking to you, Roland."

"I'm not deaf."

She sighs. "Fine. We're not getting married anytime soon. If we're going to do this, we should at least do it right. I need to know what I'm getting into. So yes, we're engaged... but it’s going to be like dating—"

"Dating?" I drop the phone. I can't believe she's serious.

"Yes. Dating." Her voice is steady, her chin up.

"For how long?"

"As long as it freaking takes to feel comfortable."

"And what if that never happens?" I stare her down. She really thinks she can play this like a game.

"Is that a threat?" She leans forward, palms on my desk.

"You seem to forget what you are in this agreement, Diana. You're payment. You don't make demands."

"I'm not making demands. I'm asking for a normal progression. I know where I stand. Don't you dare act like I'm clueless!" Her voice jumps, sharp. She’s shaking a bit, but she holds her ground.

I pause, amused. No one raises their voice at me. I should end this right now and have her father rot in jail. But I'm curious. She's different.

"Anything else?"

She breathes out, calmer now. "I was curious. What would happen to my father if I refused to marry you?"

"Well," I say casually, "he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail. Everything your family owns—what little that is—would be wiped out. You’d be left with nothing. Homeless. Broken. But hey, if that works for you, don’t marry me."

Fear flashes in her eyes. Just a flicker, but I see it.

"I was just asking."

"Of course." I smirk. "Anything else, darling?"

"When we do get married, I want a real wedding. A dress, guests, everything. Not just a signature on paper."

"You could always wear a dress to sign the papers."

"No!" She’s fierce now. "I want a real wedding."

We stare each other down for a full minute. I chuckle, leaning back.

"And what do I get from this little arrangement?"

"Peace of mind. I won’t make things hard for you."

I laugh, low and cold. "You think you can make things hard for me?"

"More than you think." She smirks now. First time I see her smile, and it’s trouble.

"Fine. But I have one condition."

"What?"

"You’ll live here from now on."

"What? Why?!" The horror on her face is priceless.

"Because I want to keep an eye on you. You're... tricky."

She thinks for a long moment. "I get my own room."

"What makes you think I have any extra rooms?" I tease, voice flat.

"Oh come on, you have like ten spare rooms in this mansion." She rolls her eyes.

"Don't do that." My voice drops, dangerous.

"Do what?" She’s clueless, or pretending.

"Don’t roll your eyes at me."

She scoffs. "Or what?"

"You need my cooperation more than you realize."

She swallows. Stands straighter. "So… is it a deal?"

My phone rings. I answer it without looking away from her.

"Yes, Dad. I found her. Yeah, she’s fine. Sure. Bye."

She stiffens. "I... is everything okay?"

“How did you even find my house?” I’m honestly curious 

“turns out we have a mutual friend” 

I pause. Nod.

"Let’s go

get your stuff." I get up, not waiting to see if she follows.

She does. Slow, but she follows.