Rented Husband

Chapter One

Sylvia’s POV

"What do you think Ivan is going to get you for your birthday?"

Bella's voice drifted across the tiny apartment as she leaned against the kitchen counter, twirling a spoon inside the mug of coffee she'd insisted on making for herself. The rich aroma filled the room, but it did nothing to settle the strange unease that had been living inside my chest ever since we boarded our ticket to return back to New York.

I looked up from the stack of files spread across the dining table and smiled faintly.

"My birthday is in three days Bell."

"I know." She shrugged dramatically.

"That's why I'm asking now. Gives me enough time to compare his gift with mine."

A laugh escaped me.

"You assume he's getting me something."

"Of course he's getting you something." Bella frowned as if I'd insulted her intelligence.

"If he doesn't give me anything this birthday, I'll be okay." I closed the folder in front of me and rested my chin on my palm.

"What?"

"I said I'll be okay."

"No." She pointed the spoon at me accusingly. "No, no, no. That's not how this conversation goes." Bella dropped the spoon into the mug with a loud clink before marching toward me.

"I'm serious."

"Sylvia, you haven't seen Ivan in five fucking years. Do you know what that means?! You've practically survived on memories, video calls, and those ridiculously formal emails."

"I know."

She folded her arms.

"So how are you suddenly okay with him showing up empty-handed on your birthday?"

"For five years, Ivan has taken care of my education."

Bella's expression softened.

"He paid every tuition bill. He made sure my rent was never late. My textbooks arrived before each semester started. My laptop died in second year."

"I remember."

"I had another one less than forty-eight hours later."

She smiled faintly.

"You cried."

"I did."

"You called me sobbing because you thought someone had made a mistake."

I laughed under my breath.

"I really did."

Bella's eyes stayed on me.

"Ivan paid for everything," I continued. "School. Living expenses. Health insurance. My flights home during the holidays. Everything that came with earning my degree."

The apartment became quiet.

Bella looked down at the table.

There wasn't much she could say because it was true.

Without Ivan...

I wouldn't have become the woman I am today.

People who didn't know our story loved making assumptions. Some believed he pitied me. Others assumed I was some distant relative he felt obligated to help.

When my appendix decided to betray me during finals, he paid the hospital before I even woke up from surgery.

When my internship required expensive certification exams, the payment receipt appeared in my inbox before I could ask anyone for help.

When I graduated, he sent me flowers, handwritten notes and a watch engraved with three simple words.

You and I.

No grand speeches.No dramatic declarations. Just Ivan. Always quietly making impossible things possible.

"I know." Bella finally sighed.

"So if the man decides not to buy me a birthday present after everything he's already done..." I shrugged. "...I'll survive."

She stared at me for several seconds.

"I hate when you make sense. I was prepared to argue."

"You usually are."

She rolled her eyes so dramatically that I laughed.

"You know what still amazes me? How you two stayed close without actually being together."

"We kept up with calls. Video calls. Emails. And every now and then, we'd send each other actual letters."

Bella blinked.

"Letters?"

"The old-fashioned kind."

"Ivan Sloane wrote letters?"

"Ivan Sloane has beautiful handwriting."

She stared at me as though I'd just confessed dragons existed.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"He owns half of Manhattan."

"Not half."

"You know what I mean."

I laughed.

"He'd mail them to my office. Sometimes I'd send replies to his office too."

Bella shook her head slowly.

"Who does that anymore?"

"We did."

She looked oddly fascinated.

"You still have them?"

"Every single one."

"In a box?"

"In three boxes."

Bella groaned dramatically.

"You're impossible."

"They mattered."

"I can tell."

I looked toward the window.

The skyline stretched endlessly beyond the glass, familiar and foreign all at once. Five years. Five years of distance. Five years of growing into different versions of ourselves. Five years of conversations squeezed between time zones and impossible schedules. Five years without standing in the same room.

People kept asking whether I was nervous.Oddly, I wasn't. At least, not about seeing Ivan.That part felt strangely inevitable. Like breathing. Like finally turning the last page of a book you'd been reading for years.

What unsettled me wasn't him.It was everything else, the city, my return back home.

"You've been awfully quiet since we got here. You miss London already? You don't think you’d like the apartments. You hate New York traffic?"

"I always have."

"What’s wrong?" She narrowed her eyes.

I didn't answer immediately.

How could I explain something that didn't even make sense to me? Nothing had happened. No disaster. No argument. No bad news.

Yet my chest had felt heavy from the moment I started packing my bags. As though New York itself remembered something I didn't. As though invisible threads had already begun tightening around my life.

Bella waited patiently.

"I can't shake this feeling."

"What feeling?"

I swallowed.

"That coming back to New York is going to ruin me."

Bella's smile disappeared.

"What?"

I forced a weak laugh, hoping it would make the words sound ridiculous.

"I don't know why. I can't explain it."

"Sylvia...You're overthinking." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

"Maybe."

“ Don’t invent problems before they exist."

I wished it were that simple. Because the feeling wasn't fear. It wasn't anxiety. It felt personal.

Like my life had quietly wandered toward the edge of a cliff while I wasn't paying attention.

I looked down at our joined hands before whispering the thought that had haunted me since the plane landed.

"I think he's having an affair with her, Bells."