CHAPTER THREE — The Terms We Set

"A contract marriage," my father repeated slowly in his hospital bed, the right side of his mouth still lagging a beat behind the left. "To a man you've met twice."

"It covers everything, Dad. The treatment. The house."

"And what does it cover for you? Besides money."

The question caught me off guard. "I don't know yet."

"Ivy." He took my hand. "I'd rather lose this house than watch you disappear into something that hollows you out."

"I'm not disappearing. I'm negotiating." I squeezed back. "I'm doing this with my eyes open, or not at all."

Something softened in his face. "Your mother used to say the same thing, right before she did something that terrified me completely." Almost a smile. "What terms are you asking for?"

"Separate bedrooms. My own money — a stipend I control, not an allowance. No expectations beyond appearances. An exit clause that doesn't depend on his approval."

"Smart girl. Make him sign every word of it."

Griffith delivered the contract two days later — thirty-one pages, more thorough than I expected. A stipend, deposited monthly into an account in my name alone. My father's medical coverage written in as non-negotiable regardless of what happened between us. An exit clause I could invoke unilaterally, sixty days' notice, no penalty.

I called Damien's direct line after reading it three times.

"You added things," I said.

"I anticipated some of what you'd ask for."

"Nothing in here says how we're supposed to act in public. Whether people believe we're actually—" I stopped, unsure how to finish.

"In love?" Something dry in his voice. "The board needs to believe the marriage satisfies the trust's spirit. Convincing appearances. Nothing behind closed doors you don't want."

"That would help."

"Then it's done." A pause. "Anything else?"

"Why does the company matter so much? You could walk away and still have more money than most people see in ten lifetimes."

The line went quiet. "My grandfather built this out of nothing. My father ran it into the ground before I was old enough to stop him. I took it back from bankruptcy at twenty-four. If I hand it to Vaughn, everything gets sold for parts inside a year. It's the only thing I've ever managed to protect."

It was the most honest thing he'd said yet. "Okay," I said. "I'll sign it."

"Ivy." My name in his voice, careful. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen me negotiate the thermostat."

He laughed — short, surprised, like it escaped before he'd decided to allow it. It was such an unguarded sound that I found myself smiling at my empty kitchen wall, ridiculous and a little unsettled by how much I'd wanted to hear it.

"I'll have Griffith finalise everything by the end of the week," he said, composure sliding back into place. "There's a press statement to coordinate, and I'll need you to meet my grandmother before anything becomes public. She'll want to form her own opinion of you, regardless of what the contract says."

"Should I be nervous about that too?"

"Eleanor built half this family's fortune out of sheer will before anyone thought a woman could run a boardroom. She'll see through anything performed. Don't perform."

"I wasn't planning to."

"I know," he said. "That's why I think she'll like you."

I hung up in my empty apartment, thirty-one pages of my new life on the kitchen table, and felt, for the first time in months, like solid ground instead of falling. I signed my name at the bottom of the final page that night, alone, my father's hospital room quiet three miles away, my mother's photograph propped against the salt shaker like a witness.

I had no idea how much of that ground was about to move.