Chapter 3: The Contract

When I opened my eyes the next morning, for a brief moment, I forgot everything.

I forgot I wasn’t in my hotel room.

Forgot the wedding that would never happen.

Forgot the betrayal, the bar, and the man who offered me a deal in the middle of the night like it was nothing more than a business transaction.

The room was massive. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Curtains drawn just enough to let in the soft light of morning. Everything smelled clean—expensive, even the air. I was lying on a bed that didn’t feel like mine, wrapped in sheets that probably cost more than my entire bridal gown.

Reality hit seconds later.

I sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to my chest, though I was still wearing the dress from last night.

I wasn’t alone.

There was no one in the room, but something about the silence made it feel like he was still watching.

Ethan Navarro.

That name didn’t feel real yesterday. Now it sat on my tongue like a weight I couldn’t spit out.

He had brought me here. Told me to rest. No pressure. No answers needed.

But he knew what he was doing.

Leaving me in a room like this—with nothing but my thoughts and the memory of Miguel’s betrayal—was a calculated move. He wanted me to think. To feel. To spiral just enough to say yes.

And I hated that it was working.

I stood up, ignoring the dizziness in my head from last night’s drinks. My bare feet touched the cold floor, grounding me. I walked toward the window and pulled the curtain open.

The skyline of the city stretched before me, golden and blinding. From this high up, everything looked small. Quiet. Almost peaceful.

I wished I could stay in that illusion.

But peace wasn’t why I was here.

The door opened behind me, and I turned sharply.

Ethan entered, wearing a gray suit and a black shirt, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. But there was no sign of exhaustion on his face—only sharp focus and something unreadable in his eyes.

“Morning,” he said casually, like we’d done this a hundred times before.

I didn’t answer right away.

“You always bring home women you meet at bars?” I asked.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “Only the ones who look like they have nothing left to lose.”

My throat tightened.

He walked over to the small round table by the window and placed a manila envelope on it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The contract.”

So it was real.

All of it.

He gestured toward the chair. “Sit. Eat first.”

Only then did I notice the tray beside the table—coffee, toast, eggs, and fruit. Everything I normally had in the mornings.

“How do you know what I like?” I asked, suspicious.

He raised a brow. “I already told you. I do my research.”

I should’ve been alarmed.

Instead, I sat.

Because part of me was curious.

He slid the envelope toward me, and I opened it slowly.

It wasn’t long. Just three pages. But every word screamed finality.

One year of marriage.

No romantic obligations.

Public appearances required.

Privacy maintained.

A full financial package upon completion.

A nondisclosure clause.

“Why me?” I asked again, my voice low.

This time, he answered differently.

“Because I need a wife,” he said simply. “Not for love. Not even for companionship. Just for the image.”

“Why?”

“Because people talk,” he said. “Board members. Investors. Enemies. They want a man who’s stable. Settled. Someone they can trust.”

“And they don’t trust you?”

“They shouldn’t,” he said, without blinking. “But a wife makes things cleaner. More controlled.”

I stared at him. “And what about me? What do I get?”

“Freedom,” he said. “Your reputation rebuilt. Access to my resources. A clean slate. And enough money to never depend on anyone again.”

It sounded too good to be true.

But I wasn’t naïve anymore. I knew there was always a price.

“And what do you really expect from me, Ethan?” I asked. “Obedience? Silence? Loyalty?”

He looked at me carefully. “I expect you to survive.”

The words hung in the air.

Not love me. Not trust me. Just… survive.

That alone should’ve terrified me.

But instead, it made me want to know what kind of world he was pulling me into.

“I have questions,” I said.

“Ask.”

“Do you sleep around?”

He didn’t look offended. “Not anymore.”

“Do you expect me to?”

“No,” he said. “But I don’t care if you do.”

That stung, for some reason.

“And what if someone finds out this marriage is fake?”

“They won’t,” he said confidently. “And if they do, they won’t live long enough to say anything.”

I paused. “That was a joke… right?”

He didn’t answer.

I stared down at the contract again.

This was madness. I was supposed to be married to someone else today. I should be on my honeymoon, not sitting across from a stranger who wanted to buy me like I was a solution to his corporate problems.

But that dream was already dead.

All that remained was the burning in my chest, the echo of Camille’s moans, and the cold, heavy silence Miguel left behind.

So I picked up the pen beside the contract.

Ethan didn’t move.

He watched me as I hovered over the signature line.

Then I looked up, meeting his gaze.

“This doesn’t make us equals,” I said quietly.

“No,” he replied. “But it makes us dangerous together.”

And with that, I signed my name.