Chapter 10: The Negotiation(part 2)

My heartbeat refused to cooperate.

It hammered against my ribs.

A frantic, erratic rhythm.

I followed the broad line of Alexander’s shoulders down a quiet hallway.

The corridor was lined with framed military photographs. Medals locked away in pristine glass cases. And quiet landscape paintings that seemed to be trying—and failing—to soften the severe, disciplined aura of the floor.

The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable.

It was... thick.

Heavy.

Like every footstep echoed a little too loudly.

Like the air itself was holding its breath.

We stopped outside a massive, dark wooden door.

Alexander pushed it open with effortless ease.

He stepped aside, his tall frame taking up entirely too much space.

"After you." I hesitated for half a second.

My lungs tight.

Then, I forced myself to walk in.

The office was spacious but surprisingly stark.

No flashy decorations.

No unnecessary, intimidating luxury meant to make guests feel small. A large bookshelf consumed one entire wall. Packed tightly with military strategy texts, thick historical biographies. And... a few worn-out fiction novels that looked distinctly well-read. Near the floor-to-ceiling windows sat a small round table with four chairs.

There was no enormous, domineering executive desk meant to separate the General from his subordinates. For some reason... That surprised me.

It felt surprisingly human.

A middle-aged lawyer stood immediately as we entered.

"Good afternoon, General." He gave a crisp, respectful nod.

"Miss Zane."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed a polite smile.

"Good afternoon." The lawyer didn't waste time.

He gestured to the table, placing two identical, thick black folders down. "I've prepared the draft agreement exactly as requested."

Alexander offered a low murmur of thanks.

The lawyer looked between the two of us.

His expression entirely professional, giving nothing away. "I'll explain the legal clauses first." "Once we cover the foundation, I will leave you both to discuss any personal conditions and daily logistics privately."

That sounded fair.

Terrifying, but fair.

For the next fifteen minutes, the lawyer's voice filled the room. Carefully detailing the boundaries of my new reality.

Duration of the arrangement.

Financial responsibilities and absolute separation of assets.

Property ownership.

Strict confidentiality clauses.

Absolute privacy.

Freedom to continue my university studies and his military career without interference.

As I listened, my initial dread slowly morphed into surprise.

The agreement was... incredibly balanced.

There were no hidden traps.

No unreasonable, archaic demands.

It was as straightforward and disciplined as the man sitting across from my.

When he finished, the lawyer efficiently tapped his documents against the table.

"If either of you wishes to amend anything, or add personal stipulations, let me know before we finalize."

Alexander gave a single nod.

"Thank you. We’ll take it from here." The lawyer left quietly.

The click of the door shutting behind him sounded like a judge's gavel.

Silence. Just the two of us. Alone.

I suddenly became violently fascinated by the intricate grain of the wooden table.

Alexander opened his folder.

The crisp sound of paper tearing through the quiet. "You should read it yourself."

"I will." His voice wasn't cold. It wasn't commanding. It was simply... direct. An anchor in the middle of a storm.

I flipped open my folder and read every single page carefully. Dad always said never to sign anything without reading it thoroughly. Even if the other person was trustworthy.

Especially if they were.

Several agonizing minutes passed before I finally forced myself to look up. "I don't see anything unfair."

"It shouldn't be." He replied instantly.

Another stretch of silence. He folded his large hands neatly on the table. Leaning forward just a fraction. The shift in his posture commanded the entire room.

"If something makes you uncomfortable, Miss Zane, say it." I nodded quickly.

"I will." ...

I wouldn't. Not unless I absolutely had to.

Because every time those piercing, stormy gray eyes locked onto mine, my confidence quietly packed its bags, bought a one-way ticket, and fled the country.

Alexander watched me for a long moment. "Miss Zane." I jumped slightly, my head snapping up.

"Yes?" "You've been holding your pen in a death grip for the last four minutes."

I blinked. I looked down. Sure enough...

My knuckles were completely white. I was gripping the poor pen so hard it was a miracle the plastic hadn't snapped. My cheeks burned with instant heat. I quickly set it down, smoothing my hands over my lap.

"I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

"You appear nervous."

"I am." He didn't laugh. He didn't offer a patronizing smile.

"I know." That somehow made me even more nervous.

I felt entirely transparent.

Was my heart beating loud enough for him to hear it?

Without a word, he reached to the side and slid a porcelain cup toward me.

"I asked them to bring tea." I stared at it. I hadn't even noticed someone slipping into the room to place a tray on the side table. Not during my intense staring contest with the legal jargon.

"Thank you." I wrapped my cold hands around the warm cup.

"It's chamomile." I froze halfway to taking a sip.

"...How did you know I like chamomile?"

"I didn't."

"You guessed?"

"It calms people." I stared at the pale golden liquid. Maybe... Maybe he paid attention to details far more than he let on.

I took a sip. It was warm. Comforting.

Exactly what my frayed nerves needed.

Alexander waited with unnatural patience until I set the cup down.

"Any concerns regarding the living arrangements?" He prompted.

I swallowed hard. There were dozens. But saying them out loud to a decorated General felt ridiculous.

Still, I needed to try and act like an adult. "What about... Clause 4?" I asked, my voice slightly unsteady. "The public appearances."

His gaze didn't waver. "What about them?"

"It says we will present a united front when required." I paused. "How often will I have to pretend to be..." The word caught in my throat. I couldn't say it.

"My wife?" he supplied smoothly. My stomach did a violent flip. "Yes. That."

"Only when strictly necessary." "Formal galas, perhaps twice a year."

"You will not be paraded around for the media, if that is your fear."

The tension in my shoulders dropped a fraction. "Okay." I took a breath.

"And... what about daily routines?" "Dad said military men wake up before the sun."

"I am awake at zero-four-thirty." He stated.

My soul briefly left my body.

"Oh." Alexander’s expression remained stoic. But I swore the corners of his eyes crinkled by a millimeter. "I do not expect you to be."

"The house has thick walls, and the coffee machine is silent."

"Thank God." I breathed out before I could stop myself. "Because if I try to operate heavy machinery before seven A.M., someone usually gets hurt."

"Noted." I gathered another ounce of fake courage. Pulling the folder closer.

"And studying?" "I'm still at the university. I study late." "Sometimes I pace the halls." "Sometimes I read my notes out loud to myself."

"Pacing is permitted." "And the walls are excellent listeners."

I stared at him. Was he... joking? His face was entirely too serious for me to tell.

"What if..." I paused, biting my lower lip. "What if we disagree on something?"

"We discuss it." "And if discussing doesn't work?"

"We compromise."

"And if that doesn't work?" His calm demeanor didn't crack.

"Then we involve the lawyer."

Simple. Practical. Almost annoyingly reasonable.

I nodded slowly. "Okay." He watched me for another breathless moment.

"You have another question." I blinked. "...Do I?"

"You've been trying to ask it for the past five minutes."

"You take a breath, part your lips, and then reconsider."

Was I really that obvious? I sighed, dropping my shoulders in defeat.

"Will living together be... awkward?"

"It probably will." The blunt honesty caught me off guard. It was like a splash of cold water. But surprisingly refreshing.

"I appreciate that you didn't lie."

"I don't see the point." Neither did I.

Another quiet settled over the room.

This one wasn't as suffocating. Just... thoughtful. I turned another page. Stopping at the section detailing household duties.

"There are household expectations here."

"Yes."

"Does that include... hosting?" I managed to ask, my voice shrinking. "Like, formal military dinners?" "Because I should warn you, I'm not exactly..." I rubbed my forehead. "I'm not very good at cooking."

Alexander raised a dark eyebrow. "I thought you baked banana bread."

My eyes widened in pure horror. "How do you know that?"

"Your father mentioned it yesterday." I groaned. Sinking lower in my chair.

"He probably also told you I nearly

burned the kitchen down while doing it, right?"

"He did." I covered my face with both hands. Mortified.

"I'm never recovering from this. Ever." A tiny pause.

"I cook." I slowly lowered my hands. Peering at him through my fingers.

"You... cook?"

"Yes."

"I mean..." I dropped my hands entirely. Unable to hide my sheer disbelief. "You actually cook? Food?"

"When time allows." "For some reason, I imagined you surviving entirely on black coffee, protein bars, and pure discipline."

For the first time... The corner of his mouth lifted. Barely. A ghost of a smile, gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I also consume actual food, Miss Zane." I laughed. A genuine, startled sound that echoed in the quiet office.

"That's good to know." The room suddenly felt lighter. The suffocating weight of the situation had eased. Just enough for me to breathe. I looked back at the contract.

There was one last thing. One condition I desperately wanted to add. Should I?

No. He's a General.

Yes. You have to live with him.

No, he'll think you're ridiculous.

Yes. I inhaled slowly. Summoning the bold, independent woman I pretended to be in my bathroom mirror.

"I have..." My voice cracked instantly.

Wonderful. So much for bold.

"I have one condition." Alexander looked up immediately. His hands folding back on the table. The full weight of his attention was back on me.

"I'm listening." My palms became instantly sweaty.

"It's probably silly."

"I'll decide after I hear it." That wasn't exactly reassuring.

I sat up straighter. Trying very hard to look brave. Even though my heart was doing frantic gymnastics against my ribs.

"I don't..." Come on, Grace. Just say it.

"...I don't want you..." Why was holding his gaze so incredibly difficult?

"...to..." Alexander waited patiently. Completely unbothered by my stuttering. "...order me around."

Silence. Deafening, heavy silence. I immediately wanted the floorboards to part and swallow me whole.

What kind of condition was that? He was a high-ranking military officer. Giving orders was the air he breathed. I panicked. The words tumbling out in a rushed, desperate babble.

"I mean—I know you're used to commanding battalions and giving orders, and I'm not one of your soldiers, and I just don't want to feel like I'm constantly being inspected for dust, or expected to salute you in the hallway, or stand at attention when you walk into the kitchen, and I just—"

Grace. Stop talking.

Right.

Now.

I clamped my mouth shut. My face burning with the heat of a thousand suns.