CHAPTER 5 - LIVE-IN RULES

CHAPTER 5...

SHARON'S POV

I blinked hard, trying to process his questions.

"I don't have a choice but to keep it. The doctor advised me to," I said, my voice dropping to a low murmur as the specialist's words flashed vividly in my mind: “Your egg count is nearly depleted. By the time you are ready to try again in a year or two, your ovaries will have stopped releasing eggs completely. If you abort this pregnancy, you will face complete infertility.”

I still couldn't believe I was experiencing early menopause. Life truly couldn't get any worse, I thought, exhaling a deep, heavy breath.

Looking up from my plate, I caught him staring at me with an unreadable expression. Was that pity? What was the meaning behind that look? I stared right back, trying to read him.

Russell picked up his fork, poked at his food, and took a mouthful of fried eggs. I kept watching, waiting for him to say something, but he chose silence instead.

This dude is weird. He’s like a light switch—on and off, I thought, turning back to my own plate.

We ate in silence, but my mind was a crowded mess of speculation. Why did he even ask if he wasn't going to say anything in return? Did he view me as a slut, too, or did he just not care? I nodded slightly to myself. That had to be it. He didn't care, and honestly, that would probably work best for both of us.

But just as I comforted myself with that thought, a sudden wave of intense nausea hit me. My eyes widened in disbelief. I am not about to throw up this delicious breakfast, am I?

Before I could even answer my own mental question, I bolted into the kitchen and retched into the sink.

Russell walked over, stopping just behind me. He began patting my back, though his words lacked any real warmth. "You just messed up my kitchen. I’ll be forced to get the whole sink replaced. Next time, do this in your bedroom," he instructed bluntly.

I rinsed my mouth with tap water, spun around, and glared at him. "You think I wanted this? I didn't plan on throwing up here. I’m a neat freak too, okay?" I snapped, brushing past him.

He followed me closely. "What is it?" I asked, irritated, stopping in my tracks.

He pointed toward the living room. "We’re not done with our conversation. Let's finish it in there." He walked ahead, sat on the sofa, and gestured to the adjacent one, silently ordering me to join him.

I rolled my eyes but walked over anyway, sitting down gently and crossing my arms over my chest.

"Why did you lie about not being pregnant?" he asked, his expression entirely blank. "You clearly said you weren't. If it wasn't for the media, I wouldn't have found out until you started showing. So, what do you plan on doing next?"

I cleared my throat and looked away, having absolutely no intention of replying.

"You have a really annoying attitude, and you're quite stubborn," he added, his tone shifting into something strictly professional, his eyes locked onto mine. "You lie, you shut down, you're frustrating—that’s the only conclusion I can draw so far. When you're asked a question, you speak. I don't care about your private life, but I need to know these basic things if we're going to live peacefully for the next three months. I won't have the media finding things out before I do."

I clipped my lips together, glaring at him. We haven't even spent twenty-four hours together and he already thinks I'm annoying. What a jerk.

"Don't give me that look. Speak," he nudged, his frustration breaking through.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked defiantly.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely stressed or just venting his annoyance, and frankly, I didn't care.

"What are your plans?" he repeated. "Do you intend on informing the child's father, or are you keeping him out of it?"

I stayed silent for a long moment. The father wouldn't care anyway, I thought, my shoulders slumping with exhaustion. It was supposed to be a one-time mistake at a club. I shouldn't disrupt a stranger's life because of my own carelessness. I was supposed to take the morning-after pill, but I missed the window. It was my fault. I was too drunk and too stupid.

"I plan on keeping it from him. He probably doesn't even remember me. What's the point?" I muttered, my voice barely a whisper.

Judging by the shift in Russell's expression, he heard me perfectly.

"Well, that's a good choice. I’d hate for another man to show up out of nowhere, leak our private business to the public, and cause unnecessary drama. A deal that's supposed to end in a few months shouldn't come with that kind of baggage." He paused, standing up. "While we're on the topic... wait here."

He went upstairs to his bedroom and returned a few minutes later holding a notebook and a pen.

"Setting ground rules for our cohabitation is necessary. Write down your do's and don'ts so we don't step on each other's toes," he said, handing them over.

I stared at the blank sheet for a moment, exhaled, and began to write:

Don't enter my room without knocking.

No loud music. I dislike noisy environments.

Communicate major decisions (financial matters, living arrangements, travel plans).

Defend each other in public. No public arguments; we present a united front.

Wear wedding rings when necessary.

Check in with each other daily, even if it's just a short conversation.

Don't interfere in each other's careers.

Don't reveal the true nature of this marriage.

I handed the notebook back to him. He scanned the list, a faint smile touching his lips. Then, pressing the pen to the paper, he quickly jotted down his own terms. After a minute, he handed it back.

I read through his additions, my eyes drifting up to meet his as I finished:

We remain married for three months.

We will attend all public events together.

No romantic relationships with third parties.

No entering each other's bedrooms without explicit permission.

No lying to each other.

No discussing divorce until the contract expires.

Family secrets stay within the marriage.

We protect each other's reputation at all times.

We do not fall in love.

Who does he think he is? I thought, giving a firm nod. There is absolutely no way I'm falling in love again. I’ve had my fill with Gary's version of 'love.' Love is officially a taboo word in my dictionary.

"Is there anything there you're against?" Russell asked calmly.

"None. Though how bold of you to explicitly state 'no falling in love,'" I countered, unable to hold back a sarcastic edge. "I don't intend to, so rest assured."

Russell chuckled and stood up, extending his hand. "Deal."

I stood up to meet him, shaking his hand firmly. "Deal."

We stared at each other for a beat before reaching for the pen to sign the bottom of the page. Once the ink was dry, a sense of grim reality settled over me. If nothing else, I needed to stay married until before the baby bump started to show. It was better to let people assume Russell was the father than to have the media guessing who I'd slept with. My reputation came first.

"Is there anything in particular that triggers your nausea?" Russell asked, breaking my train of thought. "We can add it to the list so you don't end up ruining my kitchen again."

I looked at him suspiciously. Was he asking because he actually cared, or was he just worried about his property value?

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to find a text from my father.

Dad: Bring your husband over for dinner tomorrow. I want to have a word with him since you decided to bring a stranger home under the guise of marrying Gary! 6 PM sharp. Don't miss it for anything, and I mean it!

I finished reading and looked up at Russell, who was still waiting for my response.

"I know I was the one who suggested keeping family out of this," I began cautiously, "but I'm afraid my dad will do something crazy if we don't go see him. Russell, will you please come with me to see him tomorrow?"

He nodded without a moment's hesitation. "I was actually going to comment on the family rule, but since you brought it up, we'll visit my family after we see yours tomorrow. So, tell me—is there anything I need to know about them?" He asked, taking a seat.

I sat down across from him. "Not much. It's just a family of three: my dad, my stepmom, and my stepbrother. My brother is quite young, so he's fine, but his mother is the real problem. She is the literal reincarnation of Lady Tremaine from Cinderella."

Hearing that, Russell burst out laughing.

"I'm being completely serious!" I insisted, my brow furrowing, which only seemed to crack him up more. "She's an absolute viper, trust me."

We ended up talking about our families for so long that we eventually migrated to the same sofa. Russell kept laughing at almost every joke I threw his way. I didn't even realize I could be this funny, or maybe he just had a strange sense of humor. I couldn't remember Gary ever laughing this much when we talked.

Why am I comparing them? I snapped at myself mentally, watching Russell use a handkerchief to wipe away a tear from laughing so hard. Russell is just getting to know me, whereas Gary has practically known me his whole life. It's only fair Gary didn't laugh at everything I said. Why am I even thinking about him?

"What do you want for lunch?" Russell asked out of the blue, interrupting my downward spiral. "You threw up everything you ate earlier. Are you craving anything?"

I shot him another suspicious look. Was this him being genuinely caring, or just a housemate with a baseline conscience?

"I wouldn't have said anything if it were just you," he added, standing up from the sofa to head to the kitchen. "But you're pregnant. Your child needs food."

LATER AT NIGHT...

Russell prepared both lunch and dinner, and to my surprise, both meals were absolutely delicious. I had to admit, the stranger was an incredible cook.

Eventually, fatigue caught up with me, and I dozed off right there in the living room.

Deep in my sleep, a dream took hold. The memories of that chaotic night at the club began to replay. In the dream, I was staggering my way toward the restroom to throw up when I bumped into someone. I lifted my head to look at his face. It was Gary. I shut my eyes tight and opened them again to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, but as I did, the face shifted from Gary to Russell.

I jolted awake, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I sat up swiftly, my eyes darting anxiously around the dimly lit room. Just a few feet away, I saw Russell. He was wearing a jacket that looked identical to the one the man at the club had worn that night.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to force the paranoia out of my mind. What am I thinking? He's not the only person in the city who owns a jacket like that. I'm just seeing things. Still, my heartbeat raced with uncertainty.

I grabbed my phone from the side table and dialed Billy's number. She picked up on the first ring.

"Billy, I need a huge favor," I pleaded into the receiver. "Can you help me get the CCTV footage from the club on the night we went? At the exact time we were there."

As a lawyer, Billy had the connections to pull off something like this without a mountain of legal hurdles.

"That was like a month ago, Sharon... but I'll try," she promised.

"Thank you so much."

The line went dead.

Hours later, a notification popped up on my screen. It was a message from Billy.

I hurriedly tapped it open to find a video file. She had managed to secure footage of the club's main lobby. I knew it couldn't have been easy for her.

I watched the video with bated breath. A moment later, a man wearing that exact distinctive jacket walked into the frame. I pinched the screen, zooming in on his face.

The phone slipped from my hands, clattering onto the floor as a cold shock washed over me.

It was Gary.