The Terms of The Heart

The next morning, Elena awoke to the scent of fresh coffee and the low hum of music echoing through the penthouse. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding — not because of fear, but because of the dissonance. Her home, once silent and orderly like a showroom, now buzzed with life.

She quickly slipped into a robe and padded barefoot down the marble hallway. In the kitchen, Jack stood in nothing but jeans, barefoot, his tattoos on full display, his hair still wet from the shower. He was dancing— dancing while flipping pancakes.

Elena perked up a brow. “You are in my kitchen.” She said flatly.

He turned without missing a beat. “Good morning, wife.”

She ignored the twitch in her stomach at the word. “I didn't authorize breakfast.”

He plated the pancakes with the flourish. “It's not for you. It's for me. But I made extra just in case you woke up less terrifying.”

She gave him a look that could freeze a boiling water, but he only grinned.

“Do you always invade people's homes like you're claiming territory?”

“Only when I legally marry them.”

Elena folded her arms. “We need rules.”

Jack took a bite of his pancake and nodded. “I was wondering when that hammer would drop.”

Soon, they say across from each other in the study, a formal contract on the table between them. Elena, pen in hand. Jack, lounging like he owned the place.

“Rule one” she said. “We're married for six months. At the end, we file for a clean, and quiet divorce.”

“Agreed.”

“Rule two. Public displays of affection will be performed only when necessary. Galas, press events, board meetings. But nothing in private.”

“Cold,” he muttered under his breath. “But expected. Go on.” He urged her.

“Rule three. No sleeping in the same bed. You'll take the guest room.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That's such a shame.”

She paused. Her face betrayed nothing.

“Rule four. No questions about the past. Not yours, not mine.”

This time, Jack's smirk faded. “Fair.”

She slid the contract towards him. “Sign.”

He took the pen and hovered for a second. “One more amendment.”

She frowned. “What?”

“No lying. If we're going to fake love, the least we can do is be honest in private. No masks when we are alone.”

She stared at him.

“That's not part of the deal.”

“It is now.”

She considered it. Then nodded.

Jack signed.

For Elena, living with Jack was like sharing space with a storm. He left half drunk coffee mugs on bookshelves, played music too loud in the shower, and let his boots dry on the living room floor. He cooked like it was a performance art and talked to her dog— technically her security drone with full conversations.

Elena hated it. And didn't. Then hated that she didn't.

On day four, she came home late from a board meeting to find Jack asleep on the couch, a half read book on his chest, and a movie paused on the screen. The dog sat curled at his feet like it had found its new alpha.

She watched them both for a moment.

Then she turned the TV off, gently pulled the book from his hand, and covered him with a throw blanket.

In the morning, she claimed she had no idea how it got there.

Their first event as a married couple came on day eight: the Harrow Foundation Gala.

Elena's face had been splashed across every tabloid for a week. Heiress Marries Rogue Tech CEO in Sudden Twist.

Richard Harrow was furious. Her father, worse. But silent.

Jack appeared in a well tailored tux that looked criminally good on him, his tie undone, smirk in place.

“You cleaned up.” Elena muttered, eyes scanning the flash of photographers outside the car window.

“I aim to dazzle.” He offered his hand as they stepped out.

The flashes started immediately.

Questions flew. “ Mr Roman, how does it feel to marry into the Vale Empire?”

“Elena, was this arranged?”

“Is this love or strategy?”

Elena smiled coolly. “Why can't it be both?”

Inside the ballroom, Jack was a hit. He charmed CEOs, danced with heiresses, and whispered things in Elena's ear that made her laugh — genuine, unguarded laughter. People noticed. So did Richard.

He cornered her near the champagne tower.

“You think this changes anything?” He hissed. “That man is beneath you.”

She tilted her head. “You're right. He's not pretending to be something he's not. Maybe that's why I married him instead of you.”

Richard's face darkened. “You will regret this.”

She walked away from him before he could say more. But she felt the burn of his glare long after.

Later that night, back home. Elena stood at the window, watching the city flicker.

Jack approached quietly, holding two glasses of whiskey. He handed her one.

“Careful,” he said. “You almost looked happy tonight.”

She took a sip. “Don't get used to it.”

They stood in silence for a while.

Then Jack asked, “ Did you mean what you said to him, to Harrow?”

She looked at him. “Which part?”

“That you married me because I wasn't pretending.”

There was a pause.

“Yes,” she said. “You're the only person in my world who's not trying to manipulate me.”

“That sounds like a lonely world.”

“It is.”

There was another silence.

Then Jack leaned against the glass beside her. “You ever think this whole contract thing is just you trying to prove to your father you're not a puppet?”

“She gave him a sideways glance. “You psychoanalyzing me now?

“Only a little.” He sipped his drink.

“You're not wrong.” She admitted.

“No masks,” he reminded her.

And in that moment, Elena Vale — the ice Queen of Vale Holdings, felt something thaw.

The next morning, she found him in the kitchen again, humming and stirring oatmeal.

“You cook like we are an actual couple,” she said.

Jack didn't turn. “You glare like I should be dead.”

They both smiled.

She sat across from him and picked up a spoon.

“You're not terrible.” She muttered.

“High praise.” He chuckled.

Then came a knock on the door.

A courier.

Elena opened the envelope and paled.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

She handed him the letter. It was from Conrad. A list of demands — and a warning:

Terminate the marriage within 14 days. Or I go public with what I know about Jack Roman’s past.

Jack clenched his jaw.