All Chapters of LOVE WAS NOT IN THE CONTRACT: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

I lie awake for a long time that night.Not because of Vanessa. Not because of whisper campaigns orcold shoulders or charity luncheons. Because of something ZaraBennett said to herself in the back of a car on the way home.It has to be me.I said it like it was simple. Like deciding to say somethingtrue to Adrian Knight is just a thing you do on a Tuesday.It isn’t. I know that. But I also know that lying in the darkpretending I don’t feel what I feel is getting harder everysingle day and at some point the effort of not saying it isgoing to cost more than just saying it.I fall asleep somewhere around 2 AM with no decision made andwake up at 7 to six news alerts on my phone.The headlines are worse than I expected.Not dramatic, front page worse. Quiet, specific worse. The kindthat tells you someone with real power made a real move. KnightCorporation doesn’t just cut ties with Hale Industries. Itwithdraws from two joint ventures and pulls out of a pendingmerger. The officia

I know.Two words. That’s all he sent. And I spent the rest of Sundayturning them over like something I found and wasn’t sure howto hold. More than I know how to say in a text message. I know.Like we’d already had the conversation without having it.Like we were just waiting for the right moment to say itout loud.Victor’s schedule arrives Monday morning and gives us one.One event. This Friday. The Hargrove Foundation Gala, blacktie, full press presence. And at the bottom, in Victor’sprecise handwriting: This one matters. Look the part.Look the part. As if that’s still what we’re doing.I wear the burgundy dress. The one I bought with my own moneyback in chapter seven of this whole situation, when I was stillpretending this was just business. It fits differently now.Or maybe I’m just standing differently. I can’t tell anymore.Adrian is waiting at the bottom of my building steps when Icome out. Not the car. Not a driver. Him, in a black tux,hands in his pockets, looking u

I wake up Saturday still smiling.Which is new. I’m not a morning smiler. I’m a morning coffeedrinker who tolerates existence until the caffeine kicks in.But here I am, 8 AM, face in my pillow, smiling like someonewho talked on the phone until 2 AM and doesn’t regret asingle minute of it.I’m on my second coffee when my door buzzes.Mia.She’s holding two pastries and wearing the expression shegets when she has information and has been physicallyrestraining herself from sharing it for at least twelvehours. Eyes bright. Slightly too casual. Dangerous.“I was in the neighbourhood,” she says.“You live forty minutes away.”“I was in a different neighbourhood.” She holds up thepastries. “Can I come in or not.”I step aside.She’s through the door and on my couch and unwrapping herpastry before I’ve closed it properly. I sit across fromher. She looks at me. Really looks. The way Mia looks whenshe’s reading a room, except the room is me.“You’re doing it again,” she says.“Doing

Eleanor’s estate on a Sunday smells like roasting meat andexpensive candles and something that might be satisfaction.That last one might just be Eleanor herself.She meets us at the door in a cream cashmere wrap, lookingapproximately as frail as a freight train, and pulls me intoa hug that lasts three full seconds longer than last time.Like she’s measuring something. Like she’s pleased withwhatever result she gets.“You came,” she says. Like there was any possibility wewouldn’t.“You said not optional,” Adrian says.“I say that every time.” She waves a hand. “This time Imeant it more.” She takes my arm and steers me inside,leaving Adrian to follow, which he does with the expressionof a man who has attended enough of these dinners to knowresistance is entirely pointless.The dining room is warm and candlelit and set for six.Two cousins from the wedding weekend are already seated,along with an uncle whose name I immediately forget andEleanor’s oldest friend Margaret, who s

Dinner is at eight.Small restaurant. Quiet corner. No cameras, no Victor,no schedule. Just us, exactly like we said.I change three times before settling on the green dress,which is either a sign that I care too much or a signthat tonight matters, and both of those things aretrue so I stop overthinking and leave.Adrian is already there when I arrive.Of course he is. Adrian Knight has never been late foranything in his life. He’s probably been early sincebirth.He stands when he sees me. That’s new. Or maybe itisn’t new, maybe he’s always done it and I’ve onlyjust started noticing everything.“You look beautiful,” he says.Not nice. Not good. Beautiful.I sit down before my face does something I’ll regret.-----Dinner is everything it should be.We talk the way we talked on the phone that night at2 AM, easy and honest and without the carefulprofessional buffer we spent three months pretendingwas necessary. He tells me about his first year atKnight Corporation, twenty-si