The very next day, Carlo and I moved into our new life starting with a small, modest apartment, nothing fancy, but cheap, cozy, and perfectly within the budget we had carefully set aside. It was far from the sprawling mansions and lavish penthouses he had grown up in, but to me, it felt like a palace. Here, there were no cold glares, no impossible expectations, and no one looking through me like I was invisible. It was just ours. That same evening, he sat across from me at our tiny dining table, sliding a stack of neatly printed papers toward me, his expression soft yet serious. “I want you to read every line,” he said gently, “and sign only if you agree to every word.” My fingers brushed the crisp pages, and as I scanned through the text, my breath caught. It was our marriage contract but far from the cold, legal document I had imagined. It laid out every promise we had made to each other, clear and unwavering (if, after three years, I still could not love him as a husband and
Huling Na-update : 2026-06-03
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