Signed To Love You

Tangled Hearts And Lingering Ghost

The days that followed the gala were quieter, but not in the peaceful sense. They were the kind of quiet that screamed. Olivia walked through the penthouse with a constant tension pulling at her chest, like something always waiting to snap.

Elijah was rarely around, often leaving before she woke and returning late. When he did come back, they exchanged polite words, cold acknowledgments, and practiced civility that felt like a glass wall neither dared to break.

But one morning changed everything.

It was raining. The kind of thunderstorm that rattled windows and darkened skies even at noon. Olivia stood by the living room window, cradling a cup of coffee, her eyes following the trails of water racing down the glass. The storm outside mirrored the one swirling within her.

She heard the front door open and shut. Heavy footsteps followed.

"You're home early," she said without turning.

"Meeting was canceled. Power outage downtown."

Elijah stood beside her, hands in his pockets. He was in a grey tailored suit, looking as sharp as always. She could smell his cologne—cedar, leather, and something darker. It made her breath hitch.

"You used to love storms," he said.

"I used to love a lot of things," she replied, sipping her coffee.

Silence stretched again. But this time, it was different. Thicker.

"Why did you really agree to the contract?" he asked finally.

She turned to face him. "Isn’t it obvious? I needed the money. My father's hospital bills don’t pay themselves."

His eyes darkened. "You could have asked."

"Oh, and let you swoop in like some savior? No thanks."

"But you signed the contract."

"Because at least this way, I had control over the terms."

Elijah stepped closer. "You still think I don’t care, don’t you?"

She laughed bitterly. "You vanished, Elijah. For three years. Without a word. Without a goodbye. What else should I think?"

He reached for her hand, but she stepped back. "Don’t. Don’t touch me unless you mean it."

That afternoon, Olivia walked into the private gallery room she hadn’t entered since their marriage. The room had once been her sanctuary, filled with her unfinished sketches, brushes, and half-spilled paint. She sat down in front of a blank canvas and let her hands take over. Her fingers moved almost mechanically, shaping the shadows of Elijah’s face—haunted and unresolved.

She painted until the light changed in the room, until her stomach growled and her back ached. It was the first time in weeks she felt like herself again.

Later that evening, Olivia received an invitation. A charity fashion event hosted by one of Elijah's business partners. It wasn’t part of the contract, but her name was listed as Elijah Knight’s wife.

She dressed in a deep emerald gown, one that brought out the golden flecks in her eyes. As she walked down the hallway, Elijah stepped out of his room and froze.

"You’re going?"

"Your company sent the invitation. Would be rude not to show."

He studied her like she was a stranger he couldn’t place. "You look stunning."

"Save the compliments. I’ve heard better from people who didn’t break my heart."

At the event, Olivia ran into an old friend.

Noah Steele.

Tall. Athletic. A dimpled smile that once made her knees weak. They had shared a college romance that fizzled out after graduation, but the warmth had never quite died.

"Olivia James," he said, grinning. "Or is it Knight now?"

"Still getting used to it," she replied.

He offered her a drink and they spent an hour catching up. Laughter flowed easily, and for the first time in days, she felt... human.

From across the room, Elijah watched. His jaw was tight, and his eyes followed every move Noah made. When Olivia touched Noah’s arm during a laugh, something primal stirred in him.

Later, in the car, Elijah exploded.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"You flirting with Steele like that! In public."

"Oh? So I’m allowed to marry a ghost, but not smile at a friend?"

"He’s not just a friend."

"And you’re not just a husband, are you? You’re a businessman who bought a wife."

He slammed the car door shut when they arrived home. Olivia stormed to her room, but he followed.

"This marriage may be a contract," he said, voice low, "but there are still boundaries."

"Then maybe you should write them down. You seem to like contracts more than people."

Elijah stood inches from her. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t see how you look at me like I’m a stranger?"

"You are a stranger! The man I loved would never disappear and return with a contract."

"That man died when you begged me to choose between love and legacy."

"And you chose wrong."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She refused to cry. Not in front of him.

That night, she sat on the balcony, barefoot, wrapped in a blanket. The poetry book rested in her lap, but she wasn’t reading.

She was remembering.

The first time Elijah kissed her—beneath the campus library steps. The way he called her "Liv," only him. The night they danced in the rain, drunk on cheap wine and promises.

They were real once.

And now?

Now, she didn’t know what was real anymore.

Inside, Elijah watched her from the shadows. And he didn’t know how to tell her that every moment he spent away from her had been punishment.

The next morning brought tension, unspoken words still hovering between them. But a crisis struck that neither expected.

Elijah's mother, Veronica Knight, was hospitalized. A heart complication. Olivia insisted on going with him.

In the hospital, Veronica grabbed Olivia's hand and whispered, "I never approved of you. But maybe... you are what he needs. Just... don't give up."

That moment shattered something in Olivia. Veronica had always been cold, stern, the icy matriarch. Yet here she was, vulnerable.

And Elijah? He wept quietly outside the ICU. Olivia stood beside him, gently placing her hand over his. He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t say anything. But the look in his eyes? It wasn’t anger or indifference.

It was guilt. Regret. Longing.

And maybe—just maybe—a sliver of hope.