Terms and Conditions
1370 Words
Chapter Two,
Nina steps out slowly, her shoes barely making a sound against the marble floor. The doors close behind her with a soft click that sounds too final for something so subtle.
She stands there, alone.
For a moment, she expects Caleb to appear immediately. To say something sharp or instructive. To reclaim control of the silence.
He doesn’t.
The penthouse is vast, but not cold. Everything is deliberate. Clean lines. Neutral tones. Furniture placed with intention rather than comfort. It smells faintly like cedar and something expensive she cannot name.
This is not a home.
It’s a statement.
Nina takes a few careful steps forward, her reflection briefly catching in the glass wall to her left. The woman staring back at her looks composed. Too composed. Her posture straight, her expression unreadable, as if she belongs here.
She doesn’t.
Her phone buzzes again.
Evelyn PR: Please settle in. We’ll see you in the morning.
Nina frowns at the message.
See me for what? she wants to ask.
Instead, she types nothing.
She drifts through the space slowly, taking it in. The living room opens seamlessly into a dining area that looks untouched, a long table set but unused. Beyond that, a kitchen gleams with stainless steel and stone, pristine to the point of intimidation.
She follows a hallway lined with art she doesn’t recognize into a bedroom that stops her short.
It’s enormous.
The bed sits centered beneath a tall headboard, sheets smooth and unwrinkled, as if no one has ever slept in them. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one wall, the city stretched endlessly beyond them.
This is where she is meant to sleep, alone.
The realization settles heavily in her chest.
She sets her bag down carefully at the foot of the bed, as if the room itself might protest her presence. Her phone buzzes a third time.
This time, it’s a different number.
Caleb: We’ll talk in the morning.
No greeting. No explanation.
Just a statement.
Nina exhales slowly and sinks onto the edge of the bed. Her head spins, the events of the last twenty-four hours blurring together. The hospital. The contract. The signature. The elevator ride that changed everything without her permission.
She did not agree to this.
She agreed to a year. To appearances. To survival.
She did not agree to disappear into someone else’s life.
Sleep comes late and restless, broken by unfamiliar sounds and the constant awareness that she is somewhere she does not control.
When morning comes, it comes quietly.
No alarm. No rush.
Just light.
Nina opens her eyes to sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, the city already alive beyond the glass. For a moment, she forgets where she is.
Then memory snaps back into place.
She sits up abruptly.
The door opens without warning.
A lady steps in with practiced confidence, followed closely by two others. One carries a garment bag. The other holds a compact case that clicks open to reveal rows of brushes and neatly arranged products.
“Good morning, Nina,” the woman in front says smoothly. “I’m Evelyn.”
Nina blinks. “You didn’t knock.”
Evelyn smiles, unfazed. “You’re on a schedule.”
Nina’s stomach tightens. “I wasn’t told about any schedule.”
“No,” Evelyn agrees. “You weren’t.”
The ladies move efficiently around the room, setting things down, assessing the space like it belongs to them. Nina pushes herself off the bed, pulse quickening.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“You have a press appearance this afternoon,” Evelyn replies, already tapping on her tablet. “But before that, we need to prepare you.”
“Prepare me for what?”
“For being Mrs. Ward.”
The words feel too large to fit in the room.
“I need to call my mother,” Nina says.
“Of course,” Evelyn replies easily. “Transportation has already been arranged for later today.”
That word again.
Arranged.
Nina’s hands curl at her sides. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Evelyn finally looks up, meeting her gaze directly. “We do, For now.”
The woman with the makeup case gestures toward a chair near the window. “If you could sit, please.”
Nina hesitates, then does.
As they work, she learns the boundaries of her new reality without anyone explicitly stating them. Her hair is smoothed into something effortless. Her makeup is minimal, designed to make her look approachable rather than striking.
“Soft,” one of them murmurs. “Trustworthy.”
The dress they choose is simple and elegant, nothing that screams wealth, nothing that draws too much attention.
“Who chose this?” Nina asks quietly.
Evelyn doesn’t hesitate. “Caleb approved it.”
Of course he did.
A slim folder is placed in her hands once they’re finished.
“Talking points,” Evelyn says. “Nothing complicated.”
Nina opens it.
Short lines. Clean language. No room for interpretation.
‘You met privately.’
‘You value discretion.’
‘The marriage was intentional’. “These are statements you will be making anytime soon” Evelyn said without stuttering
“These aren’t true,” Nina says.
“They don’t need to be,” Evelyn replies calmly. “They need to be consistent.”
Nina looks up. “I want to see him.”
Evelyn pauses, just for a moment. “He’ll meet you downstairs.”
The private elevator feels smaller this time.
Security is already waiting when they step inside, nodding politely as if she has always belonged here. The doors close, sealing her in.
When they open again, the lobby is filled with light and movement.
And Caleb.
He stands near the entrance, jacket buttoned, posture relaxed. He looks up as she approaches, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that feels less like appreciation and more like confirmation.
“Good,” he says. “They didn’t overdo it.”
Nina’s jaw tightens. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”
Caleb turns slightly, angling his body so only she can hear him. “You didn’t ask.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” he agrees calmly. “It’s efficient.”
Beyond the glass doors, reporters are already gathering. Cameras raised. Voices overlapping.
“This happens today,” he continues. “We control the first impression.”
“You’re using me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty steals her breath.
The doors open.
Noise crashes over them as they step outside. Flashing lights. Shouted questions.
Caleb’s hand settles at her back, firm and guiding.
“Smile,” he murmurs.
She does.
Inside again moments later, the silence feels deafening.
Nina pulls away from him. “You don’t get to speak for me.”
Caleb turns to face her fully. “Out there, I do.”
“That’s not what I agreed to.”
“You agreed to protect my image,” he says evenly. “That requires unity.”
“I’m not your property.”
His gaze sharpens. “You’re my wife.”
The word hangs between them, heavy and final.
Evelyn clears her throat softly. “We should head upstairs. The interview is next.”
Caleb nods. “Give us a moment.”
When they are alone, he looks at Nina steadily.
“There are rules,” he says. “You’ll learn them quickly.”
“And if I don’t?” she asks.
“Then this becomes much harder.”
She meets his gaze, refusing to look away. “You don’t own me.”
“No,” he says. “But everything around you does.”
He presses the elevator button.
As the doors slide open, he adds quietly, “Rule one: you don’t surprise me in public.”
Nina steps inside, heart pounding.
“What happens if I do?” she asks.
Caleb’s eyes darken slightly.
“Then I stop protecting you.”
The doors close.
Nina stares at her reflection in the mirrored wall, her pulse racing as the elevator begins to descend.
Only then does the truth settle, slow and terrifying.
This marriage was never meant to protect her.
It was meant to make sure she needed him to survive it.
- Writer
