LOVE ON CONTRACT

One signature. One year. Five million pesos. I stared at the contract on the glass table, my hands shaking. The air conditioning in Beaumont Corp's 50th floor office was freezing, but sweat was still dripping down my back. Across from me sat him. Thunder Beaumont. At 28, he was the youngest CEO in Makati. Cold eyes, sharp jaw, and a suit that probably cost more than my father's hospital bills. He didn't look at me. He was scrolling through his phone like I was just another employee asking for a raise. The office was too quiet. Just the sound of the AC, and the faint traffic from 50 floors below. Through the glass walls, I could see the whole city. Makati looked small from up here. Like all the problems down there didn’t matter. Mine did. "Miss Crownwille," his voice was low and emotionless. It cut through the silence. "Do you understand the terms?" I swallowed. My throat was dry. I’ve practiced this in front of the mirror last night. Be strong. Don’t cry. Don’t beg. I straightened my back. I'm Sophia Crownwille. 24. Graphic designer. And I am not desperate. Even if I am. "One year of marriage," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected. "I act as your wife in public. I attend your events. I follow your rules. And in exchange, you pay my father's 5 million peso surgery." I met his eyes. Dark. Empty. Like he’d seen a hundred girls like me before. "No love. No feelings. No touching." The words tasted bitter. Love was a luxury I couldn’t afford anymore. Not when Papa was dying in a hospital bed. Finally, he looked up from his phone. His dark eyes scanned me from head to toe. Slow. Assessing. Like I was a product he was considering buying. He closed his phone. Set it down. The click echoed. "You forgot one rule," he said. He slid a black pen across the glass table. It stopped right in front of me. "No falling for me." My chest tightened. Palaban ako. Hindi ako paiiyak. I’ve been the one holding our family together since Mama left. I’ve worked two jobs. I’ve slept 4 hours a night. I can do this. I reached for the pen. My fingers were cold. For Papa. The hospital room flashed in my mind. Fluorescent lights. The smell of disinfectant. Papa, pale on the bed, tubes everywhere, machines beeping. He was 52 but he looked 70. The doctor's words from yesterday replayed: "Ms. Crownwille, your father needs a heart bypass. Immediately. The cost is 5 million pesos. Without it, we can't proceed." 5 million. I had 12,340 pesos in my bank account. I don’t have a choice. The pen felt heavy in my hand. Thunder was watching me. No expression. Like he was waiting to see if I’d break. I signed. Sophia Crownwille. The moment the ink touched paper, my life stopped being mine. It now belonged to Thunder Beaumont. He stood up. Tall. Intimidating. His shadow fell over me. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Beaumont." His voice had no warmth. It was a statement. Not a greeting. I stood too. My legs were shaking but I locked my knees. "When do we start?" I asked. "Tonight. Gala at Shangri-La. 7PM. Be ready." He walked to the door, then paused. "And Sophia?" "Yes?" "Don’t be late. And don’t embarrass me." Then he left. The door closed with a soft click. I was alone in the biggest office I’ve ever been in. The contract was still on the table. My signature on page 7. I looked down at my hand. It was still shaking. Capable ako. Matalino ako. I repeated it in my head like a prayer. And I will survive this contract. Even if it kills me. Because Papa needed to live. I picked up my bag and walked out. The elevator ride down was the longest 50 floors of my life. Outside, Makati was hot and noisy. So different from the cold office above. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. A text: ADDRESS AND DRESS SIZE SENT TO YOUR EMAIL. STYLIST WILL CONTACT YOU. -T T. Thunder. I laughed. A humorless sound. So this was my life now. A contract wife. A fake marriage. And a man who just told me not to fall for him. He has no idea what he just signed up for.