LOVE ON CONTRACT

Chapter 7: The Morning After

I woke up late. Sunlight was pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

My phone showed 9:47AM. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered. The penthouse. The contract. The 850,000.

My stomach dropped.

I sat up and grabbed my phone with shaking hands. Hospital message: PAYMENT RECEIVED. TREATMENT CONTINUES.

The breath I’d been holding for 3 days finally came out. Papa was okay. For now.

But now I owed Thunder almost a million pesos.

I got up and took the longest shower of my life. Not because I needed it. Because I didn’t know how to face him.

The red dress from the gala was gone. In its place was a simple white dress the stylist left. It looked expensive. Everything here did.

When I stepped into the kitchen, he was already there. Thunder.

He was in a black suit. Tie perfect. Coffee in one hand. Reading something on a tablet with the other.

He looked like nothing happened last night. Like he didn’t just save my father’s life.

“Good morning,” he said without looking up.

My throat was dry. “Morning.”

Silence.

I hovered by the island. “About last night—”

“Don’t,” he cut me off. Finally looked at me. His eyes were unreadable. “It was in the contract. An advance.”

Right. Business. This was all business.

“Still. Thank you,” I said quietly.

He nodded once. Took a sip of coffee. “You have two options, *Sophia Crownwille*.”

I stiffened. Here it comes. The catch.

“Option one: We treat it like a loan. You pay me back with interest. Monthly deductions from your salary.”

My chest tightened.

“Option two,” he continued. “We add two more years to the contract.”

“No interest. No deductions. But you stay for three years total instead of one.”

Three years. The word echoed in my head. One year was already hard enough. Three years with this cold man?

“What do you recommend?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

He set his coffee down. Walked around the island. Stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“I recommend,” he said softly, “that you stop thinking you owe me anything.”

“The money is nothing to me. Your father’s health isn’t.”

My heart did something stupid. It flipped.

“Then why offer the options?” I whispered.

“Because I’m still a businessman,” he replied. A small, almost sad smile. “And because I want you to choose.”

Choose. No one had ever given me a choice before. Not my stepmom. Not the debt collectors. Not even the hospital.

I looked up at him. Really looked. The CEO mask was on, but his eyes were tired. Like he hadn’t slept either.

“Option two,” I said before I could chicken out. “I’ll stay for three years.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Relief? It was gone too fast to tell.

“Good,” he said. He turned back to his tablet. “Legal will draft the amendment today.”

That was it? No celebration. No gloating.

“Aren’t you going to say anything else?” I blurted.

He paused. “Like what?”

“Like... why? Why help me?”

Thunder was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed. “Because you remind me of someone,” he said finally. “Someone who also didn’t give up. Even when everything was falling apart.”

He didn’t elaborate. And I didn’t ask. Rule #4 was cancelled, but some wounds were still too fresh.

My phone buzzed. A photo from the nurse. Papa. Sleeping. With an IV in his arm. But smiling in his sleep.

A tear fell. I wiped it fast.

“Come here,” Thunder said suddenly.

I looked up. He was holding out his hand.

I stared at it. “Why?”

“Because you look like you’re about to fall apart,” he said simply. “And I don’t want you to. Not today.”

It was the dumbest thing. But I took his hand.

His hand was warm. Big. And steady. He didn’t pull me in. Didn’t hug me. Just held my hand for one minute. And somehow, that was enough.

When he let go, he cleared his throat. Back to business. “We have a board meeting at 2PM. You’re coming as my wife.”

“Again?” I groaned.

“Yes. Again.” There was that ghost of a smile. “Wear the blue dress this time. The one from the closet.”

He walked out.

And I stood there, staring at my hand. The one he just held.

Three years. God help me.