LOVE ON CONTRACT

Chapter 3: The Penthouse

The penthouse was silent.

Too silent.

I stood in the middle of Thunder Beaumont's living room with one small bag and a heart that wouldn't stop racing.

Floor to ceiling windows.

The whole Makati skyline was spread out in front of me. Lights everywhere. Like stars that fell to the ground.

Marble floors so shiny I could see my reflection.

A kitchen bigger than our whole house in the province.

Stainless steel everything. An island that could fit 8 people.

And not a single sign that anyone actually lived here.

No photos. No clutter. No warmth.

Just expensive. Cold. Perfect.

"Your room is down the hall. First door on the left."

His voice came from behind me.

Cold. Distant. Like he was talking to a stranger.

I turned.

Thunder was still in his suit.

Jacket off now. Sleeves rolled up. Tie loosened.

He looked tired.

And dangerous.

Like a man who had just finished a war and was waiting for the next one.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Palaban ako, pero pagod na ko.

Pagod sa byahe. Pagod sa kaba. Pagod sa pagpipigil ng iyak.

He nodded once. Sharp.

"Dinner is at 8. We have a charity gala tomorrow. Be ready by 6. The stylist will come."

"Wait," I said before he could walk away.

The word came out too fast. Too desperate.

He stopped. Didn't turn around. "What?"

My throat was dry. "Do we... eat together every night?"

For a second, something flickered in his eyes when he looked back at me.

Surprise? Annoyance?

I couldn't tell.

"Rule #3," he said. "Appear as a happy couple. That includes dinner."

He walked to the bar in the corner. Poured himself whiskey.

The sound of ice clinking was loud in the quiet room.

He didn't offer me any.

"Your bag," he said, nodding to my duffle on the floor.

"The staff will take it to your room."

Staff? I didn't see anyone else here.

"Okay," I whispered.

He drank half the glass in one go. Then set it down.

"Make yourself at home," he said.

The words didn't match his tone.

"Don't touch anything you don't need to."

Then he left. Down a different hallway.

The sound of his footsteps faded.

I was alone.

The next hour, I unpacked in my room.

White walls. King bed with white sheets that probably cost 20k.

A bathroom bigger than our kitchen in the province.

Marble counters. A bathtub I could swim in.

Walk-in closet already half filled with clothes.

Dresses with tags still on. Shoes in boxes.

All in my size.

It felt like a prison with expensive wallpaper.

I sat on the bed. It was too soft.

I pulled out my phone.

3 messages from the hospital.

PAPA'S VITALS STABLE. SURGERY CONFIRMED FOR FRIDAY.

PAYMENT RECEIVED.

THANK YOU MS. CROWNWILLE.

I exhaled. At least one thing was going right.

7:55PM.

I stood in front of the mirror.

Jeans and a plain shirt. That was all I owned that wasn't from ukay.

I looked out of place here.

8PM sharp, I walked to the dining room.

He was already there.

Sitting at the head of a table that could fit 12 people.

Just us.

Candles lit. White plates. Crystal glasses.

Food covered in silver domes.

The food was served by staff I didn't see arrive.

Two women in black. They placed the food, poured water, then disappeared.

Like ghosts.

Silence.

Just the sound of forks on plates.

The city lights outside were the only thing moving.

I lasted 5 minutes.

"This is awkward," I finally said.

My voice sounded too loud.

His eyes snapped to mine. Dark. "What?"

I put my fork down. My appetite was gone.

"We're married. On paper. But we don't even know each other's favorite food."

I gestured to the table. "Is this how it's going to be for one year?

Eating in silence? Pretending?"

Thunder set his glass down. Slowly.

The ice clinked.

"You wanted the contract, Sophia," he said.

Each word was deliberate. "Don't complain about the terms."

My chest tightened.

Heat rose to my face.

"I didn't want this," I said. My voice shook.

"I needed it. There's a difference."

The word hung between us. Needed.

He stared at me for a long time.

His jaw was clenched.

Like he was holding back from saying something.

Then he stood up. His chair scraped against the marble.

"Eat," he said. "Tomorrow we have to look perfect.

The press will be there. My mother will be there."

He left the room.

Left me alone with a 5-course meal and a contract that felt heavier by the minute.

I didn't eat.

10 minutes later, I stood up too.

I was about to go to my room when I noticed something.

His plate.

Untouched.

The steak was still whole. The wine glass still full.

And on the table, beside his chair, was a black folder.

Closed.

But the label facing up made my blood freeze:

"SOPHIA CROWNWILLE - BACKGROUND CHECK."

My name.

In bold.

I didn't open it.

I didn't have to.

He was watching me.

Even when he pretended not to.

Even when he acted like I was just a business deal.

I went back to my room and locked the door.

The bed was too big. The room was too quiet.

I pulled the blanket over my head and stared at the ceiling.

One year.

365 dinners like this.

365 nights in this glass cage.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

A text: SLEEP EARLY. CAR AT 5:30AM. -T

T. Thunder.

I turned my phone face down.

Outside the window, Makati was awake.

Bright. Loud. Alive.

Inside here, it was dead silent.

And I was the only one who felt it.

Tomorrow, I had to be his perfect wife.

Tonight, I was just Sophia.

Alone. In a penthouse that cost more than my life.

I closed my eyes.

One year.

I can survive one year.