LOVE ON CONTRACT

Chapter 5: After The Gala

The ride home was silent.

Thunder drove.

Both hands on the steering wheel.

Jaw clenched. Eyes fixed on the road.

The city lights blurred past the tinted windows.

I stared out the window.

My heels were killing me.

Blisters on both feet.

My face hurt from fake smiling for 5 hours straight.

My cheeks felt like they were going to crack.

The red dress was too tight.

The diamonds in my ears felt like bricks.

I wanted to rip everything off.

"She's nobody," he said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

His voice was low. Rough.

Like he hadn't used it in hours.

I didn't look at him.

Kept my eyes on the passing buildings.

"Who?"

"Mia," he said. "From Wharton."

Another pause. "She's nobody."

I finally turned to him.

He was still staring at the road.

The streetlights flashed across his face.

Tired. Annoyed. Something else.

"I didn't ask," I said quietly.

"But you were thinking it."

I laughed. A bitter sound.

"Am I supposed to be jealous?

We're married on paper, remember?

Rule #5. No feelings."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Knuckles went white.

"Don't throw my rules back at me."

"Why not?" I snapped.

"They're yours. You wrote them."

Silence again.

The car turned into the Beaumont Tower garage.

Underground. Cold. Echoing.

The engine cut off.

The moment the doors closed behind us, the tension hit.

Thick. Heavy. Like the air before a storm.

He walked ahead.

I followed, still in the red dress.

Each step hurt.

The diamonds felt heavy against my skin.

We took the private elevator up.

50 floors.

No one spoke.

Ding.

The penthouse was dark.

Only the city lights came through the windows.

In the kitchen, he poured two glasses of water.

No whiskey tonight.

He pushed one glass to me across the marble island.

"About what Amelia said—" he started.

"Mia," I corrected.

"About what Mia said," he tried again.

"I should explain—"

"Save it," I cut him off.

I drank the water in one go.

Cold. It burned my throat.

"I don't care about your ex."

I set the glass down too hard.

The sound cracked in the quiet.

Thunder watched me.

His tie was gone.

Top two buttons of his shirt undone.

Sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He looked less like a CEO and more like a man.

A tired, frustrated man.

"You handled it well tonight," he said quietly.

His eyes dropped to my feet.

Bare. Red marks on my ankles.

"Most people would have cried."

"I'm not most people," I said.

"I know," he said.

Then, softer: "That's the problem."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

He didn't answer.

He walked to the window.

Hands in his pockets.

Back to me.

Outside, Makati was still awake.

Cars. Lights. Life.

Inside here, it was just us.

And the contract between us.

"Why did you do it?" I asked.

The question came out before I could stop it.

He didn't turn. "Do what?"

"Say that. On stage."

I mimicked his voice, low and smooth:

"My wife, Sophia. For reminding me what this is all for."

He turned then. Slow.

"Because I had to," he said. "The board was watching.

The press was watching. My mother was watching."

"So it was all an act."

"Yes."

The word hit me harder than it should have.

I nodded. "Right. Of course."

I started to walk to my room.

Heels in my hand now.

"Sophia," he called.

I stopped. Didn't turn.

"You were good tonight," he said.

"Better than good. You looked like you belonged."

I closed my eyes.

"Thank you."

My phone buzzed in my clutch.

I pulled it out.

A message from the hospital.

HOSPITAL BILLING: REMINDER.

BALANCE: 5,000,000 PHP.

DUE DATE: 3 DAYS.

SURGERY SCHEDULED: FRIDAY 8AM.

The words blurred.

Panic hit me so fast I couldn't breathe.

My chest tightened.

5 million.

I was only on day 3 of this deal.

3 days out of 365.

What if he changed his mind?

What if I broke a rule?

What if the money never came?

"Sophia?" Thunder's voice.

I looked up.

He was watching me.

His expression changed when he saw my face.

"What's wrong?" He took a step closer.

"Nothing," I lied.

I forced a smile. "I'm tired. Going to bed."

I turned to leave.

But he caught my wrist.

Gently.

His hand was warm.

Calloused from work, not from sports like I expected.

"Sophia."

My name on his lips did something to me.

My breath caught.

"Talk to me," he said.

His thumb brushed over my pulse.

He could probably feel how fast my heart was beating.

And for a second, I wanted to.

God, I wanted to.

I wanted to tell him about Papa.

About the debt collectors calling every night.

About how scared I was that Friday would come and the money wouldn't.

I opened my mouth.

Rule #4 flashed in my head:

You don't ask about my past.

I don't ask about yours.

I pulled my hand away.

The loss of his touch was immediate. Cold.

"Goodnight, Mr. Beaumont," I said.

My voice was steady. Proud.

I walked to my room.

Didn't look back.

But I could feel him watching me go.

Inside my room, I locked the door.

Leaned against it.

Slid down to the floor.

The red dress pooled around me.

I pulled my knees to my chest.

My phone buzzed again.

Another message. Unknown number.

DEBT COLLECTOR: PAYMENT OVERDUE.

WE KNOW WHERE YOUR FATHER IS.

PAY OR ELSE.

The blood drained from my face.

I deleted the message.

Hands shaking.

Friday. 3 days.

I changed out of the dress.

Hung it carefully.

It wasn't mine anyway.

In my pajamas, I sat on the bed.

Stared at the ceiling.

One year.

It sounded so long 3 days ago.

Now it sounded too short.

A soft knock on the door.

I didn't answer.

"Sophia?" His voice. Muffled through the door.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I called back.

Silence.

Then: "You don't sound fine."

"I said I'm fine, Thunder."

More silence.

I heard him sigh.

Heavy. Tired.

"Goodnight," he said finally.

Soft. Almost a whisper.

Footsteps. Walking away.

I waited until I couldn't hear them anymore.

Then I whispered to the empty room:

"Goodnight."

I lay down.

The bed was too big.

The room was too quiet.

I closed my eyes.

Tried to sleep.

But all I could see was his hand on my wrist.

Warm.

And the way he said my name.

Sophia.

Like it meant something.

Outside my door, I heard it.

So quiet I almost missed it.

"This was supposed to be simple."

His voice.

Tired. Frustrated.

Simple.

Right.

Nothing about this was simple.

Not the contract.

Not the 5 million.

Not the way my heart jumped when he touched me.

Not the way he looked at me on stage like I was real.

I pulled the blanket over my head.

Day 3 down.

362 to go.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

For Papa.

Even if my heart was starting to forget that this was just business.

Even if Rule #5 was already breaking.

One year.

Please let it be enough.