Hating You Was My Full Time Job

CHAPTER 9: THE FIRST RULE WE BREAK

*Rule #1: No touching.*

*Rule #2: No talking unless necessary.*

*Rule #3: Do not fall for Adrian Blackwood.*

I broke all three before 9 AM.

It started with coffee.

The penthouse kitchen was the size of a restaurant. Stainless steel everything. A machine that probably cost more than my old rent and looked like it belonged in NASA.

I didn’t know how to use it. I pressed random buttons and it just beeped at me angrily.

"Do you need help?"

I spun so fast I almost slipped. Adrian.

He was in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. No tie. No suit jacket. Hair still wet from a shower, curling at the ends. No shoes.

He looked 10 years younger. And 10 times more dangerous.

The man I signed a contract with at 8 AM yesterday was not the man standing in my kitchen at 7 AM today.

"I was just—" I gestured at the machine. My voice came out small. "Trying to make coffee."

Adrian walked past me. His arm brushed mine as he reached for the machine.

*Rule #1: Broken.*

The touch was barely anything. But my skin remembered it.

He moved like he owned the air. Pressed 3 buttons. The machine hissed and groaned and then poured perfect coffee into a black mug.

"Black. No sugar," he said, handing it to me. His fingers didn’t touch mine. On purpose. "Like your soul."

That was from Chapter 2. The last time we spoke before today. Three years ago I called him heartless in a board meeting. He remembered.

"Thanks," I mumbled, taking the mug. It was warm.

He poured himself one too. We stood in silence. The city was loud outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. 80 floors down, people were going to normal jobs.

"Hospital called," Adrian said finally. He wasn’t looking at me. Staring at the skyline instead. "Your mother is stable. Surgery was successful."

I nearly dropped the mug. Hot coffee splashed my hand but I didn’t feel it. "She is?"

"Yes." He sipped his coffee. "Don’t cry in my kitchen."

I wasn’t. I was. Tears were already falling.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you so much."

Adrian’s jaw ticked. "I told you not to."

"Not to what?"

"Thank me. Don’t make this a thing."

I nodded, wiping my face. "Right. Transaction."

"Exactly." He set his mug down. "Board breakfast at 8. Wear the dress they sent. Be ready."

He left without another word.

*8:00 AM: Board Breakfast*

The dress was cream. Simple. Elegant. $8,000 according to the tag I found and immediately cut off.

20 people in suits. All of them turned when Adrian and I walked in.

"Good morning," Adrian said, voice smooth as ice. His hand hovered at the small of my back but didn’t touch. "This is my wife, Ava Blackwood."

Gasps. Whispers. Phones came out.

"Mrs. Blackwood," one executive said, standing. "We didn’t know you were seeing anyone."

"We kept it private," Adrian answered for me. "For 6 months."

I smiled. It felt fake. "Hello everyone."

We sat. Breakfast was served by staff who didn’t look at us.

For 30 minutes Adrian talked about Q4 projections, mergers, and something about "family values increasing stock performance."

And this whole time, his knee was an inch from mine under the table. Not touching. But close.

*Rule #2: Broken.* I was talking.

"Mrs. Blackwood will be at the charity gala this Saturday," Adrian announced. "And the press tour next month."

All eyes turned to me. "Any questions?" Adrian asked the table.

A woman with red lipstick raised her hand. "Is the marriage... real?"

The room went quiet. You could hear the forks.

Adrian didn’t blink. "We’ve been dating for 6 months. We eloped in Vegas. It’s very real."

He lied so well it scared me.

After, in his office, I confronted him.

"You didn’t have to say Vegas."

"I did," Adrian said, loosening his tie. He looked tired. "If they think it’s fake, the stock drops 12%. You cost me enough money 3 years ago."

That stung. "So I’m just PR."

"Yes." He looked at me. Gray eyes. Empty. "That’s what you signed for."

I wanted to argue. I didn’t.

*3 PM: Fitting*

They brought 5 stylists to the penthouse. Dresses. Shoes. Jewelry.

"This is for the gala," the head stylist said. "Mr. Blackwood wants you in red."

Red. The color of danger. Of blood. Of stop signs.

I tried on 6 dresses before settling on one. Backless. Floor length. It made me look like someone else. Someone who belonged here.

"You look beautiful," one of the girls said.

I didn’t feel beautiful. I felt like a rental.

*7 PM: The Gala*

The Maybach was silent. Adrian was in a black tux. He looked at his phone the whole ride.

"Smile," he said as we got out. "Wave. Look happy. Answer to Mrs. Blackwood."

I did. Cameras flashed. Blinded me.

"Adrian! Who is she?" "Mrs. Blackwood! How did you meet?"

Inside, the ballroom was gold and crystal. People swarmed him. CEOs. Politicians. Actresses.

I stood in a corner with champagne I didn’t drink.

Then I saw her.

Vanessa Hale. Adrian’s ex. The one from the magazines. Blonde. Perfect teeth. $20,000 dress. She walked straight to me like she owned me.

"You must be the new wife," she said, smiling like a knife. "How... quaint."

"Hello," I said.

"I just don’t understand," Vanessa continued, leaning in. "Adrian could have anyone. Models. Heirs. Why you?"

"Maybe he likes poor girls with dying mothers," I said before I could stop myself.

Vanessa’s smile dropped. "Excuse me?"

"Did I say that out loud?" I sipped my champagne. My hands were shaking. "My bad."

Someone laughed behind me. Adrian.

He appeared at my side instantly. Hand on my lower back. Warm through the thin fabric.

*Rule #1: Broken again.*

"Is there a problem, Vanessa?" he asked, voice cold enough to freeze.

"Just catching up," she said quickly. "Congratulations, Adrian."

"Thank you." He pulled me away. His hand didn’t leave my back until we were across the room.

In the car after, he was silent for 10 minutes.

"That was unnecessary," he said finally.

"She started it."

"You don’t engage. You smile and nod."

I turned to him. "You told me to act like your wife. Wives defend their husbands."

Adrian looked at me. Really looked. "You’re good at this."

"I’m good at surviving."

We got back to the penthouse at 1 AM.

I went to my wing. But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about his hand on my back. Warm. Steady. Possessive.

At 2 AM I heard a crash. Glass breaking.

I ran. Bare feet. No robe.

Adrian was in the kitchen. Glass on the floor. He was holding his head, sitting on the floor.

"Adrian?"

"Headache," he muttered. "Go away."

"No." I grabbed a towel from the drawer. "Sit."

He did. I knelt in front of him on the marble and pressed the towel to his temple. He’d cut it on the glass. Blood.

"You’re bleeding."

"Don’t," he said, but didn’t move away.

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t be kind to me."

I ignored him. Cleaned the cut. Found a first aid kit. Put a bandage on it. My hands were shaking the whole time.

When I finished, Adrian caught my wrist. His grip was firm but not painful.

*Rule #1: Shattered.*

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. Voice low. Rough.

"Because you saved my mom," I said honestly. "Because despite everything, you’re not a monster."

Adrian stared at me. His gray eyes were darker in the dim light.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said.

"I know."

"Go to bed, Ava."

"I’m scared to."

"Of me?"

"Of this." I gestured between us. "Of breaking rule 3."

Adrian let go of my wrist. Stood up. "Then don’t."

He walked to his wing and closed the door. The sound echoed.

I stood in the kitchen for a long time.

The first rule we broke tonight wasn’t touching.

It was pretending we didn’t feel anything.

And I had a feeling that was the most dangerous rule of all.

*3:15 AM*

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

_Check the news._

I did.

*BREAKING: BILLIONAIRE ADRIAN BLACKWOOD SECRETLY MARRIES FORMER RIVAL’S DAUGHTER*

*Photo of me and Adrian at the gala. His hand on my back. My head tilted toward him.*

The caption: _Is this love or revenge? Sources say Ava Carter is the daughter of Marcus Carter, whose company BlackCorp acquired in 2023._

Comments:

`She’s getting back at him`

`He’s using her`

`This is a movie plot`

I looked at Adrian’s closed door.

We had 11 months and 20 days left.

And we already broke the first rule.

How many more would we break before the year was over?

I went to bed but didn’t sleep. I just stared at the ceiling and wondered what happens when a contract marriage starts feeling real.

END OF CHAPTER 9