Terms and Conditions
708 Words
The DNA test came back positive.
Elena received the results in a slim envelope, hand-delivered by a private courier to her penthouse. The science was definitive, clinical, cold—Matteo Ricci was the father of her unborn child. No ambiguity. No questions.
She stared at the result, then folded the paper and slipped it into a drawer next to her grandmother’s rosary and a bottle of French perfume she never wore. One was for faith. The other for appearances. This latest addition? A permanent reminder that even the most curated life could veer wildly off course.
Within hours, Matteo requested a meeting.
No assistants. No lawyers. Just the two of them.
She found that curious—and suspicious.
They met in one of Matteo’s private offices in Milan’s financial district, a fortress of glass and steel perched high above the city. Everything about the space screamed precision: monochrome art, minimalist furniture, not a single object out of place.
A mirror, in many ways, of the man who owned it.
Elena stepped inside, once again dressed in sleek black—her armor. Her heels tapped across the floor like gunshots.
Matteo was waiting at the far end, backlit by floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the skyline like a painting. He didn’t rise as she approached.
“Punctual,” he said.
“I don’t like wasting time.”
“Neither do I.”
She sat, spine straight, eyes level. “So?”
Matteo slid a folder across the table. Thick, cream-colored paper. Custom letterhead. Binding legal language.
“A contract,” he said simply.
Elena didn’t touch it. “Of course.”
“You’re carrying my child, Elena. Whether we intended this or not, there are consequences.”
“Don’t lecture me on consequences,” she said sharply. “I’ve lived with mine every day of my life.”
Something flickered across his face—a brief crack in the marble. Curiosity? Annoyance? Whatever it was, it vanished quickly.
“This isn’t personal,” he said. “It’s practical.”
“That’s a hell of a motto for parenthood.”
He sighed, leaning forward slightly. “You care about reputation. Discretion. Legacy. So do I. A quiet arrangement, made legal and clean, protects us both.”
“And what exactly are you proposing?”
“A contract marriage,” he said. “Strictly formal. No affection. No entanglements. We co-parent. Discreetly. Efficiently.”
She let out a short laugh. “You want to marry me to avoid a scandal?”
“I want to make sure my child—and its mother—are protected.”
Elena stood, her pulse thudding in her ears. “You don’t want protection. You want control.”
He rose too, slower. “You’re mistaken if you think I don’t care what happens to you. I do. But I won’t allow chaos in my life—or my child’s. This is the solution.”
She stared at him, torn between fury and disbelief. Part of her wanted to slap the contract off the table. Another part—quiet, tired, too aware of the ticking clock in her belly—listened.
“You’re not offering a solution, Matteo,” she said, voice quiet but sharp. “You’re offering a cage.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s a strong cage. With keys we both hold.”
There was a long pause.
Then, against all her instincts, Elena reached for the folder and opened it. Pages rustled like leaves in a storm.
“I’ll have my lawyer review it,” she said. “But if you think I’m going to be your obedient little secret bride, think again.”
Matteo’s lips twitched—half a smile, half a challenge.
“I’d never expect obedience from you, Elena.”
She turned to leave, not trusting the heat that rose in her chest.
“And Matteo,” she added at the door, without looking back, “don’t mistake paperwork for power. I might sign your contract—but I’ll never belong to you.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Matteo stared after her, expression unreadable.
For the first time in years, he was playing a game where he couldn’t predict the next move.
And he’d never wanted to win more.
- Writer
