The contract has teeth
1385 Words
Erica
“Smile wider.”
My jaw aches.
If I stretch my mouth any further, it might crack. Adrian’s hand rests lightly at the small of my back as we walk down the corridor, cameras humming softly above us like insects that never sleep.
“Is this wide enough?” I mutter without moving my lips.
“For them,” he says quietly, “yes.”
“For me,” I whispered back, “this feels like suffocating.”
We stop in front of a set of double doors. Someone, a staff, security officers I don’t know opens them and disappears again like we’re ghosts haunting our own house.
Inside, the room is immaculate. Cold. Neutral colors chosen by people who don’t believe in mess or mercy.
Adrian releases me the second the door closes.
The silence slams down.
I turn on him. “You said we’d talk somewhere safe."
“This is as safe as it gets,” he replies.
I looked around. “You just told me the cameras are live.”
" Did forget?"
“Public areas only,” he corrects. “This room isn’t supposed to be monitored.”
“Supposed to be,” I repeated. “ did You just hear yourself?”
He exhales and runs a hand through his hair for the first time since I met him. The control slips. Just a little.
“You wanted answers,” he says. “Ask.”
I don’t hesitate. “Show me the contract.”
He stiffens.
“Now,” I added.
Adrian walks to a desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a thick folder. He doesn’t hand it to me. He places it between us like a loaded weapon.
“There are clauses you didn’t see,” he says.
“I’m shocked,” I reply flatly.
He opens it, flips to a page creased.“This one.”
I scan the lines. Legal language. Cold. Precise.
Duration: Indefinite. Subject to mutual consent of the families.
My vision blurs.
“Indefinite?” I whispered. “That’s not a term. That’s a life sentence.”
Adrian didn't deny it.
“You said long enough,” I snap, looking up. “You didn’t say forever.”
“I didn’t know how else to say it.”
My hands start shaking now. I don’t bother hiding it. “Where’s the exit clause?”
He turns the page.
There it is. Neatly typed. Comforting on the surface.
Then I read the conditions.
Compliance. Public stability. No reputational damage. No emotional interference.
I laugh, sharp and broken. “This is fake.”
“It’s conditional,” he says carefully.
“It’s impossible,” I shoot back. “They designed it so I can never meet it.
“Yes.”
The word lands heavy.
“You knew,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And you still signed.”
He meets my eyes. “So did you."
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss. “I signed under threat.”
“So did I.”
I slam the folder shut. “You keep saying that like it makes us equals.”
He steps closer. “It makes us trapped.”
“Together?” I scoff. “You call this together?”
He hesitates. That hesitation is everything.
I turned away, my chest tight. “What happens if I break a rule?”
Adrian’s voice is low. “Depends which one.”
“Try me.”
“If you embarrass the families publicly,” he says, “they tighten control.”
“And if I don’t?”
“They fabricate something.”
I whirl around. “Fabricate what?”
His jaw tightens. “Crimes. Scandals. Instability.”
My stomach drops. “They’d destroy me.”
“They already have contingencies,” he says quietly.
I stared at him. “And you’re okay with this?”
“No.”
“Then why are you so calm?”
He looks tired suddenly. Older. “Because panic won’t save you.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I snap. “You have power.”
“I have responsibility,” he counters. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, please.”
He steps closer again, his voice dropping. “You think I don’t know what they’re capable of? You think I haven’t watched them ruin people to protect a name?”
"Hmm."
I fold my arms tightly. “Then why not burn it down?”
“Because,” he says, and something in his eyes fractures, “they’ll take you with it.”
The room goes quiet again.
I whisper, “You said a death was covered up.”
“Yes.”
“And that this marriage protects me.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightens. “How?”
He looks at the door. At the ceiling. At everything except me.
“Say it,” I demanded.
“Not yet.”
“Adrian.”
“Not yet,” he repeats. “If you hear it too soon, you’ll react.”
“I’m reacting now!”
“And you’re still alive,” he says. “That’s the point.”
I stared at him, breathing hard. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
“No,” he says. “You’re supposed to endure.”
The word snaps something in me.
“I will not spend my life enduring,” I say fiercely. “I will not disappear so your families can sleep at night.”
His voice turns sharp. “Then you need to learn how to play this.”
“I don’t want to play.”
“I didn’t ask what you want,” he snaps back. Then he stops. Swallows. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Stop apologizing. It makes it worse.”
He nods once. “Fine.”
I gesture around the room. “So what are the rules, Warden?”
His lips press together. “Separate bedrooms.”
I blink. “What?”
“No physical relationship unless required for appearances,” he continues. “No unscheduled absences. No private conversations with anyone connected to the incident.”
“The incident,” I repeat bitterly. “You really love your euphemisms.”
“They’re safer,” he says.
“For who?”
“For you.”
I laugh quietly. “You keep saying that like it’s a gift.”
He meets my gaze. “It’s a shield.”
“A shield with spikes on the inside.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretches.
Finally, I ask, “If I do everything right… will you ever tell me the truth?”
Adrian hesitates. Again.
“That’s not comforting,” I whispered.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s honest.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. “What am I to you in all this?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, softly, “The reason I can’t afford to be wrong.”
My chest tightens. “That’s not romantic.”
“I know.”
“Is it at least real?”
He looks at me then. Really looks.
“Yes.”
Before I can respond, a sharp beep cuts through the air.
Adrian stiffens.
“What is that?” I asked.
He crosses the room quickly, opens the desk drawer, and pulls out a small black device blinking red.
His face drains of color.
“They’re monitoring this room,” he says.
My heart slams. “You said they weren’t.”
“They weren’t supposed to,” he corrects.
The device beeps again.
A voice crackles through it female, calm, dangerous.
“Adrian,” it says. “We noticed elevated stress levels. Reassure your wife.”
I feel sick.
Adrian straightens instantly, mask snapping back into place. He turns to me, offers his arms again.
His voice is warm. Perfect. “Everything’s fine, Erica.”
I stare at him, realization crashing over me.
They’re not watching the house.
They’re watching us.
As I take his arm, he leans in and whispers, so softly it barely exists.
“They’re testing you now.”
The voice speaks again.
“And Erica?” it says pleasantly. “Welcome to the family.”
My smile freezes.
Because now I understands, finally,"
" The contract doesn’t just bind my future.
It measures my obedience.
- Writer
