TermsAndconditions
922 Words
The hallway outside the conference room felt longer than it had when I walked in.
Every step echoed too loudly, my heels clicking against marble like they were announcing something I wasn’t ready to admit yet. Married. The word followed me, clung to the back of my skull, refusing to settle into anything that made sense.
I didn’t stop until I reached the elevator.
The doors slid shut just as Mr. Hale stepped inside.
Of course, he did.
The space instantly felt smaller. Too enclosed. I could smell him now—clean, understated, expensive in a way that didn’t beg for attention. He didn’t look at me, just pressed the button for the parking garage like this was a normal end to a normal meeting.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” I said.
“I didn’t,” he replied. “We’re going to the same place.”
I let out a sharp breath. “You don’t know where I’m going.”
He glanced at the numbers lighting up above the doors. “You’re leaving. So am I.”
The elevator descended in silence. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls—composed on the surface, eyes a little too bright, jaw locked tight enough to hurt.
“Don’t get comfortable,” I said finally. “This doesn’t make you my husband in any real sense.”
“It makes me your husband in every sense that matters,” he replied evenly. “Legally. Publicly. Strategically.”
I turned to him then. “You planned this.”
“Yes.”
Not a hint of apology. Not even hesitation.
“How long?” I asked.
“Long enough.”
The doors opened. I stepped out first, needing space, air, anything that didn’t feel like him. The garage was cool and dim, the hum of engines and distant traffic grounding in a way the office hadn’t been.
I headed for my car.
He followed.
“You should move,” I said when I reached the driver’s side. “This conversation is over.”
“It’s just beginning,” he said. “We need to discuss boundaries.”
I laughed once, humorless. “You don’t get to talk about boundaries after backing me into a legal marriage.”
“I do,” he said, “because the contract protects you as much as it protects me.”
I unlocked the car but didn’t get in.
“Start talking,” I said. “And make it good.”
He leaned against the car beside mine, posture relaxed, eyes sharp. “You won’t be moving into my place.”
“I already said—”
“And I agreed,” he continued. “Separate residences. Separate lives. Minimal contact.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because minimal doesn’t mean nonexistent,” he said. “Appearances will matter. We’ll need a cover story. A timeline.”
My fingers tightened around my keys. “I’m not playing house for you.”
“You won’t,” he said. “You’ll play invisible.”
That caught my attention.
“Explain.”
“For the next eighteen months, you’ll keep your life. Your job. Your routine. You won’t change your name socially unless you want to. No interviews. No public events unless absolutely necessary.”
“And when is it necessary?”
“I’ll ask,” he said. “You’ll decide.”
I studied him, looking for the trap. “Why are you being reasonable?”
“Because I don’t need you miserable,” he replied. “I need you compliant.”
There it was.
“I won’t lie to you,” I said.
“You won’t have to,” he said. “The truth is simple. We married quickly. Privately. For personal reasons.”
“And if someone digs?”
“They won’t.”
I believed him. That was the problem.
“What happens if I break the contract?” I asked.
His gaze sharpened. “You won’t.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“The penalties are financial,” he said. “And reputational.”
I scoffed. “So you ruin me.”
“I protect myself,” he corrected. “Just like you protect yourself by staying.”
I opened the car door and finally sat down, exhaustion crashing into me all at once.
“This doesn’t make us equal,” I said quietly.
“No,” he agreed. “It makes us necessary.”
He straightened, pushing away from the car. “I’ll have my people send you a summary of the terms tonight.”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “I don’t want your people involved in my life.”
A pause.
“Then I’ll send it myself,” he said.
I hesitated. “You have my number?”
“Yes.”
Of course, he did.
He stepped back, giving me space at last. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I don’t want—”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated, already turning away.
I watched him walk to his car, controlled and unhurried, like the world had shifted exactly the way he’d expected it to.
When he drove off, I sat there for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, heart still racing.
Married.
On paper.
To a man who planned everything.
My phone buzzed as I pulled out of the garage.
Unknown Number:
This arrangement only works if we’re honest with each other.
Welcome to the contract.
I didn’t reply.
But I didn’t block the number either.
- Writer
