THE TERMS OF US

CHAPTER 2

The week slipped by so fast it was genuinely terrifying. Every day blurred right into the next, disappearing like sand through my fingers. But while time was flying, Martel and his siblings were playing a slow, dangerous game. They operated with creepy, calculated patience, whispering in closed rooms and weaving traps to corner me. They wanted to break my spirit and force my hand, totally convinced I was too weak to fight back.

I, on the other hand, was completely paralyzed. I felt like I was standing at a massive crossroads in my life, frozen by indecision, with no clue which path to take or what tiny shred of hope to hold onto. Every morning I woke up to the same suffocating questions, and every night left me more drained than the last. The pressure built so heavily on my chest that even taking a deep breath started to feel like hard labor.

Eventually, I became so overwhelmed and desperate for some kind of peace that I reached out to the only person who had ever been my safe harbor: Melody, my best friend. With trembling hands, I dialed her number and begged her to come over. I had too much bottled up inside me, too much terror and confusion, and if I didn’t find someone to cry about right then, I knew I was going to fall apart.

Melody showed up that evening with deep worry written all over her face. We sat down together, and the moment we did, I opened the floodgates. I told her everything: the threats, the demands, and the ticking six-month deadline hanging over my head like a guillotine.

She listened in stunned silence, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief and finally to absolute shock. The sheer weight of what I had been carrying alone was unbelievable, especially considering I hadn’t seriously dated anyone in years.

“Wait, hold on,” Melody cut in suddenly, her voice rising with disbelief. “Are you telling me you’re supposed to get married in six months?”

Her eyes widened as though she was praying she had misheard me.

“Six months, Lily? How is that even humanly possible?”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“I honestly don’t know, Mel. What am I supposed to do? Walk down the street and propose to the first guy I make eye contact with?”

My voice cracked beneath the absurdity of it all.

Before I could spiral into a panic attack, Melody reached across the couch and snatched my phone from my hands. I barely had time to blink before she was already scrolling through it with alarming efficiency.

“What are you doing?” I asked weakly.

“I’m saving your life,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Within minutes, she had created a Tinder account for me, carefully selecting photos she insisted were flattering while still looking like me.

“You’re going to give this one month,” she said firmly. “You’re going to use it, and you’re going to go on dates. No excuses. You owe yourself at least that much.”

I stared at her as if she had grown a second head.

“Melody, I don’t even know how this app works.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Then her tone softened, but her next words cut straight through me.

“Lily, you’re an orphan. If those six months run out, and you haven’t met their conditions, the Roman kids will destroy you. And there’ll be nobody left to protect you. No one to run to.”

The room fell silent as her words settled heavily between us.

“Mr. and Mrs. Roman handed you the game,” she continued, pressing the phone back into my trembling hands. “The ball is in your court now. So play it. And for God’s sake, play it well.”

So, with a great deal of reluctance and a tiny spark of determination, I started going on dates.

At first, I tried to stay optimistic, telling myself that maybe fate would finally throw me a bone. But date after date turned into a disaster. I met men with no direction in life, men who treated commitment casually, and men whose irresponsibility was obvious within minutes. Some were charming but shallow. Others were ambitious but unbearably arrogant.

Not a single one felt right.

Each failed date chipped away at the little hope I had left. I would come home exhausted and disillusioned, more convinced than ever that I was chasing a fantasy. Love began to feel like a cruel joke, something meant for everyone else, but never for me.

Months dragged by.

Five, to be exact.

Five long, grueling months filled with emotional exhaustion, forced smiles, and endless small talk. With every passing sunset, the deadline crept closer, casting a dark shadow over my life.

I was on the verge of giving up completely. Ready to delete the app. Ready to accept defeat.

Maybe some battles were never meant to be won.

Then, just as I had decided to quit for good, Mrs. Roman called.

Her voice was calm and composed, as always, far too calm for the storm raging inside me. Without any small talk, she gave me an address and informed me that she had personally arranged a date for me.

“Mama, I’ve tried,” I said quietly, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’ve done everything I could, and it’s just not working. What makes you think this time will be any different?”

There was a brief pause.

When she finally spoke, her tone made it clear that arguing was not an option.

Out of respect, and perhaps a lingering trace of desperation, I gave in.

One last try, I told myself.

Just one more.

That evening, I arrived at the address and realized it was a luxury restaurant, an elegant, high-end establishment far beyond anything I was accustomed to. Warm chandelier light reflected off polished surfaces, and the entire space radiated quiet sophistication.

The moment I stepped through the doors, a waiter approached me and politely explained that the restaurant had been booked exclusively for a private event.

I hesitated before answering.

“Yes, I know. I believe I’m the lady the gentleman is waiting for.”

The waiter’s demeanor changed instantly. With a respectful nod, he guided me through the beautiful dining room toward a secluded table set apart from the rest.

And then I saw him.

I froze.

The man rose to greet me, his presence commanding the room without the slightest effort. He was strikingly handsome, carrying a quiet confidence that seemed to radiate from him. Everything about him appeared deliberate, polished, and effortlessly captivating.

For the first time in five months, my breath caught in my throat, not from anxiety, but from awe.

We sat down and began talking.

The conversation flowed naturally, free of awkward pauses or forced smiles. I found myself laughing easily, listening intently, and completely forgetting about time. Unlike every other date I had been on, I felt no urge to escape back to the safety of my office or invent an excuse to leave.

Time simply ceased to matter while I sat across from him.

When the evening finally ended, I drove home in a daze, my heart lighter than it had been in months.

The moment I walked through my front door, I called Melody.

“Hey, babe,” I said breathlessly. “He’s the one.”

Melody burst into laughter on the other end.

“Wow. You sound completely different. Are you serious?”

“I can’t even believe it,” I said, grinning as I threw myself onto my bed. “He’s everything I never even knew I wanted. You know when people talk about love at first sight? I think I finally understand it.”

As I continued gushing to her over the phone, I heard a faint sound.

A white envelope slid quietly beneath my bedroom door.

I frowned.

My heart skipped as excitement instantly gave way to curiosity.

I walked over, picked it up, and carefully tore it open.

The moment my eyes landed on the papers inside, the smile vanished from my face.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.