Chapter 3 - Contract
1694 Words
The phone kept ringing on the nightstand. I turned on my side and stared at it, half-asleep. Whoever it was could wait. I had no energy to deal with anyone, especially after the long day I had pretending to be fine in front of people who whispered behind my back.
It rang again. Who’s this very persistent person calling at his hour!
With a groan, I grabbed it and swiped to answer.
“Azia speaking…” I almost mumbled.
“Finally,” his voice came sharp through the line. “You took your time.”
I rolled my eyes and frowned. “Why are you calling me this late?”
“I sent you the contract revisions hours ago. You didn’t respond.”
“I was busy,” I muttered. “Unlike you, I don’t spend my life checking emails.”
“Busy doing what?” His tone was clipped, like he was trying to hold back annoyance. “Youre basically unemployed now!”
I rolled my eyes, sitting up. “Why do you care? What’s so urgent about a contract?”
“Come to my penthouse,” he said flatly. “Now. There are things we need to clarify before the wedding papers go public.”
I almost laughed. “You’re insane if you think I’m driving across the city this late.”
“I’ll send a car,” he replied. “Be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“But—"
And before I could argue, he hung up.
I stared at my phone, wanting to throw it across the room. What kind of man orders people around like that? I knew he was arrogant, but this was ridiculous. Still, part of me was curious. What “clarification” was so important?
By the time I arrived, the city lights reflected on the glass walls of his penthouse. The place looked exactly like him—boring!
No, it’s not actually boring. It’s just minimalist.
Royce stood near the bar counter, arms crossed, wearing a white shirt that hugged his body. He didn’t even look surprised when I entered. The hell I care what he wears, I’m even wearing my pajamas now.
“Nice outfit,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for you opinion,” I replied, dropping my purse on the couch. “So what’s this about?”
He handed me the printed copy of the contract. The page was marked with red notes.
“This clause,” he said, pointing. “You seriously want me to agree to you seeing your ex?”
“Why not? It’s not yet proven that he’s guilty of drug use.” I crossed my arms. “Yes. It’s not negotiable.”
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Do you even hear yourself?”
“It’s part of the deal,” I said calmly, even though my pulse was speeding up. “You said this marriage is just for show. So I want some control over my life. And that includes my personal time.”
“Your personal time?” He let out a sharp breath. “Azia, your so-called personal time involves a man who nearly ruined your career. Do you understand what it looks like if people see you with him again?”
I hated that he made sense. But I wasn’t going to admit that. “It’s my decision,” I said.
“It affects me too,” he shot back. “If a single photo of you two gets out, I’ll look like an i***t. People will say my wife is unfaithful before the wedding even starts.”
I felt my patience slipping. “Then don’t make it a big deal. It’s not like we’re actually in love.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re serious?”
“I mean,” I said slowly, “that I have needs to be fulfilled. You think I’ll just sit around while pretending to be your perfect wife? Or do marital actions to you? Yuck!”
For a second, the silence was heavy. His jaw tightened, and he leaned closer. “Needs?”
I met his stare. “Yes. I’m human. I have them. And I’m not planning to rely on you to fix that problem.”
His brows furrowed. “You mean that need?”
“I mean s*x, what else could it be? My boyfriend is the one responsible in that aspect so you don’t need to play that part of my life!” I said, holding my ground. “You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not even my real husband yet.”
He exhaled slowly, clearly trying to keep his temper. “You really have no filter, do you?”
“I don’t need one around you,” I said.
He turned away and poured himself a drink, his movements controlled but tense. “If I agree to this ridiculous clause, and any of it gets leaked, we’re both finished. I’m not risking my name because you can’t let go of someone toxic.”
“He’s not toxic,” I snapped.
He gave me a sharp look. “He used drugs, Azia.”
I looked away, my throat tightening. I hated that he was maybe right, but I couldn’t accept him saying it.
“You don’t know anything about him,” I muttered.
“I know enough,” he said. “And you’re too blinded with that stupid love.”
I stayed quiet for a moment. My chest burned, but I didn’t want to show him that his words hit me. He always looked like he knew more than he should.
He placed the glass down and faced me again. “The clause stays out. You can have freedom, but not that kind. Choose another request.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That one stays.”
His stare didn’t waver. “Then I’ll remove it myself.”
“Then I won’t sign.”
He gave a dry laugh. “You think you have that choice?”
“Twice a month then,” I insisted. “If you wont allow it, I will not continue to this deal and I’ll deal with my problems alone instead.”
He stepped closer, voice lower now. “Really? Because from what I remember, your mother was the one begging for this to clean up your image.”
I swallowed, trying not to show it. “Don’t act so clean when you just fooled your own family member because you’re a greedy and selfish man.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not the one who got caught in a scandal.”
“You know what?” I grabbed my bag and turned away. “This conversation is over.”
“Azia!” He called my name.
I ignored him and started walking toward the door.
“Fine,” he said, voice calm but firm. “We’ll do it your way.”
I turned around, narrowing my eyes. “What?”
“The clause stays,” he said. “See your ex. But twice a month. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
That caught me off guard. I was expecting another round of his ego, not surrender. “You’re serious?”
He gave a small nod. “As if you follow my choices.”
He placed the printed contract on the table and straightened the pages. “We’ll finalize this tonight. I already signed. Your turn.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re really eager to be fake-married to me.”
“As if,” he said. “I’m eager to stop talking about it.”
I muttered under my breath.
“Unbelievable,” but grabbed the pen anyway.. “There. Done. You can stop bossing me around now.”
He took the papers back, glanced over them, then nodded. “Good. I’ll have this sent to our lawyers in the morning.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Now I can finally go home and sleep.”
“About that,” he said.
I looked up. “What about what?”
He met my eyes. “You’ll be moving here. Starting tomorrow.”
I almost laughed. “Excuse me?”
“It’s part of the setup,” he said simply. “You’re supposed to be living with me before the wedding. The media will find out soon, and it has to look real.”
I frowned. “You didn’t mention that earlier.”
“I’m mentioning it now,” he replied, tone even. “Your things can be sent over tomorrow morning. The guest room’s already prepared.”
“Guest room?” I asked, raising a brow.
“You’re not sleeping in the master. Don’t even think about it.” He didn’t blink. “Unless you wanna hug me at night.”
I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t want to.”
He almost smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
I stared at him, half irritated, half tired. “You’re really serious about this whole fake marriage thing.”
“You’re pretending to be my fiancée,” he said. “You live here, free of charge. You should thank me.”
“I don’t need your charity,” I muttered.
“It’s not charity,” he said, gathering the papers into a folder. “It’s strategy. Try not to make a mess of it.”
He walked toward the bar, poured himself another drink, and leaned against the counter. I stood there for a few seconds, trying to decide whether to scream or throw something. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned to leave.
“Be here by noon,” he said without looking up. “The driver will pick you up.”
“I haven’t agreed yet,” I snapped.
“You already signed,” he said calmly. “See you tomorrow, fiancée.”
Ugh! So irritating!
I walked out, slamming the door behind me harder than necessary.
In the elevator, I let out a sharp breath. Moving in with Royce Adler. Great. Just what my life needed.
What if living with him would be worse than marrying him?
- Writer
