TERMS AND CONDITIONS
1294 Words
The folder sat like a loaded weapon on Angel’s nightstand.
She hadn’t opened it. She couldn’t.
All day, her thoughts had looped like a broken film reel. George Larrian wanted to marry her. A fake marriage, sure, but still, marriage. For six months. In exchange for a future that didn’t include late-night shifts, borrowed rent, or watching Mrs. Emily cough blood into paper towels while pretending everything was fine.
Angel buried her face in her pillow and screamed.
“You’re okay in there?” Mia’s voice floated from the living room.
Angel didn’t answer.
A moment later, Mia pushed the door open, uninvited but unsurprised.
She wore an oversized hoodie, her hair in a messy bun, face scrubbed clean of makeup, more real than Angel had seen her in weeks. She flopped down onto the edge of the bed, picked up the contract folder, and shook it slightly.
“So. He actually did it.”
“Don’t act like you’re shocked,” Angel mumbled into the sheets.
“I thought he’d yell, not propose.”
Angel sat up, back against the wall. “Mia, this is serious.”
“I know.” Mia’s voice softened. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
Angel didn’t say anything for a while. Then, quietly, “Why didn’t you just tell your dad no? Put your foot down?”
Mia looked away. “It’s not that easy. You’ve met my father. He doesn’t take no for an answer. And I didn’t want to be the perfect daughter anymore. Not at the cost of my freedom.”
“So you handed me over like a scapegoat?”
Mia winced. “I didn’t think it would get this far.”
Angel looked down at her lap. “Neither did I.”
Silence settled between them until Mia cleared her throat. “Do you like him?”
Angel froze.
Mia chuckled bitterly. “That’s not a no.”
“I don’t know him,” Angel snapped. “He’s charming one minute, calculating the next. He’s too rich, too powerful... and I don’t trust anyone who smiles like that while holding a contract.”
“But you’re thinking about saying yes.”
Angel didn’t respond.
Mia leaned in. “If you’re going to do it, make sure you protect yourself. Don’t let him control the narrative. You want conditions? Put them in writing. He wants a business arrangement? Make him play by your rules too.”
Angel blinked. “You’re... weirdly good at this.”
Mia smirked. “I’ve grown up with corporate sharks. You learn how not to get eaten.”
George Larrian’s penthouse was perched high above the skyline like a modern-day castle. Glass walls, steel accents, curated art, and a faint scent of cedar and coffee. He stood at the window, watching the city throb with late-night energy, when Clara entered.
“She hasn’t responded yet?” he asked without turning.
“No, sir,” she said. “But I did receive something… interesting.”
He finally turned, eyebrows raised.
Clara placed a single-page document on the coffee table.
“She sent back an edited version of the contract.”
George walked over and picked it up.
The first line had been crossed out and rewritten.
Original:
The bride agrees to six months of public engagement and cohabitation, attending all events required by George Larrian, under his direction.
Edited:
The bride agrees to a six-month contract partnership. No romantic obligations. All public appearances require mutual agreement. No cohabitation unless explicitly necessary.
Below, Angel had written in neat, stubborn pen:
“I’m not your puppet. I’m your equal in this arrangement. If you want me to play the part, I’ll do it. But I don’t sleep on command, smile on cue, or pretend to be something I’m not. You want the truth? Here it is.”
George chuckled under his breath.
“She’s good,” he muttered.
Clara arched her brow. “Do you want to accept the edits?”
He read them again, then reached for a pen and signed beneath her scribble.
“Send it back.”
Angel hadn’t expected him to agree.
When the signed contract arrived via courier the next morning, she stared at it like it might explode.
He’d actually signed it. Every crossed-out clause. Every correction. Her terms, not his.
Her fingers trembled as she placed the folder beside the kettle in the café’s back office. She needed air.
She stepped out front into the crisp morning, sunlight dusting the pavement gold.
That’s when the black SUV pulled up to the curb.
George stepped out. Black suit. No tie. Casual and lethal.
Angel’s heart skipped, then steadied.
He approached slowly, gaze unreadable. “Good morning.”
“You really signed it.”
“I said I would.”
“I didn’t think billionaires liked taking orders.”
He smirked. “Only from people worth listening to.”
They stood in silence for a moment. The world moved around them, cars, voices, birds, but the space between them felt charged.
“So what now?” Angel asked.
George held out a small box.
She opened it. Inside was a delicate diamond ring, nothing over-the-top, just elegant. Understated.
“A fake engagement needs a fake ring,” he said. “Unless you want to use one from a cereal box?”
Angel slipped it on. It fit perfectly.
“Your assistant stalked me for my ring size too?”
“She’s very thorough.”
Angel laughed despite herself.
Then George’s tone shifted. “There’s something else.”
She looked up.
“You’re going to start working for Larrian Group next week.”
Angel stiffened. “What? No. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“It is now. You need credibility. A role with visibility. My parents won’t buy this unless you prove yourself, and they won’t take kindly to a fiancée with no professional presence.”
“I make the best cappuccinos in town.”
“I need more than foam art, Angel.”
She glared at him. “So what? You throw me in your corporate jungle and hope I survive?”
“No,” he said. “I know you’ll survive.”
She folded her arms. “And what if your father hates me?”
George’s eyes darkened. “He already will. That’s not your fault.”
Angel tilted her head. “He’s that bad?”
George looked toward the city. “My father doesn’t like surprises. Or poor people. Or love.”
Charming.
“So I guess I check all three boxes.”
George looked back at her. “Which is why this is going to be fun.”
Later that night, Angel found herself sitting on Mia’s couch again, still staring at her ring.
Mia plucked it from her hand and whistled. “Damn. It’s subtle. But expensive subtle.”
“It’s fake,” Angel said.
“Sure. And I dye my hair naturally blonde.”
Angel chuckled, then sobered. “It’s happening, Mia. I’m going to be his fake fiancée. And starting next week, I’ll be working for the company where my abuser also works.”
Mia’s expression hardened. “I wish I could kill that man.”
“Get in line.”
Mia sighed. “Just… be careful, okay? You’re stepping into a world with rules they never teach girls like us.”
Angel nodded. “That’s okay. I never liked their rules anyway.”
At Larrian Group’s headquarters, Mark Larrian glanced over a document on his desk, frowning.
“Who is Angel Carson?” he asked his assistant coldly.
She looked surprised. “She was just added to the staff roster. On George’s recommendation.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“Find out everything about her. Immediately.”
- Writer
