His Contract Girlfriend

Episode Four

Elara stared at the message blinking on her phone. Meet me at the rooftop café. Seven o’clock. She groaned and tossed her bag onto the chair. Seven o’clock felt far too close to impossible. She had imagined every possible disaster scenario and yet somehow none of them captured the intensity of actually walking into this situation.

“What is it?” Nyla’s voice came from the kitchen.

Elara held up her phone. “I have a date.”

“Date?” Nyla’s voice was calm, too calm. “Wait. Don’t tell me. He’s paying you?”

“Not exactly. It’s contractual,” Elara said, her voice tight.

“Oh, I see. Fake boyfriend, billionaire edition. Totally normal. Absolutely terrifying.” Nyla’s grin grew. “Do you like him?”

Elara froze. “Do I look like I—no, Nyla. It’s a contract. No feelings.”

Nyla rolled her eyes. “Rules are made to be broken. Just saying.”

Elara rubbed her temples. Focus. Contract. No feelings. She glanced at her outfit, making sure she looked composed. She might fail at everything else, but at least she would look normal.

The rooftop café was supposed to be romantic. Twinkling lights, soft music, candlelit tables. Somehow this made her panic even more.

Lucien was already there, leaning casually against the railing. Hands in his pockets, posture perfect, hair effortlessly tousled, eyes sharp as knives. He looked calm, maybe too calm. The moment she stepped onto the terrace, he caught her gaze and smirked. That infuriatingly charming smirk.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly.

“Hi,” she said, sliding into the chair across from him.

He glanced around. “Table’s ours?”

“Yes, reservation under Elara,” she said, cheeks warming.

“Smart,” he said, his smirk deepening. “Good thinking.”

She swallowed hard. Focus. Contract. Public appearances only. No feelings.

The drinks menu arrived, and her eyes flicked to him as their fingers brushed briefly. Stupid stomach flips. Stupid him.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I hope the barista got your proportions right.”

Elara rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile threatening to break through. “Impressive. You even care about latte ratios?”

“I notice details,” he said simply, voice calm, confident, infuriating.

“Details? You noticed my latte order?”

“Yes,” he said. “And that’s just the beginning.”

Elara opened her mouth to protest but closed it immediately. Focus, Elara. Contract, no feelings, no spiral, nothing.

Conversation started awkwardly. They asked about college, about classes, and somehow it turned into a comedy of small, weirdly charming misunderstandings. Every time she tried to speak seriously, he would tilt his head and smile in that way that made her words falter.

“You drink too fast,” he said after she nearly choked on her latte.

“I, coffee, you know,” she said, flustered.

He smirked. “I know, that is why I noticed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you notice everything?”

“Because you are entertaining,” he said simply.

Her stomach did a double flip. “Entertaining?”

“Yes. Very entertaining.”

Stop noticing me. Stop noticing me. Stop noticing me.

The rest of lunch passed in a series of awkward jokes, tiny laughs, and subtle sparks of tension. She realized walking out to the terrace later that this felt natural. Not uncomfortable. Not forced. She was supposed to be here, at least for now, and that terrified her.

Streetlights glimmered below as they walked back. He glanced at her, his expression shifting from smug confidence to something softer. “I know this is temporary, but you make it feel… natural.”

“Natural?” she echoed.

“Comfortable,” he said. “And that is dangerous.”

Her heart skipped. Dangerous. She was not supposed to feel this. Not supposed to feel anything.

“Yes, right,” she muttered, trying to sound casual. Contract, public, no feelings, dangerous, got it.

He smirked again. “You are trying really hard.”

“You are impossible,” she said, laughing.

“And yet,” he said quietly, “you enjoy it.”

Elara froze. She wanted to argue but couldn’t. She realized she might be enjoying it, this awkward, infuriating, carefully measured interaction. She wasn’t supposed to.

They stopped outside her apartment building, the air cold but clear. Lucien looked at her seriously now, eyes soft yet piercing. “You will fall. It will happen sooner than you think.”

“I will not,” she said quickly.

“You will,” he said calmly. “And it is better to know now than later.”

She swallowed, her stomach tight. She wanted to laugh, cry, and hit him all at once. Instead, she muttered, “I am walking away from this contract soon, remember?”

“Contract or not,” he said quietly, “you are already part of my world.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. Instead, she stepped into her building, leaving him outside under the soft glow of the streetlights, dangerous and captivating.

Once inside, she leaned against the door, closing her eyes. That man had already broken the first rule of the contract. Not intentionally, perhaps. Not yet. But subtly, carefully, he was already acting real. And somewhere deep inside, she knew she was starting to feel it too.

Her phone buzzed. A message. See you tomorrow. Table seven. Same time.

She groaned, collapsing onto her bed. Nyla poked her head in immediately.

“How did it go?”

Elara sat up slowly. “I think I’m in trouble.”

Nyla grinned. “I told you. You are doomed.”

Elara buried her face in the pillow. No feelings. Public appearances only. Six months. She repeated it silently. Yet the thought of seeing him again made her heart beat faster. She hated that she was thinking about him at all.

Somewhere in the quiet of her room, she realized the first rule was already broken.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message. Prepare yourself. It wasn’t from him, thankfully, but the words echoed like a warning. Elara groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. She was not ready. Not by a long shot.

Nyla appeared again, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You look like a disaster,” she said. “Admit it. He’s got you wrapped around his finger already.”

Elara mumbled into the pillow. “I haven’t even seen him yet.”

“Exactly,” Nyla replied, smirking. “But you’re already in trouble. You signed the contract, you’re committed, and yet here you are, thinking about him like he’s some irresistible villain from a drama series.”

Elara shot her a glare. “He’s not.” She stopped herself. He was. That smug grin. That calm, confident stare. That subtle way he made her feel like she had no control at all, even when she thought she did.

Nyla’s grin widened. “Rule one: no feelings. Already broken. Rule two: don’t fall for his charm. About to be broken. Rule three: survive six months without losing your mind. Good luck.”

Elara sat up fully, hugging her knees. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m never wrong,” Nyla said, giggling.

Elara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She repeated the rules silently, over and over. Six months. Public appearances only. No feelings. And yet, somewhere deep inside, she knew it was already too late. The flutter in her chest wouldn’t lie.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Somewhere between dread and thrill, she realized this contract wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was a ticket to chaos. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d enjoy every single second of it.

Somewhere deep down, she laughed quietly. Oh, this is going to be a disaster.

And I’m already hooked.