His Contract Girlfriend

Episode Three

Elara walked into the café, trying to act calm. She had rehearsed her lines in the mirror.

Patted her hair down. Practiced her glare. Even did a tiny spin just to make sure she looked composed.

She failed. Immediately.

Lucien was already there, sitting at table seven, laptop open, head down like he was editing the fate of the universe.

When he looked up and saw her approaching, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not a mocking smirk. Not an arrogant smirk. Something… knowing.

Elara stopped in her tracks.

Oh.

Great.

He knew.

“Good afternoon,” he said smoothly.

“Hi,” she replied, voice pitched somewhere between professional and terrified.

He gestured to the chair across from him. “Have a seat. Let’s discuss.”

She sat, carefully, like one false move and the chair might collapse under the weight of her anxiety.

Lucien closed his laptop with deliberate slowness. He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “So, the contract. I trust you’ve read it?”

“Yes,” she said, stiffly. “Several times. I’ve memorized it. I know it by heart. I can quote it in my sleep.”

“Impressive,” he said lightly. “Then you understand the rules.”

Elara raised a finger. “Before we go any further, let’s clarify something. I am not some… temporary accessory. Not a trophy. Not a placeholder.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t imply that. You are here because…” He paused. “You’re the only one I trust not to break the terms.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I also want to trust that I am not your puppet.”

He smiled faintly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She blinked. “Hope? Excuse me?”

“I like honesty,” he said simply. “And pride. You have plenty of both. Which makes this… entertaining.”

She flushed. Did he just… compliment her? Over a contract meeting?

“Entertaining?” she repeated. “This is my life we’re talking about.”

“Exactly,” he said, and leaned forward.

“Which is why I want it done properly.”

Elara exhaled sharply. “Fine.

Let’s go clause by clause. Public appearance... agreed. No feelings... also agreed. Duration of six months, fine. But compensation? I have conditions.”

Lucien raised a brow, calm as ever. “Do tell.”

“Hourly,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Not monthly. I want clear accounting. Bonuses for… inconveniences. And lunch.”

He blinked once, and she thought she saw the faintest smirk. “Lunch is negotiable,” he said.

She leaned in. “Also, privacy. Outside of public obligations, my life is mine. No sneaking, no following, no surprise appearances—unless it’s for your amusement.”

“I already enjoy watching you spill coffee. That counts as amusement,” he said, deadpan.

Elara wanted to throw something. A pen. A napkin. Possibly herself. Instead, she crossed her arms.

“I’m serious. My dignity matters. My sanity matters. And my social media accounts—off-limits.”

Lucien nodded slowly, impressively patient. “Understood. You have boundaries.”

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly. “And you will respect them.”

“Agreed,” he replied. “And yet…” His eyes sparkled, almost mischievously. “I think you’ll push them anyway.”

She gaped. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll challenge me,” he said, voice soft but confident. “You always do.”

Elara tried to keep her composure, but her cheeks heated anyway. How could someone be this infuriatingly calm? This… cocky? And still look like he could snap you in half with a word?

“I—” she started, then stopped. A small laugh escaped. “I hate that I know you’re right.”

“That’s the first concession,” Lucien said. “Congratulations.”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is ridiculous. Why am I negotiating like this?”

“Because you want control,” he said. “And you should. You’re smart enough to know how dangerous six months of chaos can be.”

She peeked at him. “Dangerous? How?”

His smirk widened. “Emotional chaos. Pride games. Humiliation. Jealousy. You name it. You’re walking into a minefield wearing… well, what you’re wearing is fine. But metaphorically speaking, it’s risky.”

Elara groaned again. “You’re terrifying.”

“And yet… fascinating,” he added softly.

She snapped her head up. “Did you just... ?”

“I did,” he said, not missing a beat. “And I meant it.”

Elara blinked. Slowly, carefully, she pushed down the flutter in her chest. Focus. She was negotiating a contract, not...

“Your friends?” Lucien interrupted, his tone sliding casually. “Do they know?”

“Yes. Only Nyla. She’ll make it worse if she knows anything else.”

“Good,” he said. “Because we’ll need their help. For appearances, of course. And maybe a little chaos.”

Elara scowled. “You sound like you enjoy this far too much.”

“I do,” he admitted. “But I also respect you. That’s why I’m letting you negotiate.”

Her chest lifted slightly. Respect. That was… rare.

They went clause by clause, line by line. Elara was firm, Lucien was calm. He made a few concessions, she made a few jokes about his wealth.

They debated whether six-month duration was fair.

she argued, he teased, they laughed, and somewhere in the middle, she realized she was enjoying it.

Finally, they reached the end.

Elara folded her hands. “I think… this works.”

Lucien looked up, eyes sharp but approving. “It does. And you’ve done well. Most would have signed blindly.”

She couldn’t stop the tiny smile. “I’m not most people.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re exactly what I needed.”

Her phone buzzed. Nyla, checking in, probably ready to interrogate her later about every word. Elara ignored it for now.

“Sign here,” Lucien said, sliding the pen across the table.

She hesitated for a heartbeat, then took it.

The moment her signature hit the paper, a strange mix of relief and dread surged through her. This was real. Really real.

Lucien nodded once. “Congratulations,” he said, faint amusement in his voice.

“You are officially my… contract girlfriend.”

Elara blinked. “Congratulations?”

He smirked. “It suits the occasion.”

She groaned, laughing in disbelief. “I hate this. And yet…”

He leaned back, hands behind his head. “And yet what?”

She let out a sigh. “And yet… this might be the most fun I’ve had negotiating anything in my life.”

He chuckled softly. “Good. That’s the spirit. Now remember, we start tomorrow. Café. Table seven. Sharp. Public only. And do not—under any circumstances—fall.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re hilarious. Dangerous, but hilarious.”

“And I’m counting on you to push boundaries anyway,” he said, with a wink that made her stomach do backflips she didn’t want to admit.

Elara signed the last page carefully, trying not to think about the chaos that awaited her. She stood, grabbing her bag, and walked out into the afternoon sunlight.

Somewhere deep down, she already knew one thing: this six-month experiment was going to ruin her life.

She squinted against the sunlight, clutching her bag like it was a lifeboat. She should have felt victorious, triumphant even, but all she felt was dizzy, slightly nauseous, and certain she had just made a deal with a charming tornado.

Her phone buzzed. Of course. Nyla. So, spill. Every word. Detail everything. Elara groaned and shoved the phone back in her bag. No. Not yet. Survival first, gossip second.

She paused at the curb and stared at the café across the street.

Table seven.

The site of her impending doom. Her stomach did that weird somersault again, the one that made her question every life choice she had ever made.

She imagined him sitting there, smug, smirking, probably thinking he had already won before the first word was spoken.

Elara’s imagination ran wild. What if he brought a monocle and a pocket watch for dramatic effect?

What if he leaned over the counter and announced her name like she was some rare artifact?

She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Focus, Elara. You are a responsible adult. You can handle this. Probably.”

Stepping inside, the smell of roasted coffee and pastries hit her. Table seven was empty. Too empty. She perched on the edge of the chair, twisting her bag strap nervously, wondering if he was already plotting some dramatic entrance.

A shadow fell across the table. She looked up. Lucien. Hands in his pockets, smirk exactly as imagined, leaning slightly, casually threatening to ruin her life in approximately thirty seconds.

“On time,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

Elara opened her mouth, then paused. Did she say something witty or make a strategic retreat?

Instead, all that came out was, “So… you’re planning on making me regret this immediately, right?”

His grin widened. “Oh, darling, we haven’t even started.”

Elara’s stomach dropped and her mind screamed that this was going to be chaos, drama, and possibly accidental public humiliation. And she was already, inexplicably, excited about it.

She glanced at the pen from earlier and muttered under her breath, “I hope this thing comes with hazard pay.”