The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

Chapter 2 An Agreement Without Love

I deliberately stayed in my room the next morning.

Not because I couldn't leave, but because I didn't want to see him. Last night still felt too close, too real, and somehow too painful to face this soon.

"I should be used to this by now," I whispered, staring at the ceiling.

But the truth was, I had never truly gotten used to being half of something. Half a wife, half a resident of this house, half a presence in someone's life. I sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at the small table beside me, where a brown folder lay neatly placed.

I hadn't opened it in a long time, but I knew exactly what was inside. The contract, the agreement that bound me to Sebastian. My hand moved slowly to pick it up, and my heart beat slower, yet somehow heavier, as I opened it.

"Temporary Marriage Agreement —12 months."

The words were still clear on the first page.

I smiled faintly. "Temporary." I murmured.

As if one year were something brief. As if feelings wouldn't quietly grow inside it.

I began reading through the contract again, line by line words I had once read with a clear head, without thinking about what they would cost me.

"This marriage is contractual in nature, lasting 12 months from the date the marriage is legally registered."

I took a slow breath.

"No emotional obligations exist between either party."

I laughed quietly, bitterly. "Funny." I whispered.

As if feelings could be switched off with something as simple as a formal clause.

I kept reading.

"Neither party is required to cohabit permanently."

No wonder Sebastian could disappear for weeks at a time without a shred of guilt.

"No personal fidelity is required, provided that the family's reputation remains unaffected."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "And the most important part…" I murmured, finding the clause that decided everything.

"Upon the expiration of the contract period, both parties are required to divorce without further claims."

No claims. No feelings. No remnants.

I closed the folder slowly. "I shouldn't feel anything," I said softly.

But I knew I was lying to myself. If I truly didn't care, last night wouldn't have felt the way it did.

My thoughts drifted back eight months ago, to the day when everything began.

— Flashback —

Eight months ago… I stood outside a doctor's office with cold hands.

The smell of antiseptic filled the air, and the sound of footsteps in the hospital corridor felt unbearably loud.

"Dad…" I whispered, staring at the ICU door.

My adoptive father the only family I had was lying weak on the other side of that door.

The doctor had stepped out just minutes ago, and his words were still ringing clearly in my head.

"End-stage renal failure. The only hope is a transplant."

I gripped my bag tightly.

"How much would it cost, Doctor?" I had asked, my voice barely coming out.

He looked at me for a moment before answering, "It's not a small amount."

Not a small amount. Four words far too simple to describe something that felt impossible to me.

I sat down in one of the corridor chairs, my head heavy. "What am I supposed to do…" I whispered.

My savings weren't enough. My job at the time barely covered daily expenses. I was already struggling just to keep up with his regular medical bills.

I buried my face in my hands. "Dad only has me." my voice trembled.

And I had no one else.

"If I fail…" I whispered, unable to finish the sentence.

That was when someone approached. Steady footsteps, unhurried, completely out of place in the panic of a hospital hallway.

"Are you Isabella Romano?"

I looked up.

A man stood in front of me. Neatly dressed, expression serious, with an air about him that was hard to place.

"Yes," I said quietly. "Can I help you?"

He looked at me briefly before saying, "I'm from the De Luca family."

I frowned. "De Luca?" I repeated.

The name wasn't unfamiliar but I had never imagined having any connection to them.

"We have an offer for you," he said directly.

I stared at him, confused. "An offer?"

He nodded. "An arrangement."

Something in my gut immediately felt off. "What kind of arrangement?" I asked carefully.

He produced a folder and placed it in front of me. "Marriage."

I froze. "What?" My voice was barely a sound.

"A contract marriage," he continued, calm as ever. "With Sebastian De Luca."

The name only confused me more. "I don't understand…" I said.

He sat down in the chair across from me and looked at me directly.

"We know your father's condition," he said. "We also know you don't have enough money for the transplant."

I curled my hands into fists. "And?" I asked, my tone turning defensive.

"We can cover the full cost of the surgery and aftercare," he said.

My heart beat faster.

"In return…" he paused for a moment, "you marry Sebastian for one year."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Is this a joke?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "No."

I let out a small laugh, though nothing about it was funny.

"You came to a hospital and offered marriage as a transaction?" I said.

"This isn't unusual in our world," he replied flatly.

I fell quiet. "Why me?" I asked at last.

He drew a short breath. "We need someone who isn't entangled in our world. Someone who can play the role without causing complications."

I frowned. "What role?"

"Sebastian's wife."

I looked at the folder again. "Why specifically me?" I repeated.

He met my eyes. "Because you have no other choice."

That sentence hit harder than anything else he could have said.

I looked down. And he was right, I didn't.

"But…" I still tried to push back, "marriage isn't something that can be turned into a transaction."

He gave a thin smile. "In this case, it can."

I went quiet for a long time.

My thoughts were all over the place. Logic was telling me to refuse, but reality was forcing my hand.

"My dad." I whispered.

I pictured his face. His smile. Everything he had done for me.

"I can't lose him." my voice began to shake.

The man said nothing. He just waited.

"Sebastian, he agreed to this?" I finally asked.

He nodded. "He has his own reasons."

I laughed, bitter and quiet. "Of course he does."

Everyone in this arrangement had their reasons. Except for one thing no one ever mentioned.

Feelings.

"If I agree…" I said softly, "what happens after one year?"

"You divorce," he answered simply.

"And after that?"

"No further ties between you."

I nodded slowly. "No love," I whispered.

"None," he confirmed.

I looked at the folder one more time, my hand trembling as I opened it.

Every word felt cold. Far too formal for something that was supposed to be sacred.

"What if I say no?" I asked, not looking up.

He didn't answer right away. "Your father's surgery…" he said eventually, "will proceed according to whatever you can afford."

I closed my eyes. That wasn't a choice. That was a threat.

I took a deep breath, then slowly closed the folder.

"If I agree…" I said, "when?"

"As soon as possible."

I laughed quietly, the sound almost inaudible. "My life changes just like that." I murmured.

Then I lifted my head and looked at him directly. "I'll do it."

He nodded, as though he had already known what my answer would be.

"But I have one condition," I added.

He raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"My father gets the best possible care," I said firmly. "No compromises."

He gave a thin smile. "Of course."

I looked down at my own hands. "And one more thing…" my voice softened slightly.

"This marriage…" I paused, "it'll never become real, will it?"

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "That depends on the two of you."

I shook my head. "No."

I took a long breath. "This is only a contract," I said. "And it will stay that way."

— End of Flashback —

I opened my eyes, and the present pulled me back.

"And I was the first one to break that promise." I whispered.

Because I was the one who started hoping. I was the one who started feeling. And I was the one who forgot that all of this was nothing more than an agreement without love.

I looked toward the window. Morning light had already crept in, but the room still felt cold.

"Four more months." I murmured.

Four months to undo feelings that were never supposed to exist. Four months to learn how to let go.

And this time, I had to make sure of one thing.

I would not make the same mistake twice.