Terms and Conditions
1044 Words
Lila found Lucas in his study the next evening. It was a huge room lined with dark wooden shelves, thick rugs, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the garden. He was seated behind a massive mahogany desk, going through a pile of documents with his usual crisp efficiency.
When he looked up, his eyes narrowed slightly, like he hadn’t expected her to come find him.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, voice calm, controlled.
“No,” Lila said honestly. She stepped inside, hugging her arms around herself. “I’ve been reading that contract you had your driver give me.”
Lucas leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling under his chin. “And?”
“And it’s… cold. It lays out appearances, media control, expectations for your reputation. It talks about the baby. It talks about finances. But it doesn’t mention me — the person actually living this.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You’re provided for. That’s what matters.”
“No,” she snapped. “That’s what you think matters. But I’m not some piece of property you can keep in a mansion and parade around when it suits your image.”
Lucas exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening just a fraction. “This arrangement is practical, Lila. It protects the child and ensures stability for both of you.”
“Practical,” she echoed bitterly. “God, you really don’t see anything wrong with this, do you?”
He stood then, moving around the desk to stand in front of her. He was so close she had to tilt her head up. His scent — clean, sharp, expensive — wrapped around her.
“I see plenty wrong with this situation,” he said quietly. “None of this was planned. I’m not a man who enjoys chaos. But I will take responsibility. And I won’t apologize for protecting what’s mine.”
She flinched. “What’s yours? Is that how you see me now?”
Lucas didn’t answer immediately. His gray eyes searched hers, like he was trying to decide how much truth to give.
“You’re carrying my child. That means you fall under my protection. Whether you like the language or not.”
Lila felt her throat tighten. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply all this cut.
“You know,” she whispered, voice cracking, “it might be easier if you just admitted you don’t care about me at all. That this is only about your heir, your reputation.”
Lucas’s expression flickered — just for a heartbeat, something pained passed over his face. But it was gone so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“Feelings complicate matters,” he said finally. “They make people reckless. Irrational.”
“So you’re saying you’re incapable of them?”
“I’m saying they don’t factor into this arrangement,” he replied evenly. “I won’t pretend to offer you romance, Lila. Or love. If you expect that, this will only become more painful for you.”
Her chest twisted so hard she nearly doubled over. A part of her had hoped — stupidly, secretly — that maybe he felt something. That the man who had kissed her so hungrily that night in the hotel was still somewhere inside him.
But this was who he was. Cold. Controlled. Practical.
“Fine,” she whispered. “Then we’ll keep it to your precious terms and conditions.”
She turned to go, her heart pounding, but Lucas’s hand shot out, catching her wrist. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant.
“Lila.”
She paused, refusing to turn around.
His grip loosened, then fell away entirely. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be doing any of this.”
She swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears. Then she left without another word.
That night, Lila lay awake in the giant bed that still didn’t feel like hers. Penny was curled up by her feet, purring softly, a small comfort in the vast emptiness of the mansion.
She kept replaying Lucas’s words in her mind. “Feelings complicate matters.” “I won’t pretend to offer you love.”
But also — “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be doing any of this.”
What did that even mean? Did it count for anything?
She pressed a hand over her belly, whispering softly, “It’s okay, baby. I’ll figure this out. I promise.”
The next morning, the staff informed her that she’d be expected to attend a corporate dinner with Lucas the following weekend — an introduction of sorts to his business partners, the first formal outing as his wife.
Lila’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t ready. None of this felt real, let alone manageable.
She agreed anyway. Because that’s what the contract demanded. Because that’s what protecting her baby meant now.
As she stood before the mirror later that night, trying on gowns the housekeeper brought for her approval, she realized with a hollow ache that she was already learning how to play her new role.
A role that felt like someone else’s life.
She tried on a deep blue satin dress that hugged her gently, staring at her reflection as if searching for the girl who used to sketch designs at her tiny kitchen table, laughing with Sophie over cheap wine. That girl seemed a million miles away.
Her hand drifted down to her belly. You’re why I’m doing this, she thought, a faint tremor in her chest. You’re the only reason.
Later, when the house was silent, Lila tiptoed out to the garden. The night air was cool against her skin, heavy with the scent of roses. Small lanterns lined the path, their golden glow making everything look almost magical.
She sank onto a stone bench and let herself breathe. For a moment, she could pretend none of this was happening — that there were no contracts, no billionaire husband who barely looked at her, no expectations that weighed on her shoulders like stone.
Just the baby. Just her. A fragile little dream she clung to because it was the only thing that felt real.
- Writer
