The Contract Between Us

One Year, No Love

I stared at the message on my phone long after the screen dimmed.

"I’would read that last clause twice."

I didn’t recognize the number. No name, no clue. Just a quiet warning typed in a few cold characters. And it was enough to make my stomach hurt.

I did, in fact, read it again. And again. Clause 12: In the event of a court challenge to the marriage, the Spouse will undertake all measures that are necessary to defend its legality, such as but not limited to relocation, testimony, and personal image alterations.

Personal image alterations?

It was an impressive legal way of saying, "We can alter everything about you if needed." Hair. Clothes. Where I lived. What I said.

And worse, if anyone tried to dig too deep, I had to lie, cleverly, in a courtroom.

I slapped the folder closed and pushed it in the other man's direction as if he'd scorched me. I needed distance. But I didn't have it.

Not with rent due.

Not with my mom asking if I could help pay for Diego's new asthma medication.

Not with this stranger standing over me somehow, enough to mysteriously text me the night before I made the most important choice of my life.

I was back at the tall glass skyscraper by noon, folder clutched in hand, heart beating so fast.

The receptionist barely asked for my name this time. She just buzzed me through as if she had been told to expect me. Like I was already furniture.

Liam didn't change position, in front of the same window, with the same frostiness as if nothing on earth could faze him.

"You read it?"

"Twice," I said.

He nodded. "Questions?"

"Just one. Who sent the message?"

He raised an eyebrow, but not much. "What text?"

I extended the phone, pointing to the message.

He didn't bat an eye. "Someone doing what people always do when there is money and power: stirring the pot."

"So you don't know who it is?"

"Does it matter?"

"Sure, Liam," I said, stepping forward, pounding heart, "it does matter. Because I'm going to sign a binding contract to pretend to be your wife, and one person already knows. That's a problem."

He tilted his head to one side. "If you can't handle pressure, Maya, you shouldn't be here."

I slowly unfolded the folder and set the contract out on the table in front of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Signing," I told him.

He didn't move for a long time. Then, with no ceremony, he reached out and took a pen and signed beside me. His signature was legible, almost brutal, like all of him.

"Welcome to the deal," he said.

Three hours later, I owned a new home.

Not any home. A penthouse.

The elevator dropped us directly into the living room, and half the city out in view. Everything had that high-end smell, leather, wood. It was beautiful, sanitary, and still.

I was a trespasser for just standing there.

Liam entered behind me, still wearing that unreadable face. He walked as if he was destined to be in this kind of space. As if it fit around him.

"There's a room ready for you," he said." Third door on the left. You can use it as you wish. To some degree." "Thanks," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

He turned to go, then hesitated.

"No dating. No overnight visitors. No public fights. We are an in-love couple. No exceptions."

"Right. One year. No love."

He turned to me, and for the briefest flash of a moment, I thought I saw something under the frost. Then it disappeared.

"Dinner tomorrow night. Charity gala. Wear something that shouts 'I belong here.'"

And he vanished through his private wing and closed the door.

The next day was a blur.

A stylist appeared before noon. She was Lydia, and she had the energy of three Red Bulls. Or maybe five.

"You're tall. Good cheekbones. We'll soften the edges. Liam doesn't do dramatic."

When she finished, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. Hair loses in waves. Light makeup. A navy-blue dress that must have cost more than my entire art degree.

Liam stood by the elevator, dressed all in black, no tie. He looked at me for two full seconds before offering his arm.

"You clean up nice," he said to me.

"You sound shocked."

"I am."

We arrived at the benefit around eight. Cameras. Flashing lights. Champagne trays. Money and strange names as far as I could see.

Liam rubbed his face against mine. "Smile like you're in love. But not too much. You're elegant, not desperate."

"Charming."

"Just go along with me."

He placed his hand on the small of my back, and for one instant, it wasn't pretend. It was warm. Real.

We circled around. I nodded. I smiled. I let him call me "his wife-to-be." I shook hands with people who eyed me as if I was a puzzle.

Then she appeared.

Tall. Blonde. Ice in her voice.

"So this is the artist," she stated.

"And you are?" I asked, smiling as nicely as possible.

"Avery. Liam and I were together for years. I'm surprised he never told you about me."

I could sense Liam's hand tighten behind me.

"How nice to meet you," I said.

Avery leaned in. "Good luck getting through him."

Later, when we were standing by the balcony, alone, I turned to him.

"She's nice."

"She's not."

"Did she send the text?"

He looked away. "I don't think so."

"But you're not sure."

He said nothing.

That silence was enough.

We arrived home around midnight. I removed the heels the moment the elevator door slid shut behind me.

"You did well," Liam whispered.

"Handled what? Your ex threatening to eat me alive in front of everyone?"

"She wanted a reaction. You didn't give it to her."

"Yeah, well. Get used to being let down."

He regarded me. "You weren't let down tonight?"

"Oh, I was," I said to him, meeting his eyes. "But not by her."

We were there for a second. Too close. Too quiet.

Then he stepped back.

"Goodnight, Maya."

I remained where I was, watching him go, and wondering how a man could be so cold and still burn.

2:04 AM, my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: "Do you really think this is about a will?"

Unknown Number: "Investigate the holding company." ThorneTech isn't what it seems."

My chest tightened.

Me: Who are you?

Three dots pulsed.

Then nothing.

I let the phone drop on to the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed, racing heart.

There was something more to this. Something more than the will. Something more than the clause. Something more than Liam was sharing with me.

And for the first time since I signed that contract, I wasn't sure if I was pretending to be a wife, or walking straight into a trap.