"MY BOSS'S CONTRACT BABY"

CHAPTER 2: THE WEDDING RING

*DISCLAIMER*

This story is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 years old and above.

---

Zian's POV

I don't do weddings.

I don't do love.

I don't do family.

I don't do promises.

But today, I'm standing in a chapel with a ring burning a hole in my pocket and a contract that says I own one year of a stranger's life.

All because a 4-year-old whispered "Mommy" in her sleep.

The chapel was small. Private. Owned by my company. No guests. No flowers. No music.

Just me, Amara Santos, a priest, and two lawyers pretending to be witnesses.

She looked wrong in a wedding dress.

Not because she was ugly. God no.

Because she looked too real. Too nervous. Too breakable.

The dress was white. Simple. 20,000 pesos. My assistant picked it.

Her hair was down, still damp from the rain. Her hands were shaking as she held the bouquet.

She didn't belong here.

And that was exactly why I chose her.

"Do you, Zian Castro, take Amara Santos to be your wife?"

The priest's voice echoed in the empty chapel.

I didn't hesitate. "I do."

The word tasted like ash.

The ring slid onto her finger. Simple platinum band. No diamonds. No sentiment.

Just metal and obligation.

Her hands were cold. She flinched when I touched her.

"Do you, Amara Santos, take Zian Castro to be your husband?"

She looked at me. Really looked at me.

Big brown eyes. Dark circles underneath. She hadn't slept either.

"I do." Her voice was barely a whisper. Like she was afraid I'd hear the lie in it.

Just like that. We were married.

The lawyers clapped. The priest said a prayer.

And I felt nothing.

Except the weight of the ring on my finger.

And the weight of what I just did.

---

The "reception" was in my penthouse. 42nd floor. Makati skyline.

15 people. All employees. All paid to smile.

Luna sat on the couch, wearing a pink dress. She wasn't smiling. She hadn't smiled in 6 months.

Until she saw Amara.

Amara was still in her dress. She looked lost in my house. Like a bird that flew into the wrong window.

"Mommy?"

Luna's voice was soft. Hesitant. Like she was testing the word.

Amara froze. Then she knelt down immediately. No hesitation.

"Hi, sweetie." Her voice was different. Softer. "I'm Tita Ara."

Luna tilted her head. Studied her. "But you have the ring."

My jaw clenched. Before I could answer, Amara did.

She reached out, but didn't touch Luna. Just let her hand hover. "This ring means I get to take care of you. For a little while. Is that okay?"

Luna nodded. Once.

Then she took Amara's hand.

Something in my chest twisted.

Six months. Six months of therapists and doctors and money.

And one sentence from a stranger made Luna take someone's hand.

"Can I read you a story later?" Amara asked.

Luna nodded again. Then she ran to her room.

Just like that.

My lawyer, Atty. Reyes, handed us the contract again. For signatures. For witnesses. For the cameras.

I signed without reading. I already memorized it.

5,000,000 PHP. 1 year. No feelings. No claims. Clean exit.

Amara's signature was shaky. She pressed too hard on the paper.

"Payment tomorrow," I said, voice flat. "2.5 million. The rest after 6 months."

"Thank you." She whispered. "For Lola."

Don't thank me. I wanted to say.

This isn't kindness. This is a transaction.

But the words died in my throat when I saw her at night.

---

10 PM. I was working in my office when I heard footsteps.

She was standing in the hallway. In one of my shirts. It swallowed her.

She looked 16. Not 22. Not a married woman. Not a mother.

"Guest room is down the hall," I said without looking up.

"I know." She hesitated. "Zian... why me?"

I finally looked up. "What?"

"There are a hundred women in Manila who would kill for 5 million. Why me?"

I leaned back. "Because you looked at Luna like she mattered. Not like a job."

"And you?" I asked. "Why did you say yes?"

She hugged herself. The shirt slipped off one shoulder. "Because I was out of choices."

The honesty in her voice irritated me.

People who were honest expected honesty back.

I didn't do that.

"Get some sleep, Mrs. Castro."

She flinched at the name. "Amara."

"What?"

"Call me Amara. Mrs. Castro sounds... wrong."

I didn't answer. She walked away.

My phone buzzed.

*Unknown Number:* _Congrats on the wedding, Zian. The baby is mine, remember? Don't forget who she belongs to._

My jaw clenched.

David Reyes. Her ex. The deadbeat.

He showed up 3 months ago, asking for money. Said the baby wasn't his.

Now he wants her back?

I deleted the message.

Then I looked at Amara's closed door.

This contract just got 10 times more complicated.

---

*Day 2 of Marriage*

She was in the kitchen at 6 AM.

I don't do mornings. I don't do breakfast.

But there she was, making pandesal. The smell filled the entire penthouse.

"You're up early," I said.

She jumped. "Sorry. I didn't know if you— I made extra. For Luna."

Luna came downstairs, rubbing her eyes. She saw Amara and immediately ran to her.

"Can you braid my hair?"

Amara smiled. The first real smile I saw from her. "Of course."

She sat Luna down and started braiding. Her fingers were gentle. Careful.

Luna didn't pull away.

I stood in the doorway and watched.

This was supposed to be fake.

So why did it feel so real?

"Mr. Castro, your 8 AM meeting—" My secretary called.

"Cancel it."

"What?"

"I said cancel it." I walked away. "Family day today."

The word "family" felt foreign in my mouth.

---

*Night 3*

I came home late. Board meeting ran over.

The lights were off except for one in the living room.

Amara was asleep on the couch. Luna was curled up beside her, using her arm as a pillow.

A book was open on the floor. "The Little Prince."

They looked peaceful.

They looked like mine.

The thought terrified me.

I picked Luna up carefully. She mumbled "Tito" in her sleep.

I carried her to her room. Put her down. Tucked her in.

When I came back, Amara was awake.

"Sorry." She sat up, hair messy. "She asked me to read one more story."

"It's fine."

Silence.

"Zian, can I ask you something?"

"What."

"After one year... what happens to Luna?"

The question hit me like a punch.

"I don't know." The truth slipped out. "I haven't thought that far."

"You should." Her voice was soft but firm. "Because she will get attached. And when I leave, it will hurt her more."

I hated that she was right.

"Don't get attached either," I said. Colder than I meant. "That wasn't part of the deal."

Amara stood up. The shirt fell past her knees. She looked so small.

"I'm trying not to." She whispered. "But she's a 4-year-old who calls me Mommy in her sleep. How am I not supposed to?"

She walked to her room and closed the door.

I stood there for a long time.

Then I went to my office and drank whiskey until the sun came up.

---

*Day 4*

The wedding photos came.

Me in a suit. Her in white.

We weren't touching. Weren't smiling.

We looked like strangers.

Because we were.

Luna saw the photo and pointed at Amara. "Mommy."

Amara's eyes filled with tears. She quickly wiped them. "Let's put it on the fridge, okay?"

"Yes!" Luna clapped.

I watched from the kitchen. My hands in my pockets.

My phone buzzed again.

*David:* _I know where she is, Zian. Tell her to call me. Or I'll come to you._

Threat.

I pocketed my phone.

"Everything okay?" Amara asked. She was washing dishes.

"Fine." I lied. "Meeting in 30. I won't be home for dinner."

"Oh." Her face fell. Just for a second. "Okay."

I should have said something. Should have told her about David.

But contracts don't include warnings.

I walked out.

---

*Night 5*

I came home to chaos.

Luna was crying. Amara was on the phone, voice shaking.

"No, she's fine! She just fell— I don't know if it's serious—"

"What happened?" I dropped my briefcase.

"She fell from the stairs." Amara's eyes were red. "She was running to show me her drawing and she slipped. She's crying but she won't let me touch her."

Luna was on the couch, holding her arm. Crying.

I knelt down. "Luna. Let Tito see."

She shook her head.

"It's okay, baby." Amara's voice broke. "It's Tito Zian. He won't hurt you."

Luna looked at me. Then slowly held out her arm.

It was swelling. Probably fractured.

"Hospital. Now."

The ER was a blur. X-rays. A cast. Pink.

Luna fell asleep on Amara's lap.

At 3 AM, we were driving home.

"I'm sorry." Amara whispered. "I should have been watching her closer."

"Stop." I cut her off. "Accidents happen."

"But I'm supposed to be her mother. For one year. I failed on day 5."

I glanced at her. She was crying silently. Trying to be quiet so Luna wouldn't hear.

"You didn't fail." The words surprised me. "You stayed. You called me. You held her."

She looked at me, confused.

I looked back at the road.

"I don't know how to do this either," I admitted. "Being a parent. Being... anything."

Amara wiped her tears. "We can figure it out. Together. For one year."

The word "together" hung in the air.

When we got home, I carried Luna to bed.

Amara followed. She sat beside Luna and started singing.

A lullaby. Soft. In Tagalog.

Luna's breathing evened out.

Amara kept singing even after Luna was asleep.

I stood in the doorway and watched.

And for the first time in 6 months...

I didn't feel alone in my own house.

---

*Day 6*

Luna's birthday.

The house was full of balloons. Pink and white.

Amara spent the whole morning decorating.

"You didn't have to do this," I said.

"I wanted to." She was on a ladder, hanging a banner. "Happy 5th Birthday, Luna!"

Luna ran around in a princess dress. Laughing.

Actually laughing.

I hadn't heard that sound in half a year.

We cut the cake. Three of us.

Family photo. Like Luna asked.

When the camera flashed, Amara was holding Luna.

And I was standing beside them.

It looked real.

That night, after Luna was asleep, Amara came to my office.

"Thank you." She said. "For today. For letting me... be part of it."

I nodded. "She was happy."

"She was." Amara smiled. "Zian, can I ask you one more thing?"

"What."

"When this year is over... will you let me see her? Just once?"

The question gutted me.

"I don't know." I was honest. "I don't know if I can."

Amara nodded. Like she expected that answer. "Okay."

She turned to leave.

"Amara."

She stopped. "Yes?"

"Thank you." The words felt foreign. "For her."

Amara looked back at me. And for a second, I saw it.

Pity. Understanding. Maybe something else.

"Goodnight, Zian."

She closed the door.

I sat in the dark and thought about rings.

About contracts.

About a year that suddenly felt too short.

And about a woman who was never supposed to matter.

But did.

*TO BE CONTINUED...*

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