Signing the contract
1714 Words
Chapter Four
For the next three days, Amaya carried the contract everywhere.
Not because she had made a decision.
Because she hadn't.
The folder sat on her kitchen table while she searched through every page again and again.
One year.
One hundred thousand dollars every month.
A marriage that wasn't a marriage.
A life completely different from the one she had known.
It sounded impossible.
It sounded dangerous.
But so did staying.
She looked around the apartment.
The same walls.
The same furniture.
The same place where she had once imagined building a future.
Now it only reminded her of everything she had lost.
Her job.
Her independence.
The person she used to be.
Her fingers brushed over the contract.
Maybe this wasn't a dream opportunity.
Maybe it was another mistake waiting to happen.
But for the first time in a long time...
She had a choice.
And she wasn't sure if that scared her more than having none.
---
The sound of the front door opening pulled her from her thoughts.
Amaya quickly closed the folder.
"Carter?"
No answer.
She stood slowly.
A familiar smell filled the apartment.
Alcohol.
Her heart sank.
Not tonight.
Please.
Carter walked into the living room, dropping his keys onto the table.
"You're still awake."
She forced herself to remain calm.
"You're late."
He laughed quietly.
"And?"
The old version of herself would have apologized.
The old version would have tried to make him comfortable.
But she was tired.
Too tired.
"You've been drinking."
His expression changed.
"Don't start."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
Amaya looked away.
She didn't want another fight.
Not tonight.
Not when her mind was already drowning in questions.
Carter moved around the apartment, muttering under his breath before eventually collapsing onto the couch.
Within minutes, his breathing became heavier.
He was asleep.
Amaya stood there silently.
She hated that a part of her still cared.
She grabbed a blanket and covered him.
Then she stared at him for a long moment.
She remembered the boy he used to be.
The person who sat beside her during the hardest moments of her life.
The person who helped her when she had nobody else.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
She wasn't leaving someone she never loved.
She was leaving someone she still remembered loving.
---
The next morning, Amaya woke up to the smell of coffee.
For a moment, she forgot everything.
Then she walked into the kitchen.
Carter stood by the counter, preparing breakfast.
He looked almost normal.
Almost.
"Morning."
She stared at him.
"Morning."
He placed a plate on the table.
"I made your favorite."
No apology.
No mention of last night.
Nothing.
Just breakfast.
Like the argument had never happened.
Like she hadn't spent the night wondering if she could continue living this way.
He walked over and kissed her cheek before picking up his jacket.
"I'll see you later."
Amaya remained still.
A strange emptiness settled inside her.
Because somehow...
This hurt more.
---
That evening, Carter returned home slightly unsteady.
Not as drunk as before.
But enough.
Amaya had been waiting.
"We need to talk about the bills."
He sighed immediately.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
She opened the notebook where she had written everything down.
"The electricity bill is overdue, and the rent is coming up. We need to figure something out."
"I'll handle it."
"You've been saying that for weeks."
His jaw tightened.
"I said I'll handle it."
"And if you can't?"
Silence.
Amaya swallowed.
"I'm not trying to fight. I'm just saying maybe you should ask your father for help. He has the means, and you know that."
The change in his expression was instant.
"Don't bring my family into this."
"Why? Because you don't want to admit you need help?"
The next moment happened too quickly.
A moment of anger.
A moment she wished had never happened.
The crisp sound of his hand connecting with her face and the sharp ringing in her ears.
The room went silent.
The sting spread across her cheek in slow waves.
Not because it hurt more than the others.
But because...
This time she didn't cry.
She simply looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And somewhere inside her...
The woman who had spent two years trying to save this relationship quietly gave up.
Carter looked shocked.
Then angry at the anger written on her face.
"You shouldn't pay me back this way for all I did ."
"Everything you have is because of me."
"Your apartment."
"Your mother's treatment."
"That job."
"Without me, you'd have nothing."
He stepped closer.
"And this is how you repay me?"
There he went again always making her the villian and him the victim
"I've endured enough from you to repay everything you've ever done for me."
Shock flashed across his face once again. This was the first time she ever raised her voice to speak back at him
That didn't sit well with him. He looked like she had just bruised a large part of his male ego.
"Get out."
Amaya didn't move.
"Did you hear me?"
He pointed toward the door.
"Get out."
She stared at him bewildered.
Usually, this was where she begged.
Where she apologized.
Where she tried to fix things.
But she had spent years trying to fix something that kept breaking her.
So she simply walked to the bedroom.
She picked the contract, her phone, and his business card, stuffing them into a small purse.
Carter watched from the doorway.
He probably expected tears.
A plea.
A promise that she would change.
But Amaya had nothing left to give.
Wearing only the shorts she already had on, she threw on a hoodie from the bed before stepping outside.
A few seconds later...
The lock turned bringing her back from her thoughts.
"Hmm. He's really going to leave me outside on a chilly night."
She waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Surely...
Surely he'd open the door.
Even if it was only to continue the argument.
She stood there quietly when it finally dawned on her that he wasn't going to call her in, The silence behind the door was louder than every insult he'd ever thrown at her.
"Ooof what was i expecting."
She said exhaustion visible in her voice as her palms ran down her face.
No crying.
No anger.
Just exhaustion.
She had cried enough years ago.
Now she was just done.
---
The hotel was small.
The room was barely bigger than their apartment bathroom.
The room smelled faintly of detergent.
The mattress squeaked.
The curtains were too thin.
She had stayed in nicer places.
Yet...
It felt safer than the apartment she'd called home for two years.
For the first time in years...
Nobody was waiting to tell her what she did wrong.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the contract beside her.
Three days ago, it had looked like a trap.
Tonight...
It looked like a door.
And a door she hoped it really was.
---
The next morning, Amaya bought the cheapest dress she could find.
It wasn't expensive.
It wasn't perfect.
But she didn't need perfect.
She needed a beginning, a way out.
She stood outside Moretti Holdings, holding the folder tightly against her chest.
The building still looked intimidating.
Still impossible.
But she was different.
Before, she had come looking for a job.
Now...
She was choosing a way out.
The receptionist recognized her immediately.
"Ms. Rossi."
Amaya nodded.
"Can I see Mr Moretti please?."
"Sure, this way."
The receptionist said leading the way.
And for the first time in a very long time...
She wasn't running away from something.
She was walking toward something.
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