The Contract
1184 Words
Silverware clinked, echoing way too loud for Selene’s taste across that monster of an oak table. God, the Smith place—walls drowning in million-dollar paintings, chandeliers throwing disco-glitter all over the ceiling. Fancy, sure, but honestly? The silence between her and Raymond weighed more than all the velvet curtains in the room put together.
Dinner was Raymond’s idea, of course. His big plan to patch things up. Legal partners? Sure. Heartfelt connection? Nah. That chasm was still wide open.
Selene mostly just poked at her soup, eyes glued to the bowl but her brain vacationing somewhere far from the estate. Meanwhile, Raymond—always the picture of perfection in that custom navy suit—just stared at her, probably rehearsing some speech in his head.
“I appreciate you coming,” he finally said, his voice all polite.
She glanced up, not even pretending. “Didn’t come for the food.”
He actually smiled, barely. “Figured as much. Still… I hoped we could talk.”
She gave a half-hearted nod. Noncommittal. “About what?”
“About us. Or, you know, whatever ‘us’ could even mean.”
Selene put her spoon down, her hands folded tight in her lap. “This marriage? Wasn’t our call. Old men made this mess. They’re gone, but here we are, stuck cleaning up.”
Raymond leaned forward, elbows on the table like he was about to strike some business deal. “Totally agree. But we don’t have to be miserable about it. We could… I dunno, make our own rules.”
She c****d an eyebrow. “What, like a prenup after the fact?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. More like—mutual respect, some space, honesty. That kind of thing.”
For the first time, her glare softened. Just a little. “Couldn’t hurt to try honesty.”
He paused, then just went for it. “You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you?”
Yikes. That one hit right in the ribs. Selene stared at the table, throat tight. “I honestly don’t even know anymore.”
Raymond let out a breath. “That’s real. Just—don’t fake it. That’ll mess you up worse.”
She finally looked at him, searching. “So what about you? You actually want to be stuck with someone who doesn’t love you?”
He didn’t flinch. “If she’s real with me. If she tries. Yeah.”
Wow. She didn’t expect that—something raw flickered behind his perfect suit-and-tie act.
Selene pushed her chair back. “Thanks for dinner. I need to think.”
He nodded, letting her go. “Take your time.”
Later that night, Selene wandered through the Smith estate gardens. Moonlight sloshed across the hedges and marble statues, making everything look like it’d been dunked in silver. She stopped by a stone fountain, just listening: water gurgling, the air holding its breath. Her thoughts? All over the place. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever let go of the past. Or if she could even make room for anyone else.
Then—soft footsteps behind her. She spun around, heart thudding.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Raymond said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She smirked, eyebrows raised. “You literally live here.”
He laughed—like, an actual laugh, not the polite kind. He joined her at the fountain. “This was my mother’s favorite spot. She’d camp out here all day with some novel.”
Selene glanced sideways. “You talk about her like you actually liked her.”
“I did. She balanced my dad. He was all rules; she was all comfort. I miss her, honestly.”
Silence, but not the awkward kind. More like we’ve both been there kind of silence.
“You ever feel like you’re living someone else’s life?” she blurted out.
Raymond looked up at the sky, then back at her. “Pretty much every day. But then I think—hey, it’s mine now. I get to decide what happens.”
She gazed at the moon, unsure. “I wish I believed that. I really do.”
He turned to her, gentler now. “Let me help. Not as your husband. Just… as a friend.”
She searched his face for any sign of B.S. Nothing. For the first time, he wasn’t just the heir or the stranger she’d been forced to marry. He was just a guy trying to make sense of a life he’d never asked for.
“Okay,” she said. Barely a whisper. “Friends.”
Some kind of truce formed right there, under the starlight.
For the next few days, Raymond kept his word. Give her space. Didn’t hover, didn’t pry. Instead, he did these small things—left her favorite books in the library, sent fresh flowers to her room, somehow guessed what food she liked, and had the kitchen whip it up.
Selene noticed. Hard not to.
One morning at breakfast, he cracked her up with a story about playing some dumb prank on the butler when he was a kid. She laughed so hard she snorted. For a second, she forgot how heavy everything felt.
Around the estate, they found these tiny pockets of calm. Chess in the study. Walks by the lake. Tea on the veranda when the sky turned pink. They didn’t talk much about their marriage, but something shifted.
Selene realized she was watching him—not suspiciously, just… curious. The guy was smart, patient, and way funnier than she’d expected. He asked her about her dreams and her opinions—actually listened, too. It caught her off guard, in a good way.
She started seeing the man, not just the legacy. And he, bit by bit, started seeing her, not just her sadness.
One evening, watching the sun fade behind the hills, Raymond turned to her.
“You said you didn’t choose this marriage. What if you could—someday? Would it matter?”
Selene didn’t answer. But she didn’t leave, either.
Four weeks in, Raymond called her into the library to sort out the contract they’d talked about. Leather folder on the table, tea steaming, fancy cups and all.
“My lawyer put this together,” he said, popping it open. “It’s not a legal thing. Just us, making it up as we go. Ground rules.”
Selene scanned it. Privacy, support, honesty, all that jazz. Nothing sneaky.
“This is… actually really decent,” she said.
He slid her a pen. “Only if you want to.”
She hesitated, then signed. “I’ll stick to it.”
He signed, too. “Me too.”
They shook hands. And for once, it didn’t feel like sealing a deal—it felt like making a promise.
They sipped tea in silence. Selene looked at Raymond, really looked this time.
Maybe the contract wasn’t just about playing it safe. Maybe it was the start of something real.
And deep down, something new began to grow.
Trust.
Not love. Not yet.
But hey, it was a start.
- Writer
