One-Year Contract with the Cold Billionaire

CHAPTER 4 — Dinner at the Place He Never Visited

The days that followed felt different — lighter, as if a heavy curtain had been pulled back to let in the sunlight. Arkan and I ate dinner together every evening, sometimes talking until late, sometimes sitting in comfortable silence. He would tell me about his projects, and I would tell him about Dimas and the silly things he used to do when we were kids. It felt natural. It felt like home.

Then one Friday, he came home and found me in the kitchen watering the small potted herbs I had placed on the windowsill. He leaned against the doorframe, watching me with a soft look in his eyes that was becoming more familiar.

“Get dressed,” he said. “I want to take you somewhere.”

He drove us across the city to a quiet neighborhood I had never visited before. We stopped in front of a small, family-run restaurant with warm golden light spilling from its windows and a hand-painted sign hanging above the door. Inside, it smelled of garlic and fresh bread and something sweet — like honey and vanilla. The owner greeted Arkan by name.

“It’s been a long time,” the woman said warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your mother used to bring you here, didn’t she?”

Arkan nodded, a gentle sadness in his smile. “She did. This was her favorite place in the whole city. I haven’t been since she passed away. Until today.”

We were seated at a small table near the window. The food was simple but delicious — homemade pasta with fresh basil, warm crusty bread, and a glass of wine that Arkan said his mother always ordered. We talked and laughed for hours, and for a little while, I forgot that we were only supposed to be together for a year. I forgot about the contract. I forgot about everything except the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and how easy it was to be myself around him.

On the drive home, the city lights blurred past us in streaks of gold and amber. Arkan was quiet, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. When we reached the house, he didn’t turn off the engine immediately. He sat there in the soft glow of the dashboard lights, staring out at the garden, and then he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about the agreement,” he said, his voice low and careful. “About the twelve months. About the end date.”

My heart sank a little. “You want to end it early?”

He turned to me quickly, his eyes wide and earnest. “No. Never that. I meant… I don’t want there to be an end date. Not next month. Not ever. Every morning I wake up and realize I’m one day closer to losing you, and it feels like I can’t breathe. I don’t want a transaction anymore, Lina. I want you. I want to know how your day was. I want to see you in the kitchen with your herbs. I want to be the person you run to when things are hard. And I want to be the one you come home to when they’re good.”

He reached across the center console and took both my hands in his, his gaze searching mine.

“I know I told you not to fall in love. I know I made that rule myself. But I broke it first. I fell in love with you somewhere between watching you laugh at my terrible jokes and seeing the way you care about people like no one I’ve ever known. I don’t have a contract to offer you anymore. Just me. And a promise that I’ll try every single day to be worthy of you. Is that… is that something you could want too?”

Tears pricked at my eyes — happy tears, warm and overwhelming. I squeezed his hands gently.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Arkan. I was just too afraid to say it. Yes. A thousand times — yes.”

He smiled then — a real, bright smile that reached his eyes and lit up his whole face — and leaned across to kiss me softly, tenderly, as if I were something precious he was afraid to break.