EPISODE 2
917 Words
My mouth went dry. “You’re asking me to marry you.”
“I’m offering you a solution,” he corrected. “Marriage is just the tool.”
I laughed then, soft and broken. “You don’t even know me.”
His gaze hardened. “I don’t need to.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
“And if I say no?” I asked.
Lucien shrugged. “Then I call the next candidate.”
Candidate.
As if this were a job interview I was already failing.
My phone buzzed in my bag, like a cruel reminder. Hospital updates. Bills. Time running out.
I thought of my mother pretending she wasn’t in pain.
I thought of the eviction notice waiting at home.
I thought of how tired I was of choosing between dignity and survival.
“When would this start?” I asked quietly.
Lucien’s eyes flickered, surprised maybe or approval.
“Immediately.”
I looked at the contract at last. At the neat lines that would bind my life to a man who looked at me like a necessary inconvenience.
“I won’t sleep with you,” I said firmly.
A pause.
“Good,” he replied. “Because that would complicate things.”
Something in my chest twisted.
I signed anyway.
The silence after his last sentence was heavy.
Not dramatic silence.
Not cinematic silence.
The kind of silence that makes you suddenly aware of how small you are in a very large room.
I stared at the contract on the table, my name printed neatly at the top like I belonged there. Like this was normal. Like people like me signed documents like this every day.
Marriage contract.
Temporary wife.
Scandal management.
I swallowed hard.
“Do I get time to think about it?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
Lucien Vale leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked, eyes unreadable. He looked like someone who had never begged for anything in his life. Like the world had always leaned towards him, not the other way around.
“You’ve already thought about it,” he said calmly. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
I hated that he was right.
I shifted in my seat, my palms damp. “I just want to be clear about something.”
He raised a brow slightly, like he was amused that I had the audacity to want clarity.
“I’m not…” I hesitated. “I’m not used to living a luxurious lifestyle so I might make mistakes from time to time.”
That finally got a reaction.
Not surprise.
Not curiosity.
Disbelief.
His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Miss Rock,” he said, “I didn’t hire you to explain yourself.”
Ouch that hurt.
I nodded slowly. Of course he didn’t. People like him never needed explanations. They made conclusions and let the rest of us live with them.
He slid the contract closer to me. “You’ll move into the residence tonight and we’ll make a public appearance together within forty-eight hours. You’ll be polite, presentable, and discreet.”
Presentable.
I resisted the urge to look down at my clothes.
“And in return?” I asked.
“You get paid,” he replied simply. “Handsomely.”
There it was again. The thing people always used to end conversations with me.
Money.
Like it erased dignity. Like it was supposed to silence questions.
I picked up the contract, flipping through the pages even though my hands were shaking slightly. Everything was spelled out in precise, clean language. No emotions. No romance. Just terms and conditions.
Rules.
So many rules.
No interviews without approval.
No personal disclosures.
No emotional attachment.
That one made me almost laugh.
As if emotional attachment was something I casually did for fun.
“I have one condition,” I said before I could stop myself.
Lucien’s eyes flicked up sharply. The room seemed to tense.
“I don’t share a bedroom.”
A pause.
Then unexpectedly he laughed. A soft, humorless sound.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said coolly. “This is a contract, not a fantasy.”
Heat rushed to my face. I wasn’t embarrassed, just reminded. Reminded of my place.
“Good,” I muttered. “We’re aligned.”
He stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “Have the contract signed and sent to my assistant. A car will be waiting for you downstairs.”
Just like that.
No congratulations.
No reassurance.
No welcome.
I rose too, my legs slightly unsteady. As I walked toward the door, I felt it, the weight of his gaze on my back. Measuring and Judging.
I paused, turning slightly. “Why me?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Because you’re forgettable enough to be reshaped,” he said. “And desperate enough to agree.”
The words landed cleanly. Surgically.
I nodded once. “You’d be surprised how wrong you are.”
He didn’t respond.
I left before my voice betrayed me.
……………
The car was black, expensive, and quiet. The driver didn’t look at me twice. That was familiar. People either stared too much or not at all.
As the city blurred past the window, I hugged my bag closer.
Temporary wife.
I almost laughed.
Lucien Vale was using me.
He had no idea how desperate I was to sort myself and mom out, to be permanently out of debt.
And somehow… that scared me more than the contract itself.
- Writer
