Chapter4:Morning After
592 Words
Ava woke up to the soft hum of early sunlight sneaking past her curtains. Her body felt heavy like the kind of exhaustion you get when your soul’s nudged awake before your brain caught up.
The events of last night replayed like a half-remembered dream.
Her phone said 7:12 a.m.not pretending to remember it was technically a work night.
She flopped out of bed, shoulders tense as she wrestled into her clothes. Jeans, comfortable shirt. No makeup. Minimal effort today, thank God.
Her phone buzzed, one text.
Breakfast, two floors down. —D
She swallowed. Really? That was fast.
She checked her breath in the mirror, straightened her shirt, and headed downstairs.
The smell of fresh coffee hit her before she reached the dining room. The table was set with waffles, berries, yogurt fairly normal. Almost domestic.
Damien was already there. Shirt sleeves rolled again. Coffee cup in hand. Waiting. Real breakfast, real food, real – almost – like a normal morning.
“Morning,” he said. No frills.
“Morning,” she replied, sliding in across from him.
He didn’t look nervous. Not like she was. But damn, her stomach was doing cartwheels.
Awkward pause. Then he said, almost quietly, “Did you sleep?”
She shrugged, playing with a berry. “Like crap, but I slept.”
“I did too.” He took a sip, eyes on his cup. “Not used to… whatever this is.”
She met his gaze. “Neither am I.”
They ate in silence. Sometimes that’s enough.
Then he cleared his throat. “About last night…” He looked at her, steady. “I wanted it to feel less contractual. Maybe I messed up.”
It felt real. It sounded real. And it scared her.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I didn’t hate it.”
He glanced up, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You didn’t?”
She shook her head. “No.” She met his gaze fully. “But let’s not pretend it was some big romantic moment.”
He let out a laugh half genuine, half exhale. “Deal.”
Another pause then he set down his fork. “There’s something… we should probably discuss.”
She swallowed. Here it comes.
He slid two printed pages across the table. She didn’t need to look to know they were the terms, her name on them, signatures… legal stuff.
“I reviewed it last night,” he said. “Added a clause.”
She blinked. “Clause?”
“Ave clause.”
“What?”
“Ava clause,” he corrected. “You get sick. You trip. You don’t want to do a public appearance no penalty. You pull out.”
Her breath stopped for a second. Was that real consideration or damage control?
“That part I can agree with,” she said, voice steady.
He nodded. “Good.”
Her mind raced this could be a game-changer.
She cleared her throat. “Look, Damien, about everything… I’m in. I said I wanted freedom. And if being your ‘wife’ gets me a life where I don’t worry about rent then let’s do it.”
He hid nothing relief, hope? “So…?”
She tossed the pages back. “I need time. Tonight, we finalize. But I’ll say yes. Just on my terms.”
He let out a long breath. Leaned back. “On your terms.”
And then breakfast ended like any weird modern arrangement might: with no declarations, no fanfare, and a whole lot of unspoken possibility.
- Writer
