THE WIFE WHO FORGOT

CHAPTER 7: CONTRACT MARRIAGE - PART 2

THE ONLY CHOICE, A CONTRACT MARRIAGE - PART 2

INT. JASON’S APARTMENT — SAME NIGHT

She's sat on the sofa. Corner. Knees pulled up. Bare feet tucked under her. She hasn't moved.

Jason is standing by the console. He picks up a NEW folder — crisp, holds it tight for a second. He walks to the coffee table. Crouches down in front of it — in front of her — and places the new folder down gently on the coffee table. Right in front of where she's sitting. Next to it, already there, is the small dark blue velvet case. Closed. He slides the folder forward toward her.

"What is this now? What else do you need to show me?" Rose asks, voice flat, armor on.

He doesn't open it for her. He lets her decide.

"Our marriage agreement. Had my people and my lawyers put this all in place."

How long has he been planning this? How long?

She stares at him. Then at the folder. Slowly, she leans forward and picks it up. Her hands are steady. Too steady.

She opens it. First page — her name. Rose Hartley. Second page — his. Third page — timeline. Four weeks. Florida. Family. Press. Party. Wedding. Every detail. Dates. Venues. Even what they will tell their families.

She reads. Faster. Her breathing changes.

"You mean marriage contract!" She slams it down on the coffee table.

She shoves it — pushes it away from her in disgust, across the coffee table, it almost falls off the other side.

"How long have you planned this, Jason? Huh? Wow. You have it all planned out. All in writing. Every detail. Nothing left out, I see."

She nods, sharp, disgusted, toward the velvet case sitting next to the files on the coffee table.

"Even that. Right there. Next to the files. Like it's part of the paperwork."

Jason looks at the folder where she pushed it. Then at the ring case. He doesn't defend himself.

No. Not all along. Since that night at Jonathan and Samantha's house. Every way I looked at it Sam would have found out, the money issue it's that big, that stupid Jonathan has got himself screwed you can't fix it and be kept quiet. This is the only way to save you from all of it, dammit! From him, from yourself. A full marriage. Everything in place. So you can't be ruined. So you can't leave.

What he says out loud, quiet, crouched there, looking up at her, "Yes. It is a contract."

A beat.

He reaches — not for the folder — for the velvet case. He doesn't open it yet. He just rests his hand next to it on the coffee table.

"This wasn't in the folder. This was separate. This was... it's needed to keep up drama! Call what u like."

He stops. Swallows. Then flips the dark blue velvet case open with his thumb. Click.

Inside — emerald cut. Platinum. It catches the living room light and throws it right at her face.

He turns the open case around on the coffee table and slides it toward her — right next to the marriage contract she pushed away. So now both things are sitting in front of her. Files on one side, ring on the other.

"I need you to wear it. Family dinner. Press in Florida. Otherwise they won't buy it."

Rose doesn't touch it.

"So this is... this is part of the paperwork too."

"No. I said this was separate."

"But you still had it planned. Sitting here. Next to the files. On the coffee table. Like — like evidence."

"Give me your hand, Rose. We are going to do this the right way."

She doesn't give it. She lets out a small, mused laugh — bitter, not funny at all — and repeats his words back to him.

"The right way? Really? The right way is when a man proposes and asks a girl if she would marry him, Jason — not do all this!"

She gestures at the coffee table — the folder pushed to the edge, the open velvet case.

"You put files on a coffee table! A contract! A ring in a box like it's — like it's evidence! That's not the right way, Jason!"

He flinches.

"You're right. This isn't the right way."

He reaches out, slower this time, and gently takes her hand. He places the ring on her finger and lets go so quickly you'd think she burned him. He holds the empty velvet case.

She freezes. Her hand is still out over the coffee table, but now the ring is on it.

The living room light catches the emerald cut on her finger and throws it right at her face.

Protection. He calls this protection. A contract on a coffee table and a ring on my finger. Something I dreamed of. Oh god how has it turned to a nightmare.

Her hand moves. Slowly. Her other hand hovers over the ring on her finger, not touching it. Her eyes locked on it. The platinum feels too heavy. Her finger feels heavy. Wrong. Her breath is shallow. She turns her hand slightly, watching the stone catch the light on her finger.

"It doesn't feel like a promise... it feels like a seal. Like... like ownership."

Silence in the apartment. Just her breathing. His hand still HOLDING THE EMPTY velvet case. The ring catching light on her finger.

Jason swallows. He doesn't answer. He doesn't argue.

He pushes himself up from his crouch in front of the coffee table. Stands. The velvet case still in his hand.

He walks over to the window. Back to her. Stares out.

Solid silence.

She's left on the sofa, corner, knees pulled up, ring on her finger, folder pushed to the edge of the coffee table — alone with both.

Moments passed which felt like a lifetime as Rose takes in everything he’s said. She doesn’t argue about how it’s done — she knows who he is, how his world works. She just waits, numb, for him to tell her what comes next.

Jason leans back against the window steady, decisive — every bit the man who runs an empire. No hesitation, no uncertainty. He knows exactly how this goes.

JASON — calm, firm, authoritative —

“We do this properly. Exactly how it’s done. Nothing that would raise a single eyebrow. First thing tomorrow, we announce our engagement — to our families. Personally. Then to the press. We give them the perfect love story they’ve always expected from us. No secrets. No haste. Just… exactly what everyone wants to see.”

ROSE — “And the wedding?”

JASON — “As i said before. Four weeks. Enough time for everything to feel natural. We hold the engagement party here in the city — all the celebrations, the dinners, the fittings. Then we fly down to Florida. Small, private ceremony. Just family and those closest to us. Beautiful. Perfect. Exactly right.”

He meets her eyes — clear, unwavering.

JASON — “No one suspects a thing. Sam stays calm. The business stays secure. Everything looks exactly as it should. That’s how we do this, Rose. Properly.”

Rose nods slowly. Four weeks. Four weeks to play the happy fiancée. Four weeks to smile and pretend and let everyone believe this is the happiest I’ve ever been. And then… Florida. And then… forever.

FOUR WEEKS LATER — THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY GRAND BALLROOM IN NEW YORK

Crystal chandeliers blaze overhead. White roses line every table. A string quartet plays something light and romantic. The room is filled with people — family, friends, business partners, society friends — all laughing, raising glasses, calling out congratulations.

ROSE stands beside JASON at the centre of the room. She wears pale gold silk, her hair swept up, the engagement ring on her finger catching the light — an emerald-cut diamond, classic, stunning, exactly what everyone imagined she’d have. She smiles. She laughs. She leans into him for photos. Every movement is graceful. Every gesture is rehearsed.

Inside Rose:

Look happy. Be happy. That’s what they need to see. Don’t let your eyes look tired. Don’t let your hand tighten when he touches your waist. It’s almost done. Just a little longer.

JASON — arm around her, voice low, only for her —

“Easy. You’re doing fine.”

ROSE — doesn’t look at him, keeps her smile bright —

“I know. I’m just… ready.”

He turns to the crowd, his voice carrying clear and strong — the confident, successful man everyone knows.

JASON — “Thank you all for being here. Rose and I… we’re so happy to share this with you. We’ll be married in four weeks’ time — in Florida. A small, private ceremony, just family and those closest to us. And we couldn’t be more ready.”

Applause bursts out — warm, genuine, loud. Sam pushes through the crowd, beaming, Jonathan right behind her.

SAM — throwing her arms around Rose —

“Oh my goodness! It’s all so perfect! Florida! How beautiful! I’m so happy for you both!”

Rose hugs her back gently, carefully. “Thank you, Sam. Truly.”

Jonathan claps Jason firmly on the shoulder. “Congratulations. You’ve got a good one here.”

JASON — “I know. I’m very lucky.”

The weeks that follow are a blur of wedding dress fittings, family dinners, phone calls, photographs — every moment curated, every appearance planned. They are the perfect couple. Everyone says so. No one asks questions. No one suspects anything is wrong. They are exactly who they were always meant to be.