My rm red at 6:00 AM, jolting me awake. I fumbled for my phone, silencing it with a groan. Sunlight streamed through my thin curtains, casting a golden glow across my bedroom.

In the shower, hot water cascaded over my shoulders, casing the tension I’d been carrying. Ithered shampoo into my hair, trying to focus on the day ahead rather than Alexander’s proposition.

Standing before my closet, I rifled through my work clothes. I pulled out a navy pencil skirt and cream blouse, then hesitated. My hands drifted to a more form-fitting burgundy dress I rarely wore.

“What am I doing?” I muttered, pushing the dress aside and returning to my original choice.

I selected a matching set of ckce underwear, then paused. “Why am I even thinking about this? It’s just a normal workday.”

I slipped into the clothes quickly, applied minimal makeup, and headed to the kitchen. Instead of my usual gran bar on the go, I made a proper breakfast-scrambled eggs, toast, and sliced fruit. I even brewed coffee instead of buy- ing my usual overpricedtte.

“Look at me, being a responsible adult,” I said to my empty apartment, raising my coffee mug in a mock toast.

The cab ride to Carter Enterprises was uneventful. I spent it scrolling through emails, mentally preparing for the day ahead. The marketing department had a campaignunch for athletic wear next week, and we were behind schedule.

At the office, I dove straight into work.

I spent the morning reviewing mockups for the campaign. The colors were off, and the tagline needed work.

By lunchtime, I had a revised concept that actually excited me.

At 2:30 PM, my phone buzzed with a message.

Alexander: My office. Now.

My stomach flipped. I nced around as if everyone could somehow read the text over my shoulder.

“Shit,” I whispered, locking my phone.

I saved my work, smoothed my skirt, and headed for the executive floor. The elevator ride felt endless. What would I say to him? I still hadn’t decided about his proposal. Part of me wanted to tell him to shove his contract where the sun doesn’t shine, but money…

The executive floor was quiet, all ss and chrome and hushed voices. Alexander’s secretary, a stylish woman in her twenties, looked up as I approached.

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“Ms. Morgan? Mr. Carter is waiting for you.” She gestured toward the imposing double doors. “Go right in.”

I took a deep breath, knocked once, and entered the lion’s den.

Alexander stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted against the Los Angeles skyline. He turned as I entered, and my traitor heart skipped a beat. In a charcoal suit that fit him like it was molded to his body, he looked every inch the powerful CEO.

“Ms. Morgan,” he said, his eyes tracking me as I stepped into his office. “You look lovely today.”

“Thank you,” I replied automatically. “You look… nice as well.” Why did I say that? He was my boss, not my date. Thepliment had slipped out before I could stop it.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the sleek leather couch in the corner of his office.

I perched on the edge of the couch, my back straight, hands folded in myp.

Alexander moved away from the window and sat across from me. His long legs stretched out casually, as if we were old friends meeting for coffee instead of boss and employee discussing a marriage contract.

“Have you made your decision?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

I took a deep breath. The contract had been on my mind all night, those impossible terms dancing through my dreams. “I’ve thought about your… proposal.”

“And?” His gray eyes locked on mine, intense and unreadable.

“I’m willing to consider it,” I said carefully. “But I have concerns about certain aspects of the arrangement.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Which aspects?”

“The sex,” I blurted out, then felt my cheeks me. “I mean, the physical rtionshipponent. I just broke up with Ryanst week. I’m not ready to jump into bed with someone else, especially not as part of a business transaction.”

His expression softened slightly. “I’m not asking you to jump into anything immediately, Olivia. I’m not that kind of

man.”

“The contract suggests otherwise,” I countered.

“The contract outlines theplete terms of our arrangement. It doesn’t dictate a timeline.” He leaned forward, el- bows on his knees. “You can take all the time you need to befortable with that aspect of our rtionship.”

“But you said it was non-negotiable.”

“The eventual physical rtionship is non-negotiable,” he rified. “The timing is flexible. I won’t force you into anything you’re not ready for.”

I studied his face, trying to determine if he was being honest. “And if I need months?”

“Then you need months.” He shrugged, the movement elegant even in its casualness. “We may need to maintain this arrangement longer than a year, depending on my grandfather’s suspicions. Sometimes these things take time to y out properly. If we’re lucky, we can end it after exactly twelve months. But life rarely follows our precise ns, does

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it?”

I thought about the past week, how it had started with me happily nning a future with Ryan, only to watch my r- tionship implode spectacrly. Then came the humiliation of being harassed on the street by drunk men, the surreal experience of being driven home by my CEO in his luxury car, and now here I was, sitting in his immacte office discussing a marriage contract as casually as most people might discuss lunch ns.

No, life definitely didn’t follow ns. Mine had veered so dramatically off course that I barely recognized the path I was on anymore. Just a few days ago, I’d been certain about where my life was headed; now everything familiar had been stripped away.

“I understand.” I said finally. “And I appreciate your… flexibility on the physical aspect.”

“So you ept?” His eyes sharpened with interest.

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Olivia