The next morning, Ana sat across from Christian at the breakfast bar.
She wasn't wearing red.
No silk. No performance.
Just an oversized gray hoodie and scraped knuckles from where she punched a drawer closed too hard last night.
He offered her coffee.
She didn't take it.
đź“ť No More Scripts
"I read the whole contract," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the marble counter.
Christian stiffened.
"I memorized Clause 14.3. I googled the law firms that wrote it. I even translated the Latin footnote at the bottom."
He tried to speak.
She cut him off.
"You built an escape route before I even walked into the trap."
Christian exhaled through his nose. "I didn't know you then."
"But you planned to use me anyway," she snapped.
Silence.
Then—
"I'm not asking for an apology anymore," she said. "I'm asking for something else."
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
⚖️ The Real Terms
Ana reached into her back pocket and unfolded a handwritten page.
Not typed. Not notarized. Just… hers.
"This is my clause," she said. "And if this marriage is going to survive, you'll sign it."
Christian took the page and read:
ANA RAE'S NON-NEGOTIABLE TERMS:
1. No more secrets. If it involves me — I hear it first.
2. No more exes walking through this door without your permission and mine.
3. You don't get to control how I feel. Or what I write in my journal.
4. I am not an asset. Or a risk. Or a tax shelter. If you want me to stay, say it because you want me, not because it's convenient.
5. If you ever use the contract against me again — we're done.
He finished reading.
Looked up at her.
She stared back.
Still. Cold. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with looks.
He folded the page slowly.
And without breaking her gaze—
Signed his name at the bottom.
🕊️ Quiet Aftermath
"I meant what I said last night," Christian said softly.
"I did too," she replied.
He pushed the coffee toward her again.
This time, she took it.
To be continued…