Chapter 2: Terms of Seduction

The contract sat in front of me like a trap dressed in velvet.

Thick pages. Crisp corners. A golden pen clipped to the side, as if they wanted to make betrayal look elegant.

I was alone in his penthouse office. Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows, but the warmth didn’t touch me. It was quiet... too quiet. Just the sound of my nails tapping against the edge of the leather folder, my thoughts twisting tighter with each clause I read.

No real intimacy.

I blinked, reading the line again. My lips twitched into something close to a scoff. I don’t know why I expected anything else. Of course he’d keep this cold. Professional. Mechanical. Like he was buying a business merger, not a wife.

No public outbursts.

I rolled my eyes. As if I was some wild creature he needed to cage.

No falling in love.

That one? That one made me laugh.

It was in italics, like some sick joke. No falling in love as if he thought I’d look into his deadpan expression, trace his perfect jawline, and suddenly beg to be his real wife. As if love was even on the table between two people who signed their vows with fine print and frostbite.

I flipped to the last page.

Then I saw it.

Clause 47-B: I own your nights.

I froze.

My breath caught, just for a second.

It wasn’t bolded. It wasn’t explained. Just five words, tucked between legalese and silent threats.

What did it mean?

It didn’t say he owned my mornings. Or my days. Just my nights.

Ambiguous. Dangerous. Intimate.

I didn’t know whether to laugh again or run.

Instead, I stood.

And the moment I turned around, I found him there.

Koven Elrik Mavros.

Leaning against the doorframe like he’d been watching me read the whole time.

“You’re early,” I said, throat dry.

He stepped inside, not answering, not blinking.

My grip tightened around the contract. “What does clause 47-B mean?”

He didn’t look surprised. “It means what it says.”

“That you own my nights?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Define own.”

He walked past me, straight to the bar, and poured himself coffee. “It’s subjective.”

“You put it in legal writing.”

“Exactly.”

I exhaled, slow. “That’s not an answer.”

He turned, coffee in hand. No sugar. No cream. Just bitter, like him. “You sleep here. You stay here. And when I call you, you come.”

I stared at him. “Like a dog?”

He didn’t flinch. “Like a wife.”

I laughed, short and sharp. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His eyes flicked down to my bare legs. I was still in silk shorts, a loose top. I hadn’t dressed yet. I hadn’t planned to be seen.

But maybe that was his point.

He walked closer.

Too close.

I stepped back.

He reached out, slow, almost lazy, and tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

The touch made me still. Not because it was gentle. But because it was calculated.

He leaned in, his voice low. “If you’re mine, Zephyra, you play by my rules.”

His words settled on my skin like smoke.

Heavy. Lingering.

I tried to mask the way my pulse reacted.

“I’m not yours,” I whispered.

“For the next twelve months,” he said, straightening, “you are.”

Later, after he left for some meeting I wasn’t invited to, I found myself standing in the bathroom staring at my reflection.

I looked the same.

Same dark eyes.

Same unbothered lipstick.

Same tired soul.

But everything felt… off.

Like the air in this penthouse knew I didn’t belong. Like the walls were watching. Like the mirrors didn’t trust me anymore.

I put on a dress. Ivory. Sleek. One of the ones he had sent up from some designer I couldn’t pronounce. The tag was still attached. Ten thousand dollars, probably.

I tore it off.

By noon, I was downstairs, sitting in his dining room with a private chef who refused to make eye contact and a housekeeper who tiptoed like the furniture might bite her.

I wasn’t used to silence.

I wasn’t used to luxury, either.

But what I wasn’t ready for, what I didn’t say out loud, was how easily this life was already starting to feel like a cage.

That evening, we didn’t speak much.

He worked late in his study.

I watched the news on mute.

I tried to eat. Couldn’t.

He didn’t ask if I was okay.

And I didn’t expect him to.

When the clock hit ten, I went to bed. Alone. In the guest bedroom. I wrapped myself in sheets that smelled like nothing. Blank. Empty. Expensive.

At midnight, a knock came.

Not loud.

Just… there.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

A few seconds later, the door opened anyway.

He stood there, still in his shirt, sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned just enough to make my spine shift.

“Koven,” I said, sitting up, confused.

He didn’t come closer.

Just stood by the door.

“I told you,” he said calmly. “I own your nights.”

My throat went dry.

“I’m not—” I stopped. I didn’t even know what I was about to say.

He stepped inside. “Relax. You’re not here for that.”

“Then what—”

“Stand up.”

I hesitated.

He raised a brow. “Zephyra.”

Something in his voice made my feet move before my brain could catch up. I stood, barefoot, unsure.

He walked over to me slowly, like I was something delicate. Or dangerous.

Then, without warning, he reached for my hands and placed something in them.

A book.

I blinked. “What is this?”

“It’s your life for the next twelve months.”

I opened it.

Photos. Schedules. Names. Fake anniversaries. Vacation plans. Favorite songs. Allergy lists. Matching stories of how we met.

I stared at the pages.

A lie wrapped in details.

He pulled a chair and sat down in front of me.

“You’ll memorize it,” he said. “You’ll speak it like it’s truth.”

I looked at him. “You’re really going to keep this up? All of this? Why?”

He didn’t look away.

“For control.”

There it was.

No pretending.

No mask.

Just honesty so sharp it almost felt like cruelty.

I sat back down. “And if I mess up?”

“You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

He leaned forward. “Then you’ll learn.”

His tone wasn’t threatening. It was worse, it was certain.

I looked down at the book again, at the glossy pictures of a couple that didn’t exist.

“I can’t believe I signed this,” I whispered.

“You can,” he said. “You just don’t want to.”

Silence stretched.

The kind that fills your lungs until breathing hurts.

Then, soft but not sweet, he said something that made my heart ache in a way I didn’t expect.

“You laugh like you’re still trying to prove you’re fine.”

I looked up.

His face wasn’t smug. It wasn’t cruel.

Just… still.

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

So I closed the book.

And for the first time, I wondered if this was less about pretending to be married.

And more about learning who I was without anything left to hide behind.

He left after that.

Didn’t touch me.

Didn’t linger.

Just walked out and shut the door with the same quiet certainty that followed him everywhere.

I sat on the bed for a long time.

Alone with my thoughts. My silence. My fake new life.

And that stupid contract tucked into my drawer like it owned me now.

By morning, I started memorizing page one. Because if I was going to survive this. I’d have to become the kind of woman who could lie with a smile, Sleep beside a stranger, And learn how to belong to a man without ever giving him my soul.

Or worse... My heart.