Marrying Harry Castillo wasn't in your future plans. But it happened. It benefited both your and Harry's firms. But this decision costed more than just a successful merger. It costed leaving the life you always dreamed of. It costed giving up the future you wanted, away from the companies, tall buildings and socialites.

The merger and marriage was temporary. Just a transaction, like most things were. Once both parties got what they wanted, the marriage was not necessary.

Harry knew that. He was aware from start to finish tht you didn't want this. He didn't either. Who would? Being forced to live with someone you've only met briefly at galas? Harry was a passionate man, but even he knew how much of a torture this would be for you. So, me made it his goal to make this as comfortable as possible.

Harry left you the main bedroom, he provided whatever essentials you needed and as per the marriage contract, he took you out for dinner once a week. It was to keep the appearances of a happy marriage. Only, things quickly took a turn. The nights that were usually spent alone, in bed, on the couch, or the kitchen, suddenly weren't.

He'd come home early to have dinner with you, not just once a week.

"You're home early," you remarked one Tuesday, surprised to see him in the kitchen at 6:00 PM.

Harry loosened his tie, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. "The meeting ended ahead of schedule. I thought... well, we have to eat anyway. Why wait for the weekend?"

It became a pattern. Then came the Fridays. "Is this the one with the subtitles you mentioned?" Harry asked, hovering over the remote. "The one about the farm in the valley?"

"You remembered that?"

He shrugged, though he wouldn't look you in the eye. "I listen occasionally. Despite what the tabloids say, I’m not entirely self-absorbed."

You both deemed it as friendly affection. Until the "friendly affection" reached a breaking point as you stood by the door one morning, reaching up to fix his collar.

"You’re staring," you whispered, your fingers brushing the pulse at his neck.

"It’s a new dress," he replied, his voice dropping an octave. "It suits you. I... I should go, or I’ll be late."

He didn't move for a long moment, the silence thick with everything neither of you was brave enough to say.

But here you were, six months after the marriage, sitting together on the couch in his penthouse, watching a movie that was now just background.

"You’re quiet tonight," he murmured. His voice was a low vibration that seemed to settle right in your chest.

"I was just thinking about the timeline," you admitted, your voice barely a breath. "Six months. This was supposed to be the end of the transaction."

Harry went still. He looked down at your joined hands, his fingers tracing the gold band on your finger, the ring that was supposed to be a prop. "I’m a man of my word," he said softly, his gaze finally lifting to yours. "But I’ve found myself wanting to renegotiate."

"Renegotiate?"

"I don't want the life I had before you moved in," he confessed, his pride finally giving way to a raw, quiet vulnerability. "I thought love was something people like us didn't get to have. Something... childish. But then I started coming home early just to hear your voice. I started buying you things not because I could, but because I saw them and thought of your smile."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, no longer the clinical pace of a CEO, but the erratic rhythm of a man who was terrified and hopeful all at once.

"Stay," he whispered against your skin. "Not for the firms. Not for the cameras. For me."

His hands, usually so practiced in their movements, trembled slightly as they cupped your face. The gentleness was undoing; he held you like you were the only fragile thing in his world of steel and concrete.

When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't a calculated move. It was a slow, deep surrender, a silent promise that the "temporary" arrangement had become the only thing he couldn't bear to lose.