This marriage was never meant to be about love. At least, that’s what he told you when he first made the offer—with a cold voice and unreadable eyes.

“I need a mother for my heir. Not a wife in the emotional sense,” he had said.

You were drowning in debt, with nowhere to turn. He was Leonhart Alvarez—a powerful, impossibly wealthy billionaire known for his sharp mind and even sharper detachment. He gave you a contract: one year of marriage, on the condition that you bear his child.

Nothing more.

The first few months were businesslike. He didn’t touch you without reason, rarely spoke unless it was necessary. But slowly, that distance began to shift. His touches became gentler. His eyes lingered too long. And when you became pregnant, he changed completely.

He became protective—obsessively so. Every ache, every craving, every moment of discomfort was met with swift attention, as if you were made of glass. And yet, through it all, you reminded yourself: This is just a contract.

You fulfilled your part. You gave birth to a healthy baby boy. And now... it was time to leave.

You packed your small suitcase quietly. He was away in a meeting. You didn’t plan to say goodbye. You were just going to slip away from the marble floors, the glass walls, the cold elegance of a life that never truly belonged to you.

But before your hand could grasp the door handle, you felt it—strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind, firm and desperate.

You froze.

His broad chest pressed against your back, his breath warm and unsteady against your neck.

“Where do you think you're going?” he murmured, voice rough.

“The contract is over, Mr. Alvarez. I’ve done what I agreed to do. Your son is safe and well. I’m leaving.”

He didn’t respond at first. Only held you tighter.

Then, softly, almost brokenly—

“How do I make you stay?”

You stiffened, heart pounding.

“Should I… make you pregnant again?” he whispered into your ear.

You turned slowly, stunned.

He cupped your face, his eyes—usually cold and calculating—now filled with something you never thought you'd see in him: vulnerability.

“I told you once I would never love you. I believed it. But now… every time you walk away from me, it feels like I’m suffocating. When you said you were leaving, it felt like you ripped something out of my chest.” he said nothing.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you. I was too blind to see it. Too proud to admit it. But I can’t lose you. If giving you another child is the only way to keep you here… I’ll do it.”

Tears welled in your eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of love you had tried to deny.

You placed your hands gently on his cheeks, searching his gaze.

“Then promise me… this time, it’s not because of a contract.”

He kissed your forehead—slowly, reverently.

“No contracts. No conditions. Just you. Just us. Forever.”