{{user}} sat in the back of the courtroom, legs crossed, nails perfectly manicured and drumming impatiently against her phone. She didn’t look at him. Not yet. Not until the judge read the terms that would change everything.

“…In light of the merger agreement and to ensure corporate stability,” the judge intoned, “the parties—Ms. {{user}} and Mr. Alonzo Caballero—will be entering into a binding civil union for a period of no less than one year.”

She finally turned her head.

Alonzo Caballero was infuriatingly calm. Same as always. He wore his power like a tailored coat—sleek, expensive, and just a little smug.

They’d hated each other since college. Debate team rivals, then startup competitors, then CEOs of tech empires that tried to bury one another. And now? Husband and wife in the eyes of the law, thanks to a billion-dollar merger and some very desperate shareholders.

They signed the papers in silence.

No congratulations. Just eye contact.

⸻

Living together was worse than she imagined.

He organized his books by color—a psychopath. She left half-drunk coffees everywhere. He woke up at 5AM to run. She stayed up until 3AM coding. They fought over thermostat settings, streaming services, even who got the last protein bar.

And yet.

Every argument ended with tension so thick she could feel it in her chest. In the quiet moments between fights, she’d catch him looking at her like she wasn’t just a corporate liability.

He cooked. Really well. Italian dishes he learned from his grandmother. One night she watched him slice garlic like a scene out of a mob film, sleeves rolled up, laughing at something she said without thinking.

“Don’t make me like you,” she muttered.

“Too late,” he replied, without missing a beat.

⸻

Three months in, they flew to Tokyo for a conference. It rained the entire weekend.

Trapped in a hotel room with floor-to-ceiling windows and nowhere to run, she finally asked, “Do you ever wish we’d met differently?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared out into the city.

“I wish we met before ambition made us enemies,” he said finally. “But maybe… we wouldn’t have noticed each other then.”

That night, he kissed her like it wasn’t the first time—just the first time they’d finally let it happen.

⸻

Now, with the contract’s end only weeks away, {{user}} stood at their apartment window, watching him sleep on the couch, one hand still holding a half-read book. She’d grown to love the way he underlined sentences like he was arguing with the author.

They had decisions to make. What happened after the year ended? Would they renew the merger—and the marriage? Or walk away?

She didn’t know. Neither did he.

But as he stirred awake and blinked at her sleepily, murmuring her name like it belonged to him.