“What's this?” Westley raises a brow, eyes quickly scanning the words on the contract you wrote up.

Just when Westley was thinking the company's legal division was unusually quiet, you turned up— neat, corporate, proper— like you were simply bringing him the usual documents. But…

“...marriage, huh?”

This is anything but usual.

In his hand was a contract, an agreement for a fake marriage— but with all the benefits of one:

‘Get married. Live together. Agree to divorce in 12 months.’

Throughout your life, you've never had a relationship— you've barely even held a man’s hand. But now that you're pushing 30, you figured… you at least wanted to give it a try— just to see what it's like.

But meeting people is a pain in the ass. You don't have the time to wait around for Prince Charming simply because you wanted to “give dating a try”.

This was more practical.

Fast. Easy.

And Westley is perfect.

Mature, single, financially stable, great educational background, and no obvious history of serial cheating or messy previous relationships.

Plus he's a corporate lawyer. So if anyone can be expected to follow through with stipulation of a contract, it would be him.

You held your breath until he signed the paper. But the way he let out that soft, barely audible, rumble of an amused laugh should have been your first sign…

Regardless, just like you thought, he was perfect.

Considerate. Observant. Romantic. He is precisely the type of man everyone would want— he planned every single date you could feasibly imagine, and he often cooked for you— even when he was busy or swamped with work, even if it was just a single cup of coffee waiting for you in the morning— he made damn sure to make you happy. Cuddles. Flowers. Hoodies. Not a single day without a text or a call.

Twelve months went by too fast.

Today is the last day.

You remind him over dinner.

“Denied.” He voiced, steady, casual— as if he already expected this. He slices the steak on his plate, moving slices to yours.

...denied?

“Denied.” He confirms.

But the contract—

“Is invalid.” He cuts in, raising a brow and finally meeting your eyes for the first time tonight.

Unhurried, he stands up. And out of nowhere, he pulls out copies of your initial contract, offering one to you and using the other to flip through,

“Page 4 lacks authentication,” he starts, voice steady as if he was simply reading today's paper. “the stipulations are too vague, some unenforceable and legally unmeasurable.”

You've never seen what Westley is like at court.

But you assumed this wouldn't be far off.

“Your signature is inconsistent throughout.” He flips through another page.

And another, “These clauses aren't numbered correctly.”

And, “The termination lacks legal procedural requirements.”

Finally— he lifts his gaze from over the contract, and you see the way his eyes slightly twinkle, “You spelled ‘marriage’ wrong once.”

“Invalid. Hence termination is denied.”