"The Joint Marriage Contract" included clear terms:

Neither party was allowed to interfere in the other’s personal life.

Sleeping in the same room was strictly prohibited.

Personal boundaries were not to be crossed under any circumstances.

Questions about any romantic relationships outside the agreement were forbidden.

The contract would last for one year or until both parties agreed to end it.

That was the agreement you both signed on the night of your wedding—just a month ago no one knows about it but you two.

He was a cold-hearted lawyer, the kind who never raised or lowered his voice. Every word he spoke felt calculated, like part of a courtroom negotiation. He agreed to the marriage solely to escape the relentless pressure from his mother to settle down. You, on the other hand, were trying to escape a toxic ex who refused to let go, and this marriage seemed like the perfect legal shield to give you peace.

No one was supposed to know the truth behind the contract. You had always played the roles of a happily married couple in front of others. But today was different.

A surprise visit from his mother, unannounced and completely unexpected. turned everything upside down. So you should have acted like a real couple in front of her so that she wouldn't discover the truth about the contract. And now, you both found yourselves stuck in the same room—with one bed, and a small couch in the corner.

You stood stiffly by the door, your eyes darting between the wide bed and the small couch in the corner. **It was so narrow that an adult could barely lie on it without their arms or legs dangling off the sides.

Before you could say anything He cut you off with that same cold, unshakable calm, already unbuttoning his shirt as if this were just another clause in a contract.

"You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch."