Chapter 4 The Contract Marriage Agency

Emily Parker had officially decided: humans were inefficient. Especially men. Dating was exhausting. Love was optional. Emotional labor was forbidden. And yet, the universe insisted that she marry within three months. Her aunt's ultimatum was a looming specter she could not ignore.

After surviving five disastrous blind dates in one week, Emily realized something crucial: if she wanted a husband without the inconvenience of love, courtship, or human interaction, she needed a shortcut.

A shortcut that didn't exist-at least, not in polite society.

That evening, Emily curled up on her couch with her laptop and a large tub of ice cream. She opened a private browser window and typed: "contract marriage agencies" into the search bar. The results were... surprisingly plentiful.

Some promised temporary marriages for inheritance purposes. Some for citizenship. Some explicitly for convenience and mutual benefit. One even claimed: "Marriages with zero emotional entanglement, maximum discretion, and guaranteed legal coverage."

Emily nearly spat out her ice cream. Zero emotional entanglement. That was her dream, printed in bold on a webpage with tasteful colors and minimal frills. She clicked in eagerly.

The website was sleek, almost intimidatingly professional. Photos of luxurious homes, elegantly dressed couples, and anonymous smiling faces filled the screen. Each section promised discreet handling, fully customizable contracts, and a staff of "consultants" who would pair clients with perfect, mutually beneficial partners.

Emily scrolled slowly, savoring each paragraph as though it were a delicacy. She had officially found the solution.

Step one: contact the agency.

---

The next morning, Emily called the number on the website. A calm, professional voice answered.

"Contract Marriage Agency, how may I assist you?"

Emily cleared her throat. "Yes. I... am interested in a marriage. Temporary. No love. No... complications."

The voice paused, then a faint smile could be heard through the phone. "Of course. We specialize in mutually beneficial arrangements. May I have your name?"

"Emily Parker," she said, adding quickly, "but I write under a pen name."

"E.P. Vale?" the consultant asked smoothly.

Emily blinked. "Uh... yes. That's me."

"Very well," the consultant said. "We'll need some details about your preferences, lifestyle, and goals."

Emily listed them carefully:

Must not require love, emotional investment, or significant household responsibilities. Check.

Must be wealthy. Check.

Must be disposable afterward. Check.

Must respect privacy. Check.

The consultant nodded silently on the other end, as though taking notes with clinical precision. "We have several potential candidates. You may review their profiles, but in-person meetings are optional if you prefer discretion."

Emily felt her heartbeat slow. She didn't like human interaction. She didn't like surprises. She did like efficiency. This was perfect.

---

That afternoon, Emily received a secure email from the agency. Inside were profiles of men available for contract marriages. Each profile included photos, a summary of wealth, lifestyle, and personal boundaries. There were ratings for "commitment expectation," "emotional demand," and "disposability."

Emily scanned the profiles like a scientist reviewing experimental subjects. Some were boringly perfect-handsome, rich, polite, but utterly uninspiring. Others were risky-eccentric billionaires, aloof artists, mysterious tycoons. A few names sounded vaguely familiar.

One in particular made her pause.

Adrian Vale.

The name rang a bell she couldn't place. Not because it was her pen name exactly, but because the surname felt... familiar. Emily shook her head. No time for nostalgia. She would decide logically, not sentimentally.

The profile read:

Age: 32

Occupation: CEO of a global conglomerate

Wealth: Billion-dollar empire

Emotional demand: Extremely low

Privacy: Absolute discretion guaranteed

Emily paused, fingers hovering over the mouse. Wealth: check. Privacy: check. Emotional demand: check.

She clicked "request match."

---

The agency replied within minutes.

"Candidate Adrian Vale is available. Signing the contract will confirm your arrangement. All terms are negotiable before finalization."

Emily skimmed the contract template. Legal jargon sprawled across the page like an incomprehensible labyrinth. She squinted at terms: duration, responsibilities, living arrangements, financial settlements. It was dense, but one line caught her eye:

"The client agrees to marry the designated partner under mutually agreed contractual terms, with provisions for dissolution."

Emily sighed in relief. Dissolution. Divorce. Check. Safety net intact.

Without reading too carefully, she clicked "Sign."

A pop-up confirmed: Contract finalized. Partner assigned: Adrian Vale.

She leaned back in her chair, sighing deeply in relief. Her life was finally back to normal.

And somewhere else-far away, in a penthouse she had never seen-Adrian Vale looked at his phone and smiled.

He had been waiting for this moment for years.

---

Emily spent the rest of the day researching the agency's other clients, double-checking terms, and mentally preparing for the eventual divorce. She tried to imagine what Adrian Vale looked like in person. Towering? Serious? Possibly terrifying? Perfectly fine, most likely. Disposable, absolutely.

She ordered dinner, scrolled her phone, and then stared at the ceiling.

This was it. The first step in her plan: marry, survive, divorce, live lazily ever after.

She had no idea she had just stepped onto a path that would make all her previous calculations laughably inadequate.

Emily Parker smiled.

The contract marriage agency had delivered efficiency, discretion, and legal protection. And in her mind, that was all that mattered.

But fate, as it often does, had other plans.