Chapter 2 All about sacrifices

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Chapter Two – Flora's POV

The restaurant felt suffocating, the air thick with tension and the scent of overcooked ambition. Everything about it screamed wealth-the way the silverware caught the candlelight, the way the waiter hovered as if we were royalty, and the way the walls, lined in dark wood and framed with modern art, seemed to close in around me. But none of it impressed me. It only made me feel small like I was being swallowed whole by a world I didn't belong to.

And then there was the contract.

It sat in front of me like a taunt. Perfectly printed, perfectly legal, and perfectly terrifying. My name wasn't on it yet, but it might as well have been. I could already feel the weight of it pressing down on me.

A two-year marriage. No love. No strings. Just obligations and appearances. Just survival.

I glanced up at Lucas.

He was everything this place represented-polished, powerful, composed to the point of cruelty. His charcoal suit fit him like a second skin, and his fingers rested lazily on a crystal glass of whiskey, as though he had all the time in the world. There was a quiet arrogance in how he held himself, the kind that came from getting what he wanted without ever having to ask twice.

He didn't intimidate me.

He infuriated me.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" I asked finally, my voice a low murmur despite the hurricane of emotions crashing inside me.

Lucas didn't flinch. His gaze remained steady, sharp, and calculated. "I wouldn't have come to you if I wasn't," he said, his voice smooth as marble. "We both get what we want. You get the money for your grandmother's treatment. I got out of the marriage my father was trying to force on me. Clean. Efficient."

His tone made my blood boil. Like this was nothing more than a business deal. A transaction.

"You make it sound so simple," I said bitterly. "Like marrying a stranger is just another bullet point on your to-do list."

He tilted his head, studying me. "Isn't it for you?"

My jaw clenched. "You're asking me to sell my future for a price tag."

"I'm offering you a way out," he countered. "I'm not the villain here, Flora. I'm not forcing you to do anything. I'm giving you a choice."

My fingers tightened around the napkin on my lap. "A choice between letting my grandmother die or tying myself to a man I don't trust."

Lucas shrugged. "Life's full of ugly choices."

He pushed the contract toward me, the motion so calm it made my skin crawl. A sleek silver pen lay on top of it, like a final temptation.

I didn't look at the paper. I couldn't. Instead, I stared at Lucas. "Why me?"

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I almost missed it. "Because you're desperate. And because you're the only one who has something to gain without complicating things."

He didn't say it with malice, just cold honesty. Like he'd done the math and I was the most convenient solution. Not the best. Not the right. Just the least messy.

"You don't even like me," I said, trying to make sense of the madness.

"I don't have to," he replied. "We don't have to like each other. We just have to make it look real-for two years."

My laugh came out hollow. "And then what? We pretend none of this happened? Walk away like strangers?"

He nodded. "Exactly. No attachments. No regrets."

Regrets. That word burned.

I leaned back in my chair, my head spinning. This was insane. Marrying Lucas was insanity. But not marrying him meant losing my grandmother. And she didn't deserve that.

She was everything to me. The only family I had left. She'd raised me after my mother's death, working two jobs to keep food on the table and my dreams alive. Now she was wasting away in a hospital bed, and every day without treatment was another nail in her coffin.

I'd tried everything-grants, charity programs, even crowdfunding-but nothing came close to covering the cost. And time was running out.

"I don't want to owe you," I whispered.

"You won't," he said. "It's mutual. We use each other. Nothing more."

And yet, something in his voice made me pause. A tightness. A crack in the armor.

Maybe I wasn't the only one trapped.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me.

I reached for the pen. My hand hovered over it for a second too long.

Lucas watched me, his expression unreadable.

My fingers closed around the pen. The metal felt cold against my skin. I signed my name.

The sound of the pen scratching across the paper was deafening.

When I looked up, Lucas gave a slow, satisfied nod. He took the contract and placed it back into his briefcase with mechanical precision.

"Good," he said. "We'll arrange the details tomorrow. My lawyer will reach out to you. We'll draft a public announcement and plan a few appearances. The wedding can be small-just enough to convince the right people."

I couldn't speak.

This was done.

Final.

My fate was sealed in black ink.

I pushed back from the table, the chair scraping harshly against the polished floor. A few heads turned our way, but I didn't care. I needed air. Space. Anything that wasn't Lucas or that damn contract.

As I stood, Lucas did too.

"Flora," he said, stopping me.

I turned, slowly.

He hesitated, and then-softly, almost like it pained him-he said, "You're not the only one making sacrifices."

For a second, I thought I saw something real in his eyes. Sadness? Regret? But then it was gone, buried under layers of indifference.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My throat was tight, and my mind was spinning.

Outside, the night greeted me like a slap.

Cold. Harsh. Real.

The city lights blurred as I walked aimlessly down the sidewalk, the echo of my heels swallowed by traffic. People bustled around me, laughing, talking, living their lives freely.

And I had just signed mine away.

Two years.

Seven hundred and thirty days.

And not a single one of them would be mine.

I wrapped my arms around myself as if that could hold me together. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I already knew who it was. Probably the hospital again. Or maybe my grandmother, too tired to talk but still wanting to hear my voice.

I should've felt relief. The money was coming. She'd get the treatment. She'd live.

But all I felt was emptiness.

Lucas said this was simple. Clean. No regrets.

But I could already feel one sinking in, deep and cold.

I had signed the contract.

And with it, I'd given away more than my name.

I had given him a piece of my soul.

And the terrifying part?

I had no idea how much more he might take.

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