A Love Contract: Five Years

For five years, I was her dog. Sarah Miller, the woman I once loved, owned me, reminding me of it daily. The contract, my reason for existence, was almost over.

Then, Alex Thorne, her COO, smirked, "Try again," smudging the glass I just polished. Her private office door opened; Sarah emerged, beautiful and cold. She walked past me without a glance, stopping at Alex. His hand on her waist, he boated, "I aim to please... in every department," his eyes locked on mine. She leaned into him, whispering, loud enough for me to hear, "I know I can always count on you."

The office watched, a daily performance. They saw me as a joke, the guy publicly dumped by the CEO, crawling back for a demeaning job. Sarah finally looked at me, "The conference room. I want to see the new ad campaign video. You'll run the projector." And with a cruel edge, "You will watch the whole thing. Every second. Don't look away."

My heart became a dead thing, beating but not feeling. I thought about the night it all began, the night I planned to propose, the night I destroyed everything to save her. I wondered, was it worth it?

The contract had only a few weeks left. This time, I' d be free.

For five years, she made me her dog. Sarah Miller, the woman I once would have died for, now owned me. And every day, she reminded me of it.

It was almost over. The contract, the reason I lived this life, had only a few weeks left.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of her corner office, polishing the glass. It was one of my many tasks. My official title was 'assistant,' but everyone in the company knew what I really was.

I was Sarah' s pet project. Her charity case. Her punching bag.

"Liam, you missed a spot."

I didn' t turn around. I knew that voice. Alex Thorne. He walked up behind me, his expensive cologne filling the air. He was Sarah' s COO now. He got the job I should have had.

"Right here," he said, his finger smudging the clean glass. "Try again."

I picked up my cloth and wiped the spot he' d made. My reflection was faint in the glass, a tired man with empty eyes. I didn' t recognize him anymore.

Alex chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. "Good boy."

The door to Sarah' s private office opened. She walked out, looking every bit the tech mogul she was. Her dress was sharp, her heels clicked on the marble floor, and her eyes were cold as ice. She was beautiful. It was a painful, constant fact.

She walked right past me, not even a glance, and stopped in front of Alex.

"Is everything ready for the presentation?" she asked him. Her voice was all business.

"Of course, Sarah," Alex said, his tone shifting to something smoother, more intimate. He put a hand on her waist. "I handled it personally."

I kept my eyes on the window, my knuckles white as I gripped the cleaning cloth. I didn' t have to look to know what was happening. I could feel it. The shift in the air, the way the other employees in the open-plan office suddenly went quiet.

They were watching the show. It was a regular performance.

Sarah leaned into him. "Good," she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "I know I can always count on you."

Alex' s hand slid lower, resting on the curve of her hip. He looked over her shoulder, directly at me. His smile was pure poison. He was boasting, showing me his prize.

"I aim to please," he said, his eyes still locked on mine. "In every department."

Sarah didn' t pull away. She never did. She seemed to enjoy it, this calculated display of intimacy in front of me. It was part of the torment. Part of the contract.

For five years, I had watched them. I had watched him touch her, kiss her, whisper things in her ear that made her smile. A smile she never gave me anymore.

The office staff had long gotten used to it. At first, they pitied me. The guy who was publicly dumped by the CEO, only to come crawling back for a demeaning job. Now, they just saw me as a joke. The office laughingstock.

Sarah finally stepped back from Alex, her face unreadable. She turned her head slightly, her gaze finally landing on me.

"The conference room," she said, her voice flat. "I want to see the new ad campaign video. You' ll run the projector."

"Yes, Ms. Miller," I said to the glass.

"And Liam," she added, a cruel edge to her tone. "You will watch the whole thing. Every second. Don' t look away."

It was one of her rules. Whenever they reviewed marketing materials, especially the videos featuring her and Alex as the power couple behind the company, I was forced to watch. I had to sit there and see them laugh together, touch each other, acting out a perfect life on screen.

Sometimes, after the video was done, she would make me watch it again. And again.

"I understand," I said.

My heart was a dead thing in my chest. Beating, but not feeling. It was the only way to survive. I had trained it to be numb. But sometimes, in the quiet of the night, the numbness would wear off, and the pain would come rushing back in, so sharp it stole my breath.

I thought about the night it all began. The night I planned to propose. The night I destroyed everything to save her.

And I wondered, again, if it had been worth it.

In the first year of the contract, I had begged her.

I' d gotten on my knees in this very office, my hands clasped in front of me.

"Sarah, please," I had whispered, my voice raw. "Stop. I' ll do anything. I' ll work for you for free for the rest of my life. Just... stop this. Stop him."

She had looked down at me, her expression a mask of indifference. Alex was standing behind her, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Stop?" she had repeated, a hollow laugh escaping her. "Liam, the pain you' re feeling now? It' s not even a fraction of what I felt that night. You will feel all of it. Every last drop. This is what you owe me."

After that, I never begged again. I learned to swallow the humiliation. I became the perfect, obedient dog she wanted. I cleaned, I fetched coffee, I stood silently while Alex draped himself over her. I did everything she asked.

My compliance seemed to bother her more than my begging ever did. Sometimes, I would catch a flicker of frustration in her eyes when I agreed to a particularly demeaning task without a word of protest. It was as if my numbness was robbing her of her victory.

Today was one of those days.

We were at a company retreat, a lavish affair at a ski resort. Sarah believed in these things, team-building exercises and forced fun. For me, it was just a new venue for the same old torture.

Alex, drunk on expensive whiskey and his own ego, decided to up the ante. We were all gathered around a large bonfire.

"Hey, Campbell!" he shouted, slurring my name. "I bet you can' t climb to the top of that rock face."

He pointed to a steep, icy cliff nearby. It wasn' t a professional climbing wall. It was a jagged piece of the mountain, dangerous and slick with frost.

"Alex, that' s not a good idea," one of the junior programmers muttered.

"Shut up," Alex snapped. "I wasn' t talking to you. I' m talking to the office pet. He does what he' s told, don' t you, Liam?"

All eyes turned to me. Then to Sarah. She was swirling a glass of red wine, her face illuminated by the firelight. She said nothing. Her silence was permission.

I looked at the cliff. A fall would mean broken bones, at best.

I looked at Sarah, a silent plea in my eyes. Don' t do this. Not this.

She met my gaze. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of the girl I used to know, the one who bandaged my scraped knee in college after I fell off my bike.

Then her expression hardened. She lifted her chin slightly.

"Alex is talking to you," she said, her voice carrying over the crackle of the fire. "Are you deaf?"

The last bit of hope inside me died. It was a familiar feeling.

"And Liam," she added, her voice dropping to a near whisper, but I heard it perfectly. "No gloves."

The cold from the ground seeped into me. No gloves. On ice-slicked rock.

I remembered a time, years ago, when we were hiking. My hands got so cold they turned blue. She had taken them in hers, blowing on my fingers, her warm breath a promise.

"I' ll always keep you warm, Liam," she' d said. "I' ll never let you get hurt."

The memory was a ghost, a phantom pain that was worse than the cold.

I nodded slowly. "Yes, Ms. Miller."

I walked towards the rock face, the snow crunching under my boots. I could feel everyone' s eyes on my back. I took off my gloves and stuffed them in my pocket.

The rock was like a block of ice. The moment my bare hands touched it, the cold bit into my flesh. It was a sharp, searing pain. I found a handhold, then a foothold, and started to climb.

My fingers quickly grew numb, clumsy. The sharp edges of the rock cut into my skin, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the deep, bone-aching cold.

Below, I could hear Alex laughing. "Look at him go! Like a little monkey!"

I didn' t look down. I just focused on the next hold, and the next. The wind whipped around me, stinging my face. I was about twenty feet up when my left hand slipped.

I dangled for a horrifying second, my right hand screaming in protest as it took my full weight. I scrambled with my feet, my boots finding no purchase on the icy surface. My fingers were on fire. I couldn't hold on.

I fell.

The landing was a brutal impact that knocked the wind out of me. I lay in the snow, gasping, a sharp pain radiating from my ankle.

Alex roared with laughter. "What a failure!"

I saw Sarah stand up. She walked to the edge of the firelight, looking down at me. There was no pity in her eyes. No concern. Nothing.

"Get up," she said.

I tried to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness hit me. My ankle wouldn't hold my weight.

"I think it' s broken," I managed to say.

She looked at my leg, then back at my face. "I said, get up. Crawl if you have to. I' m done looking at you."

She turned and walked back to the fire, leaving me in the cold and the dark. The party continued around me as if nothing had happened. I lay there for a long time before I finally managed to drag myself back towards the lodge, one agonizing inch at a time.