The contract had been signed.
I could still feel the cool weight of the pen in my hand, the smooth, final glide of my signature across the paper. Dominic had signed right after me—calm, unwavering. And now? I was a married woman. At least on paper.
There was no ceremony. No dress. Just two strangers and a quiet agreement.
Still, it changed everything.
Dominic had insisted on sending a car to pick me up from the hotel. I packed my things in silence—what little I had—and stood one last time in that dim, dusty room with the ever-dripping faucet. No tears. No regrets. Just a long breath and a quiet exit.
I didn't look back.
Dominic lived in a quiet, upscale neighborhood—clean hedges, big gates, and the kind of calm that whispered wealth and privacy. I didn't ask how he afforded it. The cut of his suit said enough.
The house was… beautiful.
Modern, yet warm. The kind of place with tall windows and light pouring in, with wood floors that didn't creak and walls that looked like they belonged in a magazine. I stepped inside slowly, clutching my bag to my side, my eyes sweeping across the open living space, high ceilings, and pale stone walls. It felt too clean. Too untouched.
Like no one had ever truly lived there.
Then I heard footsteps—light, quick—and turned just as his mother came around the corner.
"There she is!" Claire beamed, her face lit up like Christmas morning. She wore a silk floral blouse and pearl earrings that sparkled like her eyes. "Amira, welcome home, sweetheart!"
Before I could react, I was swept into a warm hug—soft arms, floral-scented perfume, and a kind of kindness that made me forget, for just one second, that all of this was pretend.
When she pulled back, her hands stayed on my shoulders, eyes brimming with excitement. "You're even prettier than I remembered. I knew it! I told him you were the one!"
Dominic cleared his throat behind her. "Mother, don't overwhelm her."
"Overwhelm? I'm welcoming!" she chirped, waving him off like a pesky fly. Then she turned back to me, holding my hands. "You're home now, sweetheart."
That word—home—felt strange in my ears. Foreign. I wasn't sure it fit. But I gave a polite nod and a small smile. "Thank you… Mrs.—?"
"Oh, call me Mama Claire. Everyone does."
Dominic raised a brow. "No one calls you that."
"Hush, Dom," Claire said, brushing off his sarcasm with ease. "Let me show her to the room. I made sure everything was ready."
As we walked down the hall, I caught Dominic's gaze. Something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable. But he gave me a small nod, like a silent reassurance: It's okay. You're safe.
The room she led me to was spacious. Clean. Too perfect. Cream-colored sheets, matching pillows, and a large window with thick curtains drawn to the sides.
But there was only one bed.
Claire didn't even pause. "Now, I thought it best you two share a room, of course. You are newlyweds," she added with a sly little grin. "I wasn't going to insult you with separate rooms like it's 1950."
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Thankfully, Dominic stepped in smoothly. "We'll figure things out, Mother. Thank you."
Claire leaned in to kiss my cheek. "Dinner's at seven. Don't worry, I made something special."
Then she breezed out of the room, humming happily like everything was just as it should be.
The silence that followed was heavy.
I walked over to the bed, dropped my bag beside it, and sat on the edge. "She's… enthusiastic."
Dominic smirked. "She's a lot of things."
I looked at him, and for a moment, the situation didn't feel so heavy. There was something oddly easy about it. Almost natural.
But then I said quietly, "She thinks this is real."
He nodded. "We'll keep it that way."
I tilted my head slightly, studying him. "You're surprisingly good at lying."
"I'm a businessman," he replied. Then, after a pause: "And… I guess I've had practice hiding what I feel."
He hesitated before adding, "Also, don't worry—I'll be staying in a separate room."
I didn't ask what the first part meant.
Instead, I stood, moved to the window, and looked out at the quiet, manicured street below. "Thank you. For letting me stay."
"You're not a guest, Amira," Dominic said softly behind me. "This is your home too now. Even if it's temporary."
His words hit something deep in me. Not because they were romantic—but because they were kind. And kindness, right now, felt more valuable than love.
Later that evening, he surprised me.
"We'll need to get you a few things," he said, leaning casually in the doorway of my room.
I was still unpacking the little I had. I blinked at him. "What things?"
He gave me that unreadable look. "Clothes. Essentials. Unless you plan on living out of a hotel bag for the next few weeks?"
My cheeks flushed. "Right."
I hadn't thought that far ahead. Everything had happened so fast.
"Come on," he said, jingling his car keys.
The mall was buzzing with life—families, couples, teenagers with shopping bags and phones. I stayed close to Dominic as we moved through stores. He didn't hover, but he never let me drift too far.
He let me choose what I needed. Gave quiet nods of approval. Even insisted I grab an extra sweater when I hesitated at the price.
"You're doing me a favor, remember?" he said smoothly. "You shouldn't freeze to death doing it."
I gave a small laugh—soft and unexpected.
It was the most normal I'd felt in a long time.
We were walking past a boutique window when I suddenly froze.
My fingers tightened around the handles of the shopping bags, knuckles going white.
Inside the store, just beyond the glass, stood Jason—holding a white sweater up against Lila's shoulder as she smiled up at him. His hand lingered a little too long on her back. Lila's laugh floated through the glass like a ghost I hadn't buried yet.
My breath caught in my throat.
Dominic noticed right away. "What is it?"
I didn't answer.
I couldn't move. Couldn't blink.
Jason's smile. Lila's face. Just days ago, that had been my life. I would've been the one in that store. Choosing that sweater. Holding that arm.
Now I was on the outside—and they hadn't even noticed.
"Let's go," I said quietly. My voice was clipped, but steady.
Dominic looked at me for a long moment. He didn't ask again. Just nodded and stepped beside me.
We had only taken a few steps when I saw Jason glance out the window—and freeze.
He didn't believe it at first.
Amira?
I saw his brows furrow as he squinted, watching me walk away in a beige coat. My figure. My walk. The way I tucked my hair behind my ear.
He knew it was me.
And beside me was a man.
Taller. Wearing dark jeans and a fitted sweater. Someone unfamiliar.
Jason stepped closer to the glass, his expression confused.
"Amira?" he called. His voice was muffled through the glass, lost in the background noise of the mall.
But I didn't hear him.
I didn't look back.
By the time he pushed open the boutique door, we were already gone—swallowed by the crowd, moving forward with no room for the past.
He was left standing there.
And I didn't care.
The ride home was quiet.
I stared out the window, the city lights casting faint shadows across the glass. My reflection was barely there.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream.
I just held my bags a little tighter.
It didn't hurt the way it used to.
Not because it didn't matter…
But because I wasn't giving them that power anymore.