I stared at Sebastian.
“What do you mean?”
He calmly placed his coffee cup on the table.
“Our marriage.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.”
“Then stop calling it contractual.”
I pulled out the chair opposite him.
“But it is contractual.”
“No.”
One word.
Cold and decisive.
I almost laughed.
“Sebastian, I signed the agreement myself.”
“So did I.”
“Three years. Separate bedrooms. No interference in private relationships. We maintain appearances for our families, and when the term ends, either party can request a divorce.”
“I remember.”
“Then what exactly are we arguing about?”
He looked at me.
“The three years ended eleven months ago.”
My mind went blank.
“What?”
“Eleven months and thirteen days.”
I stared at him.
He even knew the days?
“That can’t be right.”
Sebastian extended his hand.
His assistant immediately placed a folder beside him.
I became suspicious.
“Why is our marriage contract beside your breakfast?”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then how did it appear in five seconds?”
“My assistant brought it.”
The assistant looked straight ahead with the expression of a man who wanted no involvement whatsoever.
Sebastian pushed the document toward me.
I flipped to the final page.
My signature.
His signature.
Effective date.
Three-year term.
I calculated.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
My face slowly changed.
It really had expired almost a year ago.
“How did I forget this?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to notice.”
I looked at him incredulously.
“For eleven months?”
“Yes.”
“What if I never noticed?”
“I was prepared to continue waiting.”
I couldn’t understand this man.
“Sebastian, normal people communicate.”
“You avoid me whenever I enter a room.”
“Because you look frightening!”
His eyebrows moved.
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
“Only to other people.”
“You threatened a model’s hand last night.”
“He touched my wife.”
“There!”
I pointed at him.
“That expression!”
He went silent.
Then he asked:
“Why are you so determined to end our marriage?”
That stopped me.
“I never said I wanted to end it.”
Something shifted in his eyes.
Very slightly.
But I noticed.
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Then why keep emphasizing the contract?”
“Because…”
I suddenly didn’t know.
Because I had always believed Sebastian tolerated me for family interests.
Because he never flirted with me.
Never crossed the invisible boundary between our rooms.
Never told me he wanted anything more.
Even the small kindnesses had seemed like obligations.
When I caught a fever, he brought the family doctor.
When I accidentally fell asleep downstairs, he covered me with a blanket.
When my parents criticized me at dinner, he calmly changed the subject and took me home early.
When I complained that the mansion felt empty, a ridiculous orange cat appeared three days later.
Sebastian claimed his assistant had adopted it by mistake.
I had believed him.
Suddenly, all those memories felt different.
I looked at him.
“Do you like me?”
The assistant coughed.
Sebastian glanced toward him.
The poor man immediately disappeared.
Now only the two of us remained.
Sebastian didn’t answer.
My courage grew.
“You don’t, right?”
Silence.
“I knew it.”
I stood.
Then Sebastian spoke.
“If I didn’t like you, why would I care whether another man hugged you?”
“Possessiveness?”
His face darkened.
“Try again.”
“Family reputation?”
“Again.”
“You hate losing?”
“Lucía.”
I stopped guessing.
He stood and walked around the table.
Suddenly, I remembered last night.
The jacket over my shoulders.
His arm around my waist.
The way he had returned early.
I took one step backward.
“You came back because of me?”
“Yes.”
“How did you even know I was at that bar?”
“Valeria posted a photograph.”
Traitor.
“I saw you in the background.”
“And canceled your trip?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“You’re crazy.”
“Possibly.”
That answer frightened me more than denial.
Then the doorbell rang.
A servant entered carrying an enormous package.
“For Madam.”
I frowned.
“Me?”
The label showed a luxury menswear company.
I opened it.
Inside was a custom-made black shirt.
Men’s size.
I stared at it.
Then remembered something from last night.
The fake Sebastian.
Apparently, drunk me had been very generous.
Sebastian picked up the receipt.
His face became expressionless.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know.”
He read aloud:
“Custom shirt for Mr. Leo.”
Oh no.
Memory returned.
The model had complained that management deducted damaged uniforms from their pay.
I had apparently promised him a replacement shirt.
Sebastian looked at me.
“Leo?”
“The model.”
“You know his name?”
“I know everyone’s name when I’m drunk.”
His expression became dangerous again.
Then my phone rang.
Valeria.
I answered.
“Lucía! Disaster!”
“What now?”
“The model from last night is downstairs at your mansion.”
I slowly looked toward Sebastian.
He had heard everything.
“Why?”
Valeria whispered:
“You promised him a job.”
“What job?”
“I don’t know! You said your husband needed someone handsome around him so he’d learn humility.”
I closed my eyes.
Sebastian’s expression could have frozen boiling water.
Ten minutes later, Leo stood in our living room.
He looked terrified.
Sebastian sat opposite him.
I sat between them like a criminal awaiting sentencing.
Leo cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Fu said I should come today.”
Sebastian looked at me.
I looked at the ceiling.
“What position did she offer you?” Sebastian asked.
Leo hesitated.
“Personal assistant.”
Sebastian’s current assistant, standing nearby, looked personally offended.
Sebastian folded his hands.
“Experience?”
“Modeling.”
“Education?”
“Performing arts.”
“Business management?”
“No.”
“Finance?”
“No.”
“Foreign languages?”
“A little French.”
Sebastian turned toward me.
“Excellent candidate.”
“I was drunk!”
Leo suddenly stood.
“I think I should leave.”
“Yes,” Sebastian said.
“No,” I said simultaneously.
Both men looked at me.
I sighed.
“He came all this way. At least reimburse his transportation.”
Sebastian stared at me.
Then he told his assistant:
“Pay him.”
Leo practically ran away.
I followed him toward the door.
Before leaving, he whispered:
“Madam, your husband is terrifying.”
“I know.”
“But…”
He glanced behind me.
“I don’t think he’s angry about the job.”
“What?”
“He’s jealous.”
I nearly laughed.
Impossible.
But when I turned around, Sebastian was standing there.
“Finished whispering?”
I walked back.
“He said you’re jealous.”
“I am.”
I stopped.
Sebastian walked past me as though he had just commented on the weather.
I hurried after him.
“Wait.”
He continued upstairs.
“Sebastian!”
He finally stopped.
“What?”
“You can’t say something like that and leave.”
“I just did.”
“Why are you jealous?”
He stared at me.
“Do you really need this explained?”
“Yes.”
He walked down one step until we were at eye level.
“Fine.”
His voice was quiet.
“I dislike other men touching you.”
My heart began beating faster.
“I dislike them buying you drinks.”
Another step.
“I especially dislike watching you choose someone because he resembles me when the actual person is available.”
I forgot how to speak.
Then he added:
“And I strongly dislike hearing my wife repeatedly announce that our marriage means nothing.”
“I never said it meant nothing.”
“You call it a contract.”
“Because that’s how it started.”
Sebastian became silent.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He handed me a small key.
“What is this?”
“My study.”
“Your study is locked?”
“One drawer is.”
My curiosity immediately defeated my fear.
I followed him.
Inside the study, he pointed toward the bottom drawer of his desk.
I unlocked it.
There was no business document inside.
There were photographs.
Mine.
Not secret photographs.
Normal ones.
My university graduation.
Our wedding.
Me asleep beside the orange cat.
Me laughing at a family dinner.
A terrible photograph of me eating noodles.
I stared at him.
“Why do you have these?”
He didn’t answer.
Underneath them was another folder.
I opened it.
DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
My stomach dropped.
“You prepared divorce papers?”
“Yes.”
The date was eleven months ago.
Exactly when our contract expired.
I felt strangely disappointed.
“So you did plan to divorce me.”
“I prepared them because the contract said you had the right to leave.”
“Then why didn’t you give them to me?”
He took the papers.
Across the final page was his signature.
But beside it, written by hand, were four words:
I cannot sign this.
I looked up.
Sebastian’s voice was quieter than I had ever heard it.
“I tried.”
My heart stumbled.
“Three times.”
He opened another compartment.
Two more unsigned divorce agreements.
“I couldn’t do it.”
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
His mother.
Sebastian answered.
Her voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“Sebastian, don’t forget dinner tonight. Miss Zhao’s family has arrived.”
I frowned.
Miss Zhao?
His mother continued:
“Your grandfather has already decided. Since your arrangement with Lucía has expired, it’s time to discuss your real marriage.”
My fingers went cold.
Sebastian’s expression changed.
“What did you say?”
His mother sounded confused.
“The Lin family agreed months ago.”
I stopped breathing.
Sebastian slowly looked at me.
I shook my head.
I knew nothing.
Then his mother said the sentence that turned his face completely cold.
“Lucía’s father already accepted the compensation for ending your marriage.”
The room became silent.
Sebastian ended the call.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he picked up the oldest divorce agreement and looked at its date.
Eleven months ago.
His eyes hardened.
“Lucía.”
“What?”
“Call your father.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Sebastian placed a second document beside the divorce papers.
A bank transfer.
From the Fu family.
To my father.
Dated eleven months ago.
Twenty million.
And in the transaction description were six words:
COMPENSATION FOR TERMINATION OF MARRIAGE.
I stared at Sebastian.
He stared back at me.
Then he said quietly:
“It appears you and I weren’t the only people who knew our contract had expired.”
