Avah's Pov
We sat in what had to be the biggest office in the building. The walls were lined with shelves full of thick books, and the mahogany desk at the center looked more expensive than my entire apartment.
The lawyer or whoever he was, sat across from us with a stack of papers. His hands were steady as he adjusted his glasses, but I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
"Today, you are both going to sign a prenup as well as a marriage contract," he explained, his tone businesslike.
I froze. Contract? What contract?
"What exactly is in this contract?" I asked, my voice sharp enough to cut through the tension.
Instead of answering me, the lawyer’s eyes flicked to Roman.
I raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't seem like you like me very much," I said, crossing my arms.
His head shot up, his face flustered. "No... no, it’s not that. I just assumed you would bring your lawyer since I’m here to represent Mr. Roman."
"As you can see, I didn’t. So let me see that contract," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated, his gaze darting back to Roman, as if awaiting permission.
That glance set my teeth on edge. My voice came out cool, but the irritation was undeniable. "Do I need his approval to read something I’m supposed to sign?"
Roman gave a slight nod, and the lawyer finally slid the contract across the desk toward me. I could feel Roman’s eyes on me as I picked it up, but I ignored him.
The weight of the papers in my hands felt symbolic, like I was holding my own fate. I flipped through the pages quickly, my eyes scanning for anything that might trap me. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I was essentially signing my independence away.
Rule 101—always read through a contract.
"So, let me get this straight," I said, looking up at the lawyer. "You expected me to just blindly agree to this without having any representation or understanding what I’m signing? You’ve got to be kidding me."
The man opened his mouth to respond, but Roman cut him off. "Avah, it's standard procedure. It’s just to protect both of us."
"Protect?" I repeated, my voice laced with skepticism. "Protect who exactly? Because I’m starting to notice my words hold no weight here. Is that how this marriage is going to be?"
Roman leaned forward, his expression calm but firm. "You have my word, Avah. There’s nothing in there that would harm you. But if it makes you feel better, take your time to read it. I’m not in a rush."
His reassurance didn’t entirely ease my growing anxiety, but I wasn’t about to let anyone push me around. I didn’t know who I used to be, but I wasn’t about to become someone else’s pawn now.
As I began to read more carefully, a thought nagged at me: should I really be concerned, or was this paranoia? Either way, I knew one thing for certain, I wasn’t going into this blind.
The contract was... surprising, to say the least. It laid out the terms of our life together in clinical detail, almost like a business arrangement.
After we married, we were to live in the same house and sleep in the same room. That part made my stomach twist, but it was followed by an odd twist of generosity: the house would be selected by me. I would have the freedom to decorate, customize, and essentially choose our home. On top of that, I was entitled to a monthly allowance that was far more than what I earned in a year at my old job.
The document also emphasized that I was free to pursue whatever interests or hobbies I wanted. There was just one stipulation: I needed to be available for breakfast and dinner every day. The phrasing made it sound like he wasn’t looking for a wife but a dining companion.
I flipped to the section about divorce, which was even more jarring. If we separated, I would walk away with five billion dollars, a villa, and a luxury car of my choice.
The kicker? Infidelity was a central clause. If I cheated, I would walk away with nothing. Zilch. But if Roman cheated, I would be entitled to half of his assets.
As I read and reread those terms, my brain struggled to process them. This contract didn’t just feel fair—it felt stacked in my favor. And that made me uneasy.
Who on earth drafted this contract? It seemed too generous, almost suspiciously so. Was this Roman's way of securing my compliance, or was this some calculated move by his grandfather? Either way, it didn’t make sense. Men like Roman didn’t hand out free tickets to a life of luxury, especially to someone like me, a woman with no past, no family, and no name of consequence.
I heard Roman clear his throat. I glanced up to find him watching me closely, his gaze steady but unreadable.
"Are you ready to sign the contract now?" he asked, his voice smooth yet carrying an undertone of expectation.
My fingers hovered over the pen resting on the table. Was I ready? This wasn’t just signing a contract, it was signing away the remnants of my autonomy to a man I barely knew.
I looked at the last page, the blank line where my signature was supposed to go, and hesitated. "Did you write this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Roman’s lips curled into a small smile, but his eyes remained serious. "It was approved by me, yes."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to know you’re not a prisoner, Avah. This marriage isn’t meant to trap you, it’s meant to protect you."
His words sounded reassuring, but something about them still felt too polished, too deliberate. Protect me? Or control me?
I stared at the pen again, my heart racing. One stroke of ink, and my life would change forever.
What would you do, Avah? The voice in my head whispered. Would you fight this? Or would you take the gamble?