His Ring Her Rules

Ethan was already in the sun-drenched breakfast nook with a view of the skyline. He was looking at his tablet as if he hadn't just married a woman he hardly knew two days prior, and he was immaculate in his dark navy suit.

Without raising his gaze, he asked, "Coffee?" as though we were a power couple and this was just another ordinary morning.

I muttered, "Uh, sure," as I slid clumsily into the velvet seat across from him.

Like a ghost, a housekeeper entered and made a perfect cup of coffee in a porcelain mug that most likely cost as much as my rent for the previous week.

At last, Ethan put down his tablet and looked directly into my eyes. "We must discuss expectations."

Oh. It was there. The notorious corporate tone. I took a sip of my coffee and prepared myself. "All right. Let's get it.

Like a CEO preparing to give a quarterly pitch, he folded his hands.

The first is that we show a united front in public. No drama, no scandal. You will attend the events, wear the rings, and portray Mrs. Blackwood in a convincing manner. It is impossible for the media to suspect that this is not a legal marriage.

I furrowed my brow. "So, matching clothes, red carpet smiles, and acting like I don't want to push that tablet up your—"

"You are free to carry on with your work as long as it doesn't interfere with public appearances or harm the Blackwood name," he said coolly, ignoring me. You'll be fully cleared for security and have a driver.

"Certification for security?" I repeated. "Am I getting married into the CIA?"

"No. Even worse. society of billionaires. It wasn't a joke, but his tone was dry.

I blinked. "I got it. No participating in reality shows or twerking on TikTok.

His lips moved a little. "That's right."

He moved a clean folder in my direction across the table. A document with the title Cohabitation Terms & Conditions was inside.

Whoa.

"You drafted a roommate agreement and a prenuptial agreement?" Flipping through it, I said. "Very romantic."

"I believe that clarity prevents confusion."

I glanced up at his face. Still flawless. It's still cold. "Is this what you call pillow talk?"

He didn't recoil. "Grace, I'm not requesting your love. just your collaboration.

Slowly, I closed the folder. My heart pounded in my temple.

"How about you?" I inquired. "What are your obligations under this ideal little contract?"

He stared at me for too long. It's my responsibility to keep you and the child safe. I'll take that action.

"And beyond that?" I inquired.

A pause occurred.

"That is the only thing there is."

My heart twisted uncomfortably. I feigned a wince instead of a smile.

"All right, then. crystal clear.

He gave a nod. "All right. Friday night is a corporate dinner. The media partners of my company will be present. You must be by my side.

Well, we're going straight to the stage show now.

In a mock cheer, I lifted my cup. "Smoozing with executives over dry chicken and wine I can't drink is the epitome of newlywed bliss."

"This afternoon, I'll have your wardrobe options delivered."

I blinked. Options for the wardrobe? Who am I now, a mannequin?

"If we're going to do this, we do it right," he said coolly.

As he vanished down the hallway, I saw him retreat into the clouds like a storm.

And me?

I remained at the breakfast table, gazing at a contract that could have easily passed for a velvet-wrapped cage.