His Ring Her Rules

Still clutching the contract like a cursed scroll from an old temple, I caught up to him at the elevator.

"Ethan," I yelled.

He hesitated, his thumb resting close to the top floor button. He slowly turned, his eyes unreadable. "Yes?"

I displayed the folder. "We must speak."

He gave me that completely neutral look, as if I were just another board member asking for a last-minute agenda change, without letting out a sigh or rolling his eyes. "Speak."

"No. Not in this place. I made a hazy motion toward the corridor. "Not with a bonsai tree next to me that's worth more than my car."

After giving me a single nod, he silently escorted me to his contemporary glass-walled office, which cried out, "Power and silence live here." I went inside, folded my arms, and gently thudded the folder onto his desk.

I retorted, "You don't get to own me." "Not in this manner."

His forehead barely raised. "I'm not—"

"You are," I said. I interrupted, sounding sharper than I had anticipated. "You're attempting to confine me to this idealized portrayal of your ideal wife. And, Ethan, I understand. control of damage. public perception. Alright. However, don't take my silence as consent.

Surprise? Something flickered in his eyes. Laughter? A glimmer of respect? I couldn't tell.

I took a step closer and said, "I'm carrying your child." However, I remain who I am. Carter, Grace. Not some pet project of an executive who simply responds, "Yes, sir," and dons whatever high-end shoes you throw at me.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. Be calm. calculated.

"And exactly what do you want?"

I inhaled. I kept my chin up despite my tight chest.

I said, "I want boundaries." And we're working together to create some ground rules if we're going to be stuck in this marriage circus. not only you.

Curious, he cocked his head. "Such as?"

I used my fingers to mark them off.

One: I get to keep my job, or, if I can, work for myself. I refuse to rot like a bird in a cage in a penthouse.

"All right."

"Two: Don't fuss over my clothes. I can feel more like myself if I smile on red carpets.

"Within reasonable bounds."

"Nope," I blurted out. "The reason I have."

He nodded slowly. "Is there anything else?"

"The third is that you no longer treat me like an intern. Even though I puked in a $500 sink this morning, I still have a backbone."

The corners of his mouth quirked. "Noted."

"And four." I stopped and took a breath.

I whispered, "Don't make me invisible." "You wed me for practical reasons. I understand. I won't be wallpaper, though. Not here at home. Not in your board's front. And most certainly not at that business dinner.

He pushed off the desk, his eyes growing a little darker. In a heartbeat, the distance between us narrowed.

With a lowered voice, he said, "Grace, you're not invisible." "You're... blinding."

The air changed for a second. My pulse lost its sense of self-control. I could smell his cologne, which was crisp, pricey, and incredibly addictive, because he was standing so close.

Then he blinked, as if the thought had been forced back into his mind.

"All right," he said, taking a step back. "Tonight, we will draft the updated terms. You will be heard.

I furrowed my brow. "No jargon from the boardroom?"

"You will be heard, not worshipped," I said.

I grinned. The phrase "one miracle at a time"

The contract was still folded beneath my arm as I walked out of his office, but it no longer felt like a chain.

I wasn't going to let go of my end anytime soon, and it felt like the start of a tug-of-war.