**Chapter 3 – Terms and Conditions**
The morning sun spilled through tall windows, turning the Frost Estate's marble floor into gold. Ava blinked against the light, momentarily forgetting where she was. Silk sheets, quiet halls, and the faint scent of coffee drifting through the air—it wasn't a dream. She was in Damian Frost's world now.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
**8:00 AM sharp — Breakfast.**
The message came from an unknown number. Probably his assistant.
Ava groaned softly, dragging herself out of bed. Someone had already laid out clothes for her—a cream blouse, pencil skirt, and delicate pearl earrings. Everything screamed wealth and precision. It made her feel like a mannequin in someone else's story.
---
Downstairs, the dining room was big enough to fit her entire apartment twice over. Damian was already there, reading the newspaper as if last night hadn't rewritten both their lives. He looked immaculate in a gray suit, every movement controlled.
"You're late," he said, not looking up.
"It's eight on the dot," she replied, sitting stiffly across from him. "Do you time your employees with a stopwatch too?"
"I do," he said dryly. "And now, my wife."
The word *wife* made her throat tighten. "So this is how it's going to be?"
He folded the newspaper, finally meeting her eyes. "Professional. Efficient. Simple."
A maid appeared, serving pancakes and fruit. Ava stared at the table but couldn't eat. "Professional. Efficient. Simple," she repeated. "You talk about marriage like it's a business merger."
"For us, it is."
Her hands clenched around her napkin. "You could at least pretend to be human about it."
Damian's gaze softened for a fraction of a second before he turned away. "Pretending never ends well, Miss Carter."
"Mrs. Frost," she corrected quietly.
He looked up again, studying her. Then, unexpectedly, he smirked. "You're learning."
---
After breakfast, Damian led her into his study. Sunlight filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating shelves of books arranged with mathematical precision. A large folder sat on his desk.
"Your new schedule," he said. "Appearances, interviews, events. Every move we make must look real."
Ava flipped through the pages. "So I'm your puppet."
"Partner," he corrected. "Though it seems you enjoy arguing."
"Someone has to remind you you're not God."
That earned a low chuckle, rare and brief. "Careful, Mrs. Frost. You might make me like you."
She froze at the way his voice dropped—low, dangerous, almost teasing. The air thickened. Then he turned away, back to his computer, as if nothing had happened.
"Tonight," he said, "we attend my father's gala. You'll meet the board, and the press will see us together. It's important you act the part."
"And what exactly does that mean?"
"You smile when I smile. You stand where I stand. And when I touch you—" his eyes flicked to hers, "—you don't flinch."
Her pulse stumbled. "Touch me?"
"It's expected of a husband," he said simply, closing the folder. "Can you manage that, Mrs. Frost?"
She lifted her chin. "I can handle more than you think, Mr. Frost."
---
Hours later, Ava stood in front of the mirror in the walk-in closet—if one could call a room lined with designer dresses a "closet." Elena, Damian's assistant, adjusted the hem of Ava's evening gown.
"You clean up well," Elena said, voice clipped but not unkind. "Just don't embarrass him tonight."
Ava met her gaze in the mirror. "I'll do my best. Though I doubt anything I do will impress him."
"You'd be surprised," Elena murmured. "He notices everything. Especially what he shouldn't."
Before Ava could ask what that meant, Damian appeared in the doorway. For a second, words failed her. The tuxedo fit him like it was part of him—sleek, commanding, impossibly composed.
His eyes swept over her. "You look… acceptable."
"Acceptable?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's your idea of a compliment?"
He smirked faintly. "Would you prefer stunning?"
She didn't answer. The silence stretched, charged and heavy. Damian extended his arm. "Shall we?"
Reluctantly, Ava placed her hand on his. His palm was warm, steady. When their eyes met in the mirror, something flickered—something he didn't want her to see.
---
The Frost Corporation gala shimmered with chandeliers and murmured secrets. Cameras flashed as they entered. Ava's heels clicked against marble, her arm looped through Damian's. Every gaze turned toward them—the perfect power couple.
A photographer called out, "Mr. Frost! One more photo with your lovely wife!"
Damian's hand slid around her waist, firm but careful. The flash went off, and Ava forced a smile. When the crowd's attention turned away, she whispered, "You didn't warn me about all the eyes."
"I did," he murmured back. "You just didn't believe me."
The orchestra swelled. Damian guided her to the dance floor, his movements precise. Ava stumbled once, but he caught her instantly.
"Relax," he said, his breath brushing her ear. "You're doing fine."
"For someone pretending?"
"For someone learning," he corrected.
The music slowed. Their steps fell into rhythm, closer now. She could feel his heartbeat beneath the tuxedo. He smelled like cedar and something darker—control, danger, and a hint of vulnerability he'd never admit.
When the song ended, applause filled the hall. Damian released her hand slowly, his fingers lingering just long enough to confuse her.
A board member approached, shaking Damian's hand. "Beautiful wife, Damian. You've finally settled down."
"Only with the best," Damian said smoothly, his arm brushing hers.
Ava smiled through it, wondering if he meant the words—or if it was just another line from the script they were living.
---
Later, as the night ended and they returned to the mansion, Ava slipped off her heels and exhaled. Damian loosened his tie, watching her from across the room.
"You did well tonight," he said.
"High praise from the perfectionist."
He almost smiled. "Keep that attitude. It suits you."
Ava hesitated. "Damian… when this year ends, what happens to us?"
He met her gaze, unreadable again. "Nothing. That's the point."
Something inside her twisted. She nodded once, heading toward her room. But before closing the door, she turned back.
"Then I'll make sure I don't forget that."
As the door clicked shut, Damian stood alone, his reflection staring back from the glass. For the first time in years, he didn't look certain of anything.
---