The next morning, I stared at the neatly arranged apartment Ethan had rented for the "contract marriage." It was sleek, modern, almost intimidatingly perfect. "Okay, Lara… you can do this," I muttered to myself.
When Ethan arrived, he was already unpacking some documents on the dining table. "Morning," he greeted. His usual calm, confident tone made my stomach flutter in a way I wasn't ready to admit.
"Morning," I replied, avoiding his eyes as I set down my bag.
"First rule," he began, handing me a folder. "We live together… but we respect boundaries. Separate bedrooms, no intruding. Personal space is crucial."
I flipped through the papers. "Right. Separate bedrooms. Got it. Next?"
"Public appearances only as needed. Photos, events, social media—controlled. Nothing outside agreed terms," he said, ticking boxes in his mind.
"And… uh… emotional boundaries?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked at me, faint smile. "That's… negotiable," he said, almost teasingly, but there was seriousness behind it.
I groaned. "Negotiable? Ethan, this is supposed to be business. Not… whatever this is."
"Exactly," he said. "Business only. No emotions. Just rules."
Despite his words, the air between us felt… charged. I rolled my eyes at myself. "Okay. Rules noted. So… breakfast?"
He looked at the fridge like a man surveying enemy territory. "I didn't bring groceries. We'll eat out or order in. Efficiency first."
As we ordered food, I realized just how different we were. Ethan was meticulous, organized, almost robotic in planning every detail. Ako naman, impulsive and messy, leaving half-painted canvases around the apartment.
"So… you actually paint?" he asked, peering at a half-finished canvas.
"Yes," I said, slightly defensive. "It's my life. My passion. Not… office work."
He nodded, surprisingly interested. "Good. Everyone needs a passion. Keeps them human."
For a moment, his seriousness softened. His comment caught me off guard. Was he… complimenting me? Or just stating a fact?
Breakfast arrived, and we ate in an awkward silence. Well, not completely awkward. He stole a fry from my plate once, and I caught him smiling faintly. I frowned at him. "Hey! That's mine!"
He shrugged, amused. "Sharing is part of marriage, right?"
I choked on my juice. "Wait, we agreed… boundaries!"
"Exactly," he said, grinning. "Shared fries don't count."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help laughing. For the first time, the "contract marriage" felt… slightly bearable.
That night, I lay in my separate bedroom, staring at the ceiling again. One year. One contract. One Ethan Rivera.
I couldn't deny the tension… the spark… the unpredictability of what this year might bring. At this point, it wasn't just about rules or appearances anymore. Somehow, it had already started feeling personal.
And I wasn't sure if I was ready for that.