The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment. For a moment, I forgot that I was living with Ethan Rivera under a fake marriage contract. It felt… domestic. Almost normal.
I wandered into the kitchen, wearing an oversized hoodie and messy hair. Ethan was there, carefully pouring coffee into two mugs. He looked up and smiled faintly.
"Good morning," he said, handing me a mug. "Sleep well?"
"Uh… fine," I mumbled, still half-asleep. I took the mug, the warmth seeping into my hands.
He leaned against the counter, watching me sip. "You look… tired," he noted casually. But there was a softness in his eyes that made my stomach flutter.
"I stayed up sketching," I admitted. "Too many thoughts, I guess."
He tilted his head. "About… us?"
I choked on my coffee. "N-No! Just… life and work!" I waved my hands defensively.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. "Right… life and work."
I scowled at him, but he didn't back down. Instead, he reached over to stir sugar into his coffee, his hand brushing mine. The contact was brief, but enough to make my heart race.
"Careful," I muttered, trying to pull my hand back.
"Why? We share spaces, Lara. Even small touches are allowed," he said lightly, clearly teasing, but I could hear the seriousness underneath.
I rolled my eyes but felt a strange warmth spread through me. He wasn't just teasing. There was something protective, grounding, in the way he spoke and moved.
Later, while cleaning up breakfast, I accidentally dropped a plate. It shattered on the floor.
"Oh no!" I gasped.
Ethan moved instantly, crouching to help me pick up the pieces. "Careful," he said, handing me the larger fragments. "You need to focus."
"Focus? On picking up broken plates?!" I exclaimed, flustered.
"Or on… not breaking my patience," he replied, his eyes locking onto mine. The teasing tone didn't hide the intensity of his gaze.
I felt my cheeks flush. "Ethan!" I snapped, even though my heart was racing.
He smirked faintly, standing upright, handing me the last piece. "See? Domestic life isn't so bad. We just need… rhythm. Rules. Balance."
"Yes, yes… rhythm and rules," I muttered, unable to hide my smile. Somehow, this small, chaotic morning felt… intimate. Closer than any public appearance or contract negotiation.
As he left for work, I lingered in the kitchen, replaying the moments. His touch, his protective gestures, his teasing words—they were breaking down the walls I'd built around my heart.
Contract marriage? Yes. One year of pretending. Pero somehow… I already felt something real growing in these shared spaces.
And I wasn't sure if I was ready to admit how much I liked it.