Contract Marriage: I’ve Always Loved You

After two days,

I call Grace as my father instructed me to pick her up for the wedding ring purchase.

I can’t believe I’m willingly entering this marriage contract. However, to teach the lesson to Grace, I have to do this.

“Hello.”

As she answers the call, I state, “Grace, it’s Steve. Dad wants me to pick you up to buy our wedding rings. After my meeting, be ready to go.”

Grace’s response is unexpectedly defensive, “What do you mean by ‘after your meeting’? Tell me the time, and I’ll check my schedule.”

I remember my dad mentioning she’s a fashion influencer, so I think she can easily take time out.

“You make blogs, right? You can take out time; it’s just a ring shopping.”

Her voice sharpens in response. “My work is more difficult than yours. Don’t you dare comment on it?”

I try to explain, “I was not demeaning your work, Grace. I meant you work from home; you can do that any time.”

She gets more offended. “You won’t understand the challenges of my work. You don’t know about social media. Go see my followers and comments. People die for me. I work hard, not like you who just boss around sitting in his dad’s office. Huh!”

A frown appears on my face, listening to her words.

“What the fuck… Are…”

“What happened? Got the taste of your own medicine, Mr. soon-to-be to be husband?” I can bet she must be smirking right now.

Whatever! It’s futile to argue with her.

So I take a deep breath, trying to keep the conversation on track. “Grace, I didn’t mean to undermine your work. I appreciate the effort you put into it. Let’s not argue; we have to buy the rings, and that’s the focus.”

“Okay! I will inform you whenever I get time.”

Before I can respond, she cuts the call abruptly.

Shaking my head, I decide to check her Instagram profile, wondering if her online presence is as significant as she claims.

As I scroll through her profile on Instagram, I’m impressed and amazed at the sheer number of followers she has.

The engagement on her posts is remarkable, and the comments section is flooded with adoration. I must say, her influence in the fashion world is undeniable.

I come across some of her blog posts and videos, finding them intriguing and creative.

However, as I delve deeper, I stumble upon a video that catches me off guard. It’s a casual vlog, and there’s a moment where she laughs genuinely.

I find myself unexpectedly drawn to her laughter, forgetting she’s the reason for my current frustrations.

But then, in one particular video, she captures my attention in a way I hadn’t expected. Her beauty, the way she carries herself-it’s captivating.

However, I make myself remember I can’t fall for her charm and beauty again. She is definitely a great fashion influencer, but she has no kindness in her, and I can’t let myself fall for her.

It’s all because of her, I’m ending up marrying someone I don’t even like, and she’s completely turned my life upside down.

The realization hits me, and I think, “Why am I even stalking her?”

I quickly close the Instagram, reminding myself of the purpose-this contract marriage is a plan to teach Grace a lesson.

A few hours later, after my meeting, I text her, leaving my office.

Me: I’m on my way to pick you up.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

After a few minutes, when I sit in the car’s backseat, staring out of the window, my phone dings.

I receive a reply from her.

Grace: I’m finishing up some work. Let me know when you’re outside.

Upon reaching her place, I text her again.

Me: I’m outside.

Grace: I’ll take some time. Wait for me.

Why do I feel like she’ll deliberately make me wait?

I type the message, irked.

Me: Whenever you’re ready, just come out.

Unexpectedly, she comes out of her mansion within five minutes. I thought she would make me wait longer.

Anyway, she looks flawless, as if she just stepped out of a photoshoot.

As she approaches the car, my driver opens the door for her.

She asks after settling inside, “Is it necessary for us to do this? I mean, can’t you just pick something you like? It’s just a contract, right?”

I respond, “You put us into this, Grace. So yes, we have to make it look real for our fathers.”

“Fine!” She shifts her gaze to the window as the driver starts the car.

Upon reaching the jewellery store, we step inside, and the owner of that store approaches us. “Welcome mam, welcome, sir. Please come.”

He gestures to a store worker, instructing them to show us their best ring designs.

As he shows us some rings, Grace shouts at him, “Why on earth are you showing us these outdated designs? Can’t you bring out something more in line with the current trends?”

The worker looks a bit taken aback, and stammers, “I-I’m so-sorry, mam. Let me show you more designs.”

As he presents a more modern design, she examines it, clearly dissatisfied.

“This is better, but still not up to the mark. Don’t you have anything more stylish?” she demands, her tone sharp.

This Girl! I’m regretting visiting here with her.

I intervene, “Grace, let’s be kind. He’s just doing his job.” I keep my tone calm because I don’t want to make the scene here.

She shoots me a glare. “I don’t care. This is my wedding ring, after all. It has to be perfect. I have a reputation.”

The worker, although visibly uncomfortable, brings out a few more options. She examines each one with a critical eye, making it clear she won’t settle for anything less than perfection.

I wonder how I’m going to spend three months with this woman.

“Grace, let’s not make a scene. Choose something you like, and we can move forward.” I try to explain to her.

She scoffs, “Why are you so concerned about how I behave? It’s not like we’re an actual couple.”

I take a deep breath. “Grace, you’re wasting everyone’s time here. A few minutes back, you weren’t even interested in it.”

She declares, “So, choose my ring yourself. I’m leaving.”

Clutching my hands to control my anger, I watch her walk away, leaving me with the store worker.

It seems she was deliberately creating a scene here, punishing me for bringing her here to buy the rings.

I can’t believe I agreed to this marriage contract.

After a moment, I select a pair of rings that seem decent enough.

I leave the jewellery store, and I notice Grace waiting near the entrance. As I approach her, I notice a cigarette between her fingers.

She smirks, taking a puff. “So you’re done with the rings?”

Already frustrated with her behaviour inside, I snatch the cigarette from her hand and hurl it on the ground.

“You’re becoming my wife, so behave, Grace.” I assert, pressing the cigarette stub with my shoe in anger.

She glares at me. “I won’t listen to you. And you don’t dare to snatch my cigarette like this again.”

Despite my anger, I hold my composure and respond, “Fine. Let’s just get through this without more unnecessary drama.”

Without exchanging a word, we head back to the car.

The drive back is silent, I wonder how I’ll survive three months of this contract marriage. It’s becoming clear that teaching Grace a lesson won’t be as easy as I thought.

***

Over the next few days, as the preparations for the wedding began, I observe Grace and notice the way she manipulates situations and twists words to suit her agenda.

I know I have to stay one step ahead of her. I can’t let her control me or our marriage.

Finally, a week passes, and the day of our wedding arrives. I never thought that I would ever marry like this, life is seriously unpredictable.