“I know,” he said. “I’ve loved you since the laundry room. I just didn’t know how to say it without a signature.”
She laughed. He kissed her forehead. And somewhere in the penthouse, the chef quietly canceled the order for champagne—because clearly, this was a celebration that required nothing but the two of them, a shattered contract, and a love that had never needed fine print to begin with. contract marriage with the devil billionaire
“You wrote clause seven,” she whispered back. “I know,” he said
The final month, the contract lay on the table between them. One year was almost up. The money was in her account. Leo was healthy. The debt was gone. He kissed her forehead
Lena wiped the counter. “You forgot the part where you’re clearly insane.”
“And if I don’t want to leave?”