For a second, neither of us spoke.
My words hung heavy in the air between us, like something forbidden and dangerous.
"Okay… I'll do it."
I couldn't believe I'd said it.
Lance Villanueva leaned back in his chair, a glimmer of satisfaction sparking in his dark eyes.
He steepled his fingers under his chin and watched me like a hawk.
"You won't regret this, Miss Santos," he said, his voice low and even.
I pressed my trembling hands against my lap.
"I already do," I whispered.
Lance pulled a slim black intercom toward him and pressed the button.
"Marco, come in."
A moment later, the glass door swung open. Marco entered silently, carrying a thick leather folder and a silver pen.
Lance gestured toward me.
"Bring her the NDA."
Marco nodded, placing the folder on the desk in front of me.
"NDA?" I said, my voice scratchy.
"Non-Disclosure Agreement," Lance explained. "You sign this first. Everything we discuss tonight stays private. No one can know this marriage is fake."
I stared at the papers, my chest tightening.
"This is insane," I whispered. "I should be running out of here."
Lance arched one brow.
"Then go," he said simply.
I stared at him, stunned.
"You're… just letting me leave?"
"I'm not a kidnapper, Maya," he said calmly. "You're free to go whenever you want. But if you do… the offer's gone. Forever."
A pang of fear knifed through my stomach.
He wasn't bluffing.
My mind replayed the images of Jules shoving me out of my own home. Of Bianca looking away in shame. Of my life, shredded into pieces in a single afternoon.
I swallowed hard.
"Fine," I muttered, grabbing the pen. "Where do I sign?"
"Bottom of every page," Marco instructed.
He pointed out each section like a bank teller explaining a loan.
• Section 1: Non-Disclosure about Lance's personal life
• Section 2: Confidentiality about the marriage arrangement
• Section 3: Penalties for leaking information
My hand trembled as I scribbled my name: Maya Santos.
By the time I finished, my signature looked like a child's scrawl.
Lance took the folder, flipped through it quickly, then nodded in satisfaction.
"Good," he said. "Now we can talk freely."
Marco withdrew another document from his leather folder, a much thicker stack of crisp white pages clipped together.
He placed it in front of me.
"What's this?" I croaked.
"The marriage contract," Lance replied smoothly.
I stared at it like it was a live grenade.
Lance leaned forward, tapping the papers.
"The contract states that you and I will be legally married for a period of twelve months. During that time, you'll move into my house, attend social events with me, and appear as my wife. You'll follow the rules we agree on."
My mouth fell open.
"Rules? What kind of rules?"
Lance ticked them off on his fingers.
"Number one: No discussing our private arrangement with anyone. Not friends. Not family. Not the media."
"Okay…" I said hesitantly.
"Number two: We share a bedroom but only for appearances. What happens in that bedroom is up to you."
My cheeks flamed.
He smirked. "Don't look so scandalized. I'm not forcing anything."
I pressed my palms to my burning face.
"Number three," he continued, "You'll accompany me to business events, family functions, and public appearances. You'll be polite and supportive. We'll look like a real couple."
"Great," I mumbled. "So I'm basically an actress."
"Exactly," Lance said. "Except you're getting paid two million pesos."
I swallowed hard.
"Two million. Up front?" I asked.
He gave me a thin smile.
"Half up front. Half when the contract ends. It's an insurance policy—for both of us."
I chewed my lip.
"And if I break the contract?"
He met my gaze squarely.
"Then you pay back everything. Plus damages."
My stomach twisted.
"Look, Lance," I said, pressing my hands flat against the desk. "This is crazy. My whole life just exploded today. I'm not… I'm not thinking clearly. What if I regret this?"
Lance studied me for a long moment.
"Then you walk away now," he said quietly. "Before you sign."
I stared down at the contract.
Two million pesos.
That money could change everything.
I could hire a lawyer. Sue Jules and Bianca. Find a new place. Start fresh.
My throat felt tight.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to Lance.
"If I do this…" I said carefully, "I want to be sure my money's protected."
He nodded.
"My lawyers will transfer the funds into a secure account under your name. You'll get documentation tomorrow."
My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"And… you swear you won't… you know… try anything?"
He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
"I swear I won't touch you unless you want me to," he said. "Believe me—forced affection is not my style."
My face burned even hotter.
"God, this is so humiliating," I muttered.
He smiled faintly.
"Not humiliating. Strategic."
I fell silent for several long seconds.
The room felt too bright, the scent of polished wood and expensive air freshener suddenly suffocating.
Finally, I whispered, "Okay. I'll sign."
Lance's eyes glinted with triumph.
"Excellent."
Marco placed the contract in front of me and pointed to the signature lines.
My hands shook as I picked up the pen.
My brain screamed at me to run.
But my heart was screaming even louder that this was my only way out.
With trembling fingers, I signed my name: Maya Santos.
Lance reached for the contract, flipping through the pages. When he was satisfied, he closed the folder with a crisp snap.
He looked at me, his voice gentle but firm.
"Welcome to the Villanueva family, Mrs. Villanueva."
My stomach did a sickening flip.
Oh God. What have I done?
For several seconds, I just sat there in the plush leather chair, staring blankly at the polished desk.
My heart pounded so hard, I felt it in my throat.
Lance was still watching me, his eyes cool and steady.
"Welcome to the Villanueva family, Mrs. Villanueva," he repeated softly.
I opened my mouth but no sound came out.
The words felt unreal. Like a line from a movie.
Mrs. Villanueva.
Finally, I managed to croak out, "This… this doesn't feel real."
Lance smiled faintly.
"It will."
He leaned forward, folding his hands atop the desk.
"Now that we're official, we need to clarify the rules."
I groaned, dropping my face into my hands.
"Rules. Of course there are rules."
He ignored my sarcasm.
"Rule number one," he began smoothly. "You live with me. Starting tonight."
My head shot up.
"Tonight?!"
"Tonight," he confirmed. "My mother checks in on me constantly. If she drops by unannounced and you're not there, the whole thing falls apart."
My mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"I have nothing packed! I don't even own clothes nice enough to live in your house!"
"You'll have new clothes tomorrow," he said. "My personal shopper will handle it."
My eyes widened.
"Your… personal shopper?"
"Yes," he said dryly. "Did you think billionaires shop at SM Department Store?"
I sputtered, half outraged, half humiliated.
"Rule number two," Lance continued calmly, "We share a bedroom. But, as I said before, physical intimacy is entirely optional."
My face felt like it was on fire.
I slapped my palm on the desk.
"Why the hell do we have to share a bedroom at all?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Because if my mother decides to check whether we're sleeping together, I'd rather not be caught in separate rooms."