I woke up early to call Dahlia.
I wanted to contact her yesterday, just in case she visited the station and discovered I wasn't there, if only to reassure her I wasn't abducted by aliens or eaten by the justice system. But I wanted to reach out only after I'd made up my mind about the President's proposal.
It turns out the police haven't let a whisper escape about my case being dismissed. When Dahlia went to the station yesterday, they told her they weren't accepting visitors for me.
The strings are definitely being pulled by Mr. Brandt.
I'm not sure if the dismissal of my case is legitimate or if he's simply tugged the right strings to convince me it was. Or maybe he's just delaying the news from getting out until I give him my answer.
Either way, I plan to clarify that later.
"What do you mean you can't tell me where you are right now? What is happening-"
Dahlia's loud voice suddenly cuts off. A shuffle, then muffled noise replaces her explosive volume.
"Are you still there, Dahlia?"
No answer.
"Dahlia!"
I keep calling her name, and the silence stretches until I'm seconds from ending the call, thinking she got distracted by a stray cat or another existential crisis, when her voice finally returns.
"Is this real…?"
"Huh?"
"T-there's news right now. On TV."
"News? What news?"
"About your case being dismissed!"
My jaw drops.
"It also says the person who testified against you confessed he was coerced and that it isn't true you bought poison pills from him! They found evidence Cora and Candice Hansley are behind the murder! How did this happen?!"
Shock slams into me, but when it fades, a smile blooms followed by laughter spilling out of me.
He did it.
The President did it.
After the call, I immediately check the news online. A major media outlet already published the full story: evidence was found last night, and Cora didn't even bother denying anything. She confessed she was the mastermind. Candice, her dutiful demon seed, the accomplice.
It feels like a dream.
But when I pinch my cheek twice and feel the sting, I know I'm awake. I'm alive. And Cora and Candice are going to jail.
It feels surreal.
Agreeing to Mr. Brandt's proposal is worth it.
When I head to the dining room, I didn't expect to see him already there.
He's dressed in a fresh set of formal wear, sitting at the head of the long table like he personally invented royalty.
When he lifts his dark gaze to me, I wave.
"Good morning, Mr. President!"
He raises an eyebrow at my enthusiasm, as if cheerfulness is an illegal substance in his country.
"Did you return last night, or did you arrive early this morning?"
"I arrived a few hours ago," he replies with disinterest.
"Ah, you must have been busy. Did you even sleep?"
"Judging by how pleasant your mood is, I assume you've seen the news."
I smile and nod. "Yes! And I'm so happy Cora and Candice are going to jail for what they did. But how did you do it?"
I can't help wondering if he investigated everything long before he even met me, if he planned this from the beginning and simply waited for the right moment.
If that's true, then he's a genius.
A terrifying one.
But thank God, at least for now, he's terrifying for me and not against me.
"Did you really get my case dismissed the night you picked me up from prison? Or was it only finalized this morning?" I ask while putting food on my plate.
"How do you think I got you out if it wasn't dismissed the night you left prison?"
"I don't know," I shrug. "Magic? Presidential sorcery? But if my case was dismissed that day, it should have been on the news. Yet when my assistant visited the station, the police only said they weren't accepting visitors. They didn't even mention I wasn't detained anymore."
His face stays serious.
"How could I make you agree to my proposal if I let the news out right away?"
"Why?" I grin at him. "You don't think I'd agree out of gratitude? You don't know this, but I'm a very generous person."
He doesn't even spare me a twitch of amusement. He just keeps eating.
"So it was dismissed that night?" I press. "How did you make the police stay quiet?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he picks up something from the chair beside him. An envelope. He places it in front of me.
"What's this?"
"A contract."
I blink. I mean, I thought our little verbal agreement was enough. But a contract isn't surprising. With his position, he'd want to take precautions.
I don't mind, though. Honestly, it's smart. At least we'll know exactly where the boundaries are.
After stuffing my mouth with a muffin (which, by the way, is heavenly and absolutely not helping me keep my focus), I open the envelope and pull out the papers.
The names of both parties are written, along with the purpose of the marriage and the duration of the agreement.
Exactly what we discussed.
And somehow, seeing it in writing makes everything feel real. Dangerously, undeniably real.
Then my gaze falls to the section labeled Obligations.
Responsibilities of Party A:
(1) Financial support
(2) Housing and security
(3) Legal assistance regarding the clearing of Party B's name
Responsibilities of Party B:
(1) Maintain confidentiality
(2) Participate in public appearances
(3) Uphold the agreed public image
(4) Avoid causing trouble for Party A
(5) No overnight absences without prior notice or permission
(6) Follow the President's security protocols
(7) Cannot invite guests without permission
(8) Must not interfere with political matters unless asked
Confidentiality Clause:
Both parties agree to keep the nature of this arrangement strictly confidential. Disclosure to the public, media, or third parties is prohibited.
Boundaries and Restrictions:
(1) In private, neither party may demand intimacy.
(2) Both parties must maintain the appearance of a typical married couple in public.
(3) No romantic involvement with third parties during the duration of the marriage.
I shift my gaze to Mr. Brandt.
"Why do you have so few obligations while I have more?"
His eyes narrow. "What else do you expect from me?"
"Well," I chuckle weakly, already sweating under that stare, "I'm not saying you're doing less, but… I'm thinking of adding one or two?"
"Such as?"
"Like… you're not allowed to threaten me, endanger my life intentionally, or harm me physically. We should also add that you can't force me to participate in any malicious acts, such as murder or violating innocent people."
He stops eating.
He leans back in his chair and studies me. Those midnight-dark eyes are unreadable, the kind that make you reconsider all your life choices, including the choice to keep breathing.
"Do I look like someone who harms people without valid reason?"
If I were being honest? Well… the man radiates 'valid reason is whatever I decide it is,' but I'd like to keep my lifespan long and murder-free.
I plaster on a smile. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm just taking precautions."
I return to the contract, flipping to the termination clause and the penalties for breach.
It states the agreement can only be terminated upon mutual consent, the completion of the stated purpose, or if either party commits a serious violation.
"You may add those obligations as you please," Mr. Brandt says, tone dismissive, as if he has neither the patience nor the time to argue about something so trivial.
My eyes drift over the penalties section again. They're severe. Like ruin-your-credit-score-until-your-next-life severe. And the compensation he listed in case I breach the contract? Impossible. No normal person could ever pay that amount.
But then again… he cleared my name. And this entire situation is crucial to his position. I understand why he needs ironclad security.
Besides, I have no intention of running away before our agreement ends. I'm not the type to leave debts unpaid.
I set the contract down. "So when is the wedding?"
"Three days from now."