When I left her office, my legs felt weak. The rest of the day passed in a blur. People asked me about copy changes and campaign ideas, and I nodded at the right times, but my mind was stuck in that glass room. That night, back in my small apartment, I paced the worn carpet until the sun began to rise.
Pride told me this was wrong, that I would be selling myself. Desperation showed me mom’s house, the one place that still felt like safety, with a foreclosure notice on the door. By dawn, my choice was sitting in my chest like a stone. At 9:00 a.m., I was back in her office. She watched me close the door behind me.
“Well, I will do it,” I said. “I will be your husband for one year.” Something eased in her shoulders. She opened a drawer, took out a simple contract, and placed it on the desk between us. “Then sign,” she said. As my pen scratched my name across the bottom of the page, I felt my old life fall away.
I did not know yet if I had just saved myself from drowning or tied myself to a weight I could not carry. The same afternoon I signed the contract, my whole life shifted like someone had pulled the floor out from under me and replaced it with glass. Luna did not waste time. She slid a key card in a small white envelope across the desk.
This is the address to my building, she said. Penthouse floor. Pack what you need? A driver will pick you up at 5. That fast, I asked. She nodded once. The sooner we start, the more natural it will look by the time my family and the board start asking questions. There was no handshake. No. Welcome to the family.
