My Life After My Contract Marriage Ended

Maurice easily unlocked the door to my apartment.

“All Chris' passwords are my birthday. Didn’t he tell you?” she said with a smug smile.

Christopher’s expression darkened. “Sorry… I’m just used to it.”

He didn’t finish, but I already knew. I gave him a tight smile. “Doesn’t matter. I use my fingerprint anyway.”

Maurice wandered into the bathroom like she owned the place. Christopher, strangely unlike himself, suddenly turned and shoved me against the door.

I blinked at him, startled and confused.

He stared at me, his voice low and tight with frustration. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you? It’s been three years, Shelley. Can’t you let him go? He’s gone.”

Ismael?

I hadn’t said a word about him in years. I hadn’t interfered in his messy entanglement with Maurice. We were in a contract marriage—mutual benefits, mutual distance. My past with Ismael wasn’t his concern.

Just as I opened my mouth to reply, Maurice’s voice rang out, cold and vicious.

“Are you that cheap? Trying to seduce Chris right in front of me? He already married you—what more do you want? You think you’re so special? Let him go!”

She stormed out barefoot, wearing one of Christopher’s oversized T-shirts, and yanked me by the hair before I could react. My body, already drained from a full day of emotional scenes and no food, had no strength to resist. She dragged me and threw me into the living room like I was nothing.

“I’m sorry, Shelley! Maurice didn’t mean it—” Christopher blurted, automatically defending her.

Maurice clung to him like a leech, stopping him from helping me up. “Chris! I let you marry her, and now she’s seducing you in front of me just to upset me! The doctor said I can’t be stimulated!”

“Maurice, enough,” he said gently, peeling her off like she was a child. “Where did you get those clothes? She’s my wife—your sister-in-law. You can’t treat her like this. You’re not a kid anymore.”

“I got it from your dirty laundry basket!” she pouted. “It smells like you. I want to wear it. I want to walk around like this. Other people wear even less—why are you being so mean? Carry me to bed!”

I got up slowly and walked to the master bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

If I saw one more second of that pathetic love triangle, I’d vomit.

Thankfully, in less than a month, I’d never have to see it again.

I was exhausted. The moment I hit the bed, I drifted off.

I didn’t know how long I slept before I felt a warm hand on my skin and lips pressing against mine.

The scent was familiar—Christopher.

But this was different. His movements were rough, almost desperate.

He tore my nightgown and bit my neck hungrily.

“Today’s not… our conjugal night…” I mumbled, trying to push him away as I blinked back into consciousness.

He pinned my wrists above my head. “But I want to, Shelley. Wife…”

My eyes flew open.

Wife? He had never called me that before.

But the heat rising in the room pushed everything else out of my mind—until he spoke again.

“Is it because of him? Is that why you don’t care about Maurice anymore?”

His voice was laced with jealousy.

Maurice.

Reality came crashing back. It was dark outside—he must have put her to sleep just so he could sneak into my room.

I never questioned his relationship with her. Our agreement forbade physical betrayal. I believed he would respect that boundary.

But after everything I saw today… the casual way she touched him, the confidence in her claims—I realized I might’ve been sharing a man with Maurice this entire time.

And now, he had the nerve to mention Ismael?

The scent of Maurice’s perfume on his skin hit me like a slap. My stomach turned.

I hadn’t eaten all day. The nausea surged.

“I’ll be gentle… don’t reject me…” he whispered, his hand sliding to my waist.

“No—” I barely got the word out before I choked on the bile rising in my throat.

Tears of humiliation and fury rolled down my cheeks. When they hit his arm, he jerked back like he’d been burned.

I shoved him off and bolted for the bathroom.

He followed, shirtless and panicked, trying to reach for me.

“Shelley, wait—”

“Get out!” I screamed, my voice raw.

I emerged from the bathroom, trembling, only to see him standing frozen, still half-dressed.

“You… you’re pregnant?” he stammered.

I glanced behind him and saw Maurice standing there, watching us with narrowed, venomous eyes.

What a joke this had all become.

I had once viewed this marriage like a role I had to play. A job. I played my part, soothed his first love, and stayed silent.

But now… Cliff was waiting for me. And I wasn’t just going through the motions anymore—I felt again.

“No. I’ve just been starving.”

I shut the door to the master bedroom and locked it.

Just a few more weeks. Less than a month.