MARRIED TO MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND, PREGNANT FOR HIS TWIN BROTHER

THE CONTRACT

Rosaline's POV

My mother was dead.

I kept repeating it to myself like if I did, it would start to feel real to me. It didn't. It just sat there in my chest. It felt heavy and distant, like something i wasnt ready to accept yet..

The police said it was a heart attack. Quick. She likely didn't suffer.

This was probably supposed to make me feel better.

Except it didn't.

Donald arrived at my parents' house an hour after I called him. He walked straight to me, pulled me into his arms without saying a word and held me while I finally broke down. No pretty tears. Real, ugly tears that came with choking and a feeling of breathlessness.

He rubbed my back and said all the right things and I let myself completely lean on him, because I needed something solid to rely on.

For a moment I forgot about Wesley.

For a moment he was just my husband and I was just a woman who had just lost her mother and needed something to hold on to.

That moment didn't last long enough for me.

The next few days were filled with constant calls from families, friends and relatives I barely knew, each of them offering their condolences. My father looked like a shadow of himself. He ate whenever people put food in front of him. He shook hands, accepted hugs and said thank you with a voice that no longer sounded like his own. Like he was just a shell of the man he once was.

I watched him and I worried.

Donald stayed close for the first two days. Then the business trips started again.

I told myself it was fine. The company he was handling wouldn’t stop just because he had lost something. That's what I told myself anyway.

On the fourth morning after my mother's death I woke up early and for some reason I couldn't go back to sleep. I drove to my parents house before the sun came up. My father was still asleep. The house was quiet. The walls felt empty, like they knew that the person that filled it with color was gone. Like they were grieving with me.

I went to my mother's bedroom.

I don't know what I was looking for exactly. Maybe just to feel close to her. Maybe just to sit somewhere that still smelled like her perfume and wait for some magical moment where she suddenly appears and tell me it's all a bad dream.

I sat on the edge of her bed for a while. Then I started going through things. My hands traced gently. Just straightening, just touching. Her jewelry box. The photographs on her dresser. The little notebook she wrote things so she wouldn’t forget them later on.

Then I noticed the drawer.

The bottom drawer had a small lock on it. I had never paid attention to it before. It had always just been there, just part of the furniture but not special enough for me to actually pay attention to.

Today I paid attention.

I tried looking for clues in the obvious places first. Inside her jewelry. Under the bed. Nothing. Then I looked at the notebook again. I flipped to the last page and there it was, written in between her Netflix password and a pin number.

A four digit code.

I found the small key tucked inside the spine of a book she always kept on her nightstand. My hands were already trembling as I crouched down and opened the drawer.

Inside was a thick envelope.

I took it to the kitchen table. I made myself a cup of tea but didn’t drink it. Then I opened the envelope

The document inside looked formal. It was printed on heavy paper, bound with a metal clip, and stamped at the bottom with two signatures and a notary seal. I had to read the heading twice before I could accept what I was reading.

It was a marriage contract.

A betrothal agreement between my parents and a man named Franklin Hart. I checked the date and it was dated eleven years ago when I was just seventeen.

I read it slowly. It stopped making sense and I read it again.

According to this document, I had been promised to the son of Mr. Franklin. The arrangement was formal. There were legal and financial terms that basically sold me to him for the benefit of both our families. Everything had been laid down without my consent like I wasn’t a human being but a piece of equipment.

And then six years later they had broken the contract.

They had given me to the Mendez family instead. To Donald.

My hands shook so badly that the paper started rustling.

Every illusion of control i thought i had over my own life and love story crumbled and rearranged itself in my head. The betrothal I had resented before slowly coming to accept. Everything that happened between Donald and i.

What part of it was real and what part was arranged? Or did they just move me from one contract to another like they were trying to find the highest bidder at an auction?

I sat at that kitchen table for a long time.

Then I noticed something else in the envelope.

There was a single folded note tucked behind the contract, smaller than the rest. I unfolded it carefully.

The handwriting was sharp and slanted, pressed onto the paper with intentionality. Like they were sending a message.

Your parents thought breaking our agreement would have no consequences. Your mother was the first to learn otherwise. Unfortunately, she couldn’t survive the lesson. Your father will be the next to learn. And you, Mrs. Mendez, you must be curious to know who exactly put a tragic end to the life of your dear mother. Before you bury her, find out who put her in that grave.

— F.H.

The tea cup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor.

My mother didn't have a heart attack.

Someone killed her.