The First Night.

The sound of soft rain against the glass filled the silence between them.

Aira stood by the doorway of Rayan’s penthouse, her suitcase in hand, heart thudding in her chest. She had signed the contract, exchanged vows, smiled for his family—but this? Living with him, sharing the same space?

It suddenly felt more real than anything before.

Rayan appeared from the hallway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled back, his dark eyes flickering to the suitcase.

“You came,” he said, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

“I’m your wife now, remember?” she said, stepping in.

His smirk deepened. “Clause 17.”

She flushed slightly, setting the suitcase down.

He walked closer, slowly, like she was something delicate and beautiful he didn’t want to break. The distance between them vanished, and she could feel the heat of his presence.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “Clause 17 said you’d have to act like a real wife. That includes staying here. With me.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

His smile softened. “Are you scared?”

“A little,” she admitted.

He nodded, his hand moving to gently touch her wrist. “I won't do anything you don't want, Aira.”

But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned closer. “Then kiss me.”

Rayan’s eyes widened for a moment—then he did.

It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, reverent, like he had waited months to touch her like this. His hands rested on her waist, and hers slid around his neck. She melted into him as their lips moved in sync—familiar and new, gentle and bold.

When they finally pulled apart, Aira’s breath was shaky, her heart racing.

“Still scared?” he whispered against her forehead.

“No,” she breathed. “Just… confused.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips to her temple. “I am too.”

She looked up at him again, eyes burning with unsaid things. “What happens now?”

He took her hand and led her through the soft-lit hallway into the bedroom. The bed was large, the sheets crisp. Everything smelled like him—spice, cedarwood, warmth.

Rayan didn’t rush.

He pulled her gently onto the bed, never taking his eyes off her. They lay side by side, facing each other in the dim glow of the city lights pouring in through the windows.

“You’re not like I expected,” Aira said quietly.

“Disappointed?”

“No,” she smiled. “Terrified.”

He laughed under his breath and reached for her hand.

They talked—about the wedding, their awkward kiss in front of Leo, how his mother had already sent a wedding gift basket with too many vitamins. Slowly, the tension shifted into soft laughter, gentle teasing, and looks that lingered longer than before.

Eventually, her head found his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her waist.

“Aira,” he said quietly, “you don’t owe me anything. This contract… I know what it says. But your heart isn’t something I’m trying to win like a business deal.”

She closed her eyes against his chest.

“I know,” she whispered. “But tonight, I just… want to feel close to you.”

They didn’t need to say more.

The lights remained off. Their breathing slowed. Hands met skin, but gently—tentative, exploring, learning. And when sleep eventually claimed them, tangled together in warmth, it wasn’t just about the contract.

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