Chapter 4: Paper Rings, Diamond Rules

The ink hadn’t even dried.

Anya stared down at her signature—neatly written, slightly smudged by the trembling of her hand—at the bottom of a thick document that looked more like a war treaty than a marriage contract.

She was sitting across from Zayden in his private office once again. But this time, there was no spilled coffee. No sugar-dusted apron. Just her in a clean white blouse and worn jeans, her hair tied back as if it could anchor her to reason.

The moment she signed, Zayden pulled the document back toward him with surgical precision. No emotion. No hesitation.

“Congratulations,” he said coolly.

“You’re now my wife. On paper.”

Anya swallowed. Her throat felt dry.

This was just temporary. Just business. Just for the bakery.

But nothing about the air between them felt simple.

Zayden stood and walked to a drawer behind his desk, returning with a black velvet box. He placed it between them without a word, then pushed it toward her.

She opened it slowly.

The ring was enormous.

Platinum band. A flawless solitaire diamond surrounded by a halo of tiny sparkling stones. Elegant. Cold. Perfect.

Like him.

“Is this... real?” she asked, voice smaller than she liked.

Zayden didn’t look at her. “Of course.”

“It looks like it could buy my entire building block.”

“It could.”

Anya stared at the ring. For a moment, she saw her reflection in it—distorted, small, drowning in shine.

“Put it on,” he said.

She hesitated, then slid the ring onto her finger.

It fit perfectly.

She hated how heavy it felt. Not on her hand—on her chest.

Zayden picked up another folder and handed it to her. “Rules.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your guidelines as my wife.”

She opened it. Her jaw dropped.

There were bullet points. Categories. Subsections.

Appearances must be made at three corporate events per month.

Must be seen dining with Mr. Yllanes publicly twice a week.

Must maintain appropriate dress and demeanor. No scandals, no emotional outbursts.

Zero discussion of the contract or relationship terms with anyone.

Living arrangements: shared residence. Separate rooms.

Physical contact will be limited to necessary displays for the public (hand-holding, arm link, occasional kiss if requested).

Any breach of contract results in immediate termination of the agreement and forfeiture of benefits.

She stared at him.

“You even itemized when I can hold your arm?”

“It prevents confusion.”

“Oh, I’m very confused already.”

Zayden leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, fingers interlocked.

“You agreed to a role, Anya. And roles require boundaries. You want to keep your bakery. I want to keep my empire. That’s the only relationship we have.”

“I’m not a puppet,” she said sharply.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re an actress. Play your part well, and we both get what we want.”

"I'm a baker not an actress."

"I know, I know just act."

"Then why a kiss in there."

"For appearance."

Anya shut the folder, heart racing. “What happens if someone suspects we’re fake?”

Zayden’s eyes darkened. “Then we act harder. Or they disappear.”

Her breath caught. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke.”

God, why did she say yes?

Because she needed this. Because her shop wouldn’t survive another month. Because for once, she wanted to fight for something that mattered—even if it meant losing a part of herself for a while.

Zayden stood. “You’ll move into the penthouse tomorrow.”

Her stomach dropped. “Penthouse?”

“You’ll need to be visible. Public affection, cohabitation—it sells the image.”

“So we’re roommates now?”

He arched a brow. “Wife and husband.”

“Fake.”

Zayden’s tone dipped into something unreadable. “Sometimes people forget what’s fake when they repeat it enough.”

She blinked. “And you think I’m going to be the one who forgets?”

His smirk was sharp. “I always bet on the unexpected.”

Before she could reply, the door opened. Yula stepped inside with a tablet. “Photographers will be here in ten. We’re announcing the engagement today.”

Anya stiffened. “Already?”

“You’ll wear white,” Zayden said without looking at her. “Not a dress. Classy. Polished. We’re going for timeless, not desperate.”

“Wow. Thank you for clarifying,” she said dryly.

He finally looked at her, eyes trailing briefly to the ring on her finger. “You’re in my world now, Anya. I don’t bend for emotions. I don’t explain myself. And I never fall.”

She stood, straightening her spine.

“I wasn’t planning to catch you.”

That afternoon, the headlines exploded:

BREAKING: Billionaire CEO Zayden Yllanes Engaged to Mystery Woman!

Who Is the Local Baker Who Stole the Ice King’s Heart?

Anya watched the news from the backseat of a limousine, her hands clenched in her lap, the diamond ring sparkling like a lie.

Across from her, Zayden stared out the window, indifferent.

But for the first time in years, something burned under his skin.

Not anger.

Not annoyance.

Curiosity.

And he hated it.