*"Sir, there's a woman outside who claims to be your wife."*
The butler's voice echoed through the living room as he gave a respectful bow.
Zenon, descending the stairs, paused mid-step. His hair was damp from a fresh shower, strands clinging to his forehead. A light sky-blue sweater clung to his frame, the open neck revealing part of his defined chest. He wore black pants, casual yet commanding. His brows creased.
*"Tell the insane woman to come in,"* he said coolly, his voice low.
The butler nodded and disappeared.
Not even a minute passed before Zenon, now seated at the breakfast table, paused with a fork midair.
There she was.
Brown hair. Slender, with soft curves barely hidden by the grey, fluffy gown she wore. No florals this time—just muted, dull grey.
Her voice sliced through the silence.
*"I didn't wear anything colorful this time."*
Zenon looked away, pretending disinterest—but not before his gaze had lingered a second too long on her curves.
Selene stepped further into the hall, eyes subtly roaming the space.
*Damn… is this how this man lives alone?* Her gaze flicked back to him—and promptly dropped to his chest.
*Magnificent.* Sculpted like artwork.
Without asking, she sank into one of the dining chairs. He looked up, brow raised, fork set down deliberately.
*"I might have to file a lawsuit for staring at my chest that way,"* he said, his tone like a blade—cool, sharp.
Selene adjusted her gown, unbothered. *"Is it a crime to stare at my husband?"*
A sigh slipped from him, but a smirk followed, lazy and dangerous.
*"What makes you think you're worthy enough to not only sit on my chair without permission, but to call me…"*
His voice dipped. *"Husband."*
The word sounded like either a curse or a dare.
Selene's smile faltered only slightly. She reached into her bag and pulled out the medical papers, holding them out. *"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Vander. I'm only here because of *my* predicament."*
He didn't take it.
The butler, sharp as ever, moved quickly and handed the papers to him instead. Selene rolled her eyes.
Zenon's expression changed as his eyes scanned the file—no smirk, no lazy drawl this time. Just a calculating silence.
Selene watched him carefully. *Finally… he's going to be reasonable.*
He looked up, expression unreadable. Then, voice low and dry:
*"Do I look like a baby maker to you?"*
He leaned slightly forward, intrigued now, the tension shifting in the air.
---
---
Selene didn't flinch. She'd expected his arrogance.
*What kind of man is this?* she thought, *Is he really numb right now?*
"Why don't you find out for yourself?" she said, irritation creeping into her voice. She was close to giving up. After today, chasing him like this, she vowed never to humiliate herself again.
Zenon stood, hands clasped behind his back, and strode past her to the black table in the hall. The room was stark—no glitter, no color—just cold minimalism. He pulled out a black folder with *Contract Marriage* boldly written on the cover.
Selene folded her hands tightly, trying to keep her anxiety in check.
*Oh God, is he going to say yes?* she whispered to herself.
He sat down at the opposite end, his eyes sharp.
"I'm listening," he said.
Selene met his gaze steadily, her voice clear but brief.
"I was diagnosed with idiopathic infertility. I have six months to have a baby—or I never will. I wasn't born this way. It just happened."
She watched his face closely, waiting for any sign of reaction.
"Is it contagious?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
"No. No other ailments. No terminal illness." She hurried the words out, not wanting to waste time.
"I hate colors," he said suddenly, crossing his fingers on the table.
"I hate noise—it disgusts me.
I hate disturbances—they drain me."
Selene looked up, nervous but hopeful.
"Is that a yes?"
Zenon's gaze dropped to her.
"I'll call my lawyer tomorrow. We sign the documents."
He stood slowly, voice cold and final.
"One year, Miss. After that, you're gone."
Selene sighed, relief flooding her. *Yes. Just one year.*
A small smile tugged at her lips. *Or maybe eternal,* she thought quietly.
"You still don't know the name of your wife."
She looked up at him.
"I heard your name's Miss Cross," he said without turning back. Then, pausing, he added,
"Don't cross my lane."
With that, he shifted his attention to the butler.
"Take her to the second floor. Far away from the first."
The butler bowed and moved toward Selene. Zenon turned and climbed the stairs, then paused, voice cold once more.
"Don't keep your hopes high, Miss Cross."
---