Chapter 8 - The Contract Expired Before Their Love Did
The one-year anniversary of their contract approached quietly.
Neither mentioned it.
At least not at first.
Declan knew the exact date.
Of course he did.
Lena knew too.
Neither needed a calendar.
The original agreement had specified that at midnight on their first anniversary, either party could terminate the marriage without financial penalty.
If Lena had delivered a child by then, additional provisions would apply.
The pregnancy had changed the timeline, but Samuel had already confirmed that the contract was essentially unenforceable after Declan voluntarily waived it.
Legally, it no longer mattered.
Emotionally, it did.
Lena found the original contract in a drawer ten days before the anniversary.
Seven hundred thousand dollars.
One year.
Public appearances.
Separate bedrooms.
Fertility.
No emotional expectations.
She sat on the floor reading it until Declan came home.
“What’s wrong?”
She held it up.
He stopped.
“I thought we destroyed every copy.”
“Apparently not.”
He sat beside her.
For a while, they read in silence.
Then Lena laughed.
“What?”
“You required two weeks’ notice before international travel.”
“I like planning.”
“You also required me to attend a minimum of three business dinners per month.”
“Networking matters.”
“And here.”
She pointed.
“Public displays of affection shall be limited to socially appropriate gestures.”
Declan looked offended.
“That sounds like something Madeline wrote.”
“Your initials are beside it.”
“I was under stress.”
“You commissioned a marriage.”
“I’ve apologized.”
“Not enough for this paragraph.”
He kissed her.
Lena laughed against his mouth.
When he pulled back, he said, “Very inappropriate.”
“Contract violation.”
“Serious.”
Her smile faded slightly.
“What happens on the anniversary?”
Declan knew what she meant.
“Whatever you want.”
“That answer is annoying.”
“It’s true.”
She looked at him.
“If I said I wanted a divorce?”
He swallowed.
“I would give you one.”
“If I wanted to leave Chicago?”
“I would help you pack.”
“If I wanted to take our daughter and live somewhere else?”
He hesitated longer.
Lena noticed.
“I’d hate it,” he admitted.
“But?”
“I’d find a way to be a father without controlling you.”
Her eyes filled.
The old Declan would have negotiated.
The new one answered with loss he was willing to accept.
Lena folded the contract.
“What do you want?”
He stared at her.
“You.”
No cleverness.
No conditions.
“You and the baby. Nora eating all the wrong cereal in my kitchen. Mrs. Alvarez telling me I’m raising a child incorrectly before the child is even born. Your foundation invading our office meetings.”
Lena smiled.
Declan continued.
“I want mornings that don’t begin with stock reports. I want you arguing about buildings with me. I want to know what you’ll look like when we’re seventy.”
Her tears fell.
“And I want a marriage you can leave every day but choose not to.”
Lena covered her face.
“That was almost romantic.”
“Almost?”
“You ruined it by talking about being seventy.”
“I’m planning long term.”
“There he is.”
The anniversary arrived.
Declan planned nothing.
That was deliberate.
No gala.
No expensive dinner.
No jewelry.
He came home early carrying groceries.
Lena stared.
“What is happening?”
“I’m cooking.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t cook.”
“I watched a video.”
“That makes me less comfortable.”
He burned the first pan.
Overcooked the pasta.
Forgot salt.
The sauce was terrible.
Lena ate two servings.
At eleven fifty-eight, they sat on the kitchen floor eating dessert from the container.
Declan checked the clock.
Lena noticed.
“Two minutes.”
“Yes.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Extremely.”
She leaned against him.
Midnight arrived.
Nothing happened.
No attorney called.
No contract activated.
No carriage turned into a pumpkin.
Lena looked at him.
“Well.”
“Well?”
“Our fake marriage expired.”
Declan nodded.
“What does that make us?”
He reached into his pocket.
Not a ring.
A folded piece of paper.
Lena groaned.
“You proposed with paperwork?”
“It is not a proposal.”
She opened it.
There was one sentence.
No terms. No expiration date. No payment. No conditions.
Below it, Declan had written:
Stay because you want to.
Lena looked at him.
“You are terrible at romance.”
“I’m learning.”
She took a pen from the counter.
Under his sentence she wrote:
I already am.
Declan kissed her.
Three weeks later, pregnancy complications began.
Lena woke at two in the morning with pain.
Within twenty minutes, Declan had her in the hospital.
Within forty, doctors diagnosed a placental issue requiring strict monitoring.
The baby was safe.
For now.
But Lena needed rest.
Declan became unbearable.
“You cannot carry that.”
“It’s a book.”
“Books have weight.”
“You removed the stairs from my life.”
“They remain architecturally present.”
“You hired a nurse.”
“She’s excellent.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Not until after delivery.”
Lena laughed despite herself.
Then one appointment changed everything.
The doctor’s expression became serious.
“We may need to deliver early.”
Lena gripped Declan’s hand.
“How early?”
“Possibly within weeks.”
The baby was not ready.
Not completely.
Steroid injections could help lung development.
Monitoring could help.
Nothing guaranteed safety.
Declan listened silently.
In the parking garage afterward, Lena started crying.
“I thought we were past the scary part.”
He held her.
“There is no past the scary part.”
“What if she—”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
“Declan.”
He lowered his forehead to hers.
“I don’t know.”
His voice broke.
“But whatever happens, you are not facing it alone.”
They spent the next nineteen days measuring life in heartbeats.
Every ultrasound mattered.
Every movement mattered.
Every stable blood-pressure reading felt like victory.
Nora came daily when treatment allowed.
Emily came with terrible magazines.
Wade brought food.
Mrs. Alvarez brought better food.
Even Madeline Vale appeared once.
Lena had not seen her since the scandal.
“You look terrible,” Madeline said.
“Thank you.”
Madeline handed her flowers.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For finding me a billionaire?”
“For not protecting your employment records.”
Lena studied her.
“Did you leak them?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Madeline hesitated.
“Graham Mercer paid one of my former assistants.”
Declan’s expression hardened.
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
The evidence became part of the criminal case.
But Lena no longer cared.
Graham had become background noise.
Her daughter was everything.
At thirty-four weeks, the monitor changed.
Doctors moved quickly.
“Fetal distress.”
Two words.
Enough to make the entire world disappear.
Lena was rushed toward surgery.
Declan followed until a nurse stopped him.
“I’m her husband.”
“You’ll be brought in after preparation.”
Lena reached toward him.
“Declan.”
He caught her hand.
“I’m here.”
“What if—”
“I’m here.”
She disappeared behind doors.
Declan stood frozen.
All his money.
All his power.
All the buildings with Mercer written across them.
Useless.
Arthur had tried to teach him that.
Now he understood completely.
Nora arrived fifteen minutes later.
She found Declan sitting with his face in his hands.
“She’ll be okay.”
He looked up.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Nora sat beside him.
“But Lena spent six years telling me I would survive when she didn’t know either.”
Declan stared at her.
“So now it’s our turn.”
Forty minutes later, a nurse opened the door.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Declan stood so quickly he nearly fell.
“Your wife is stable.”
He stopped breathing.
“And your daughter is small, but she’s breathing on her own.”
He covered his mouth.
The nurse smiled.
“Would you like to meet her?”
The baby weighed four pounds, three ounces.
Tiny.
Furious.
Perfect.
Declan stood beside the incubator crying openly.
Lena was still recovering when he took a photograph.
Not for the press.
Not for anyone else.
Only for her.
When Lena woke, Declan sat beside her.
“She has your mouth.”
Lena smiled weakly.
“And your attitude?”
“Too early to tell.”
“What did you call her?”
“I waited.”
Lena reached for his hand.
They had discussed dozens of names.
None had felt right.
Then Lena whispered, “Ada.”
Declan smiled.
Arthur’s late wife had been named Ada.
“Arthur would have loved that.”
“I know.”
Declan kissed her forehead.
“Ada Grace Mercer.”
Lena closed her eyes.
Grace.
Her father’s name carried forward.
Not erased.
Not hidden.
Their daughter’s middle name.
The story had come full circle.
But Declan still had one thing left to do.
Something he had refused to do while Lena was pregnant because he never wanted her to wonder whether she was trapped by their child.
May you like
He wanted to ask her to marry him.
For real.
