chapter one : the rent you pay for love

The scent of magnolia clung to her wrist.

Vivienne Blackwood sat quietly at the corner of the velvet café booth, hands folded, back straight, like the world might tilt if she slouched. The rain pressed soft music against the window beside her. Outside, the city was alive. Inside, she was waiting—for a stranger she’d hired to teach her how not to be… herself.

Her phone buzzed once.

Unknown Number: [“red code.two minutes ".]

She looked down at her pale blue cardigan, her soft hands, her untouched tea. Her reflection in the silver spoon looked too innocent. Too weak. Too "dumpable."

"you are just...too soft", her ex had said.

And left. Just like that.

No warning. No fight. Just a verdict.

She clutched her bag tighter. Somewhere in that bag was an envelope—thick, unmarked, sealed. Money.

And then he walked in.

A tall man in a blood-red trench coat.

His gaze skimmed the café like he was measuring exits.

Boots that didn’t belong to clean places.

A cigarette tucked behind his ear.

He didn’t smile. He didn't need to.

"Vivienne Blackwood"

His voice was deep. Unhurried. Almost bored.

She nodded. He slid into the booth across from her.

"No offense", he said, pulling off his coat, "but you look like the kind of girl who still cries at Disney movies".

She blinked. "i do".

His eyebrow twitched. "cute."

He reached for the envelope. She handed it to him like it burned her fingers.

He didn't count the cash. He just tucked it into his coat.

"Three rules ," he said. " You want to learn adult love , real love -- not Whatever pastel version of heartbreak your ex gave you -- then listen close."

She nodded again.

"One : I Don't kiss you unless you ask . clearly ."

"Two : I'll touch, but never take."

"Three : You can quiet anytime. But if you stay, I will break the girl you've been."

Silence.

He leaned closer, his breath warm near her temple. "Abd Vivienne? That girl--She's the one who keeps getting left behind."

Her throat tightened.

"Still want to do this ?" he asked, voice low.

She looked at him.

This man who reeked of sin and neon lights.

Who looked at her not like she was delicate, but unfinished.

She nodded. One more time. This time… slower.

He smirked, leaning back. "Good. lesson one starts tonight . Burn the dress you wore when he dumped. You."

She blinked. "what ?"

"You heard me, baby deer. We're gonna teach you how to stop bleeding pretty."

But what happens when a hired heart begins to beat for real?

When her soft hands no longer tremble at his touch—

but reach for it?

And what will he do…

when the girl he promised to change

becomes the one thing he’s afraid to lose?

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Christopher’s perspective about Vivienne:

> “She’s the kind of girl you ruin just by touching…

and God help me, I want to leave fingerprints on her soul.”

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character Sketch : Vivienne Blackwood

female lead

Full name :

Vivienne Blackwood

Age :

19 (University student)

Identity & Background :

The only daughter of a well-known and highly respected aristocratic family.

Known by her last name Blackwood, which carries weight in academic and elite circles.

Grew up surrounded by etiquette, luxury, and polished manners—but has always been gentle-hearted and sensitive to the world’s cruelty.

Despite being wealthy, she doesn’t carry arrogance. She’s the soft-spoken rose in a garden of thorns.

Appearance :

Soft, heart-shaped face with big doe eyes—usually filled with curiosity or unspoken sadness.

● Skin: Porcelain-like, with a natural blush to her cheeks.

●Hair: Silky, long, and often braided or softly curled; she uses floral clips or velvet ribbons.

●Style: Dresses in pastel tones, oversized cardigans, flowy skirts, and flats. Loves bows, lace, and soft makeup.

●Scent: Faint traces of vanilla, baby powder, and pressed flowers.

●Aura: Feels like the warmth of morning light through a white curtain.

People often feel the need to protect her—even strangers.

Personality :

●Empathetic: Feels deeply. If someone around her is upset, she mirrors their emotions.

●Polite and careful: Always thanks everyone, apologizes even when it isn’t her fault.

●Daydreamer: Spends hours lost in her imagination, soft music, or vintage novels.

●Too gentle: Gets hurt easily, especially by sarcasm, conflict, or neglect.

●Inner strength: Though delicate in demeanor, she has silent endurance. She endures pain, heartbreak, and betrayal without revenge—just silence and retreat.

Naïve about adult relationships, which makes her vulnerable.

Manner of Speaking :

Uses words like "Um....," "Sorry," "Maybe I could ...."

Often trails off mid-sentence if she thinks someone isn’t interested.

●Voice: Soft, breathy, a little melodic—like someone reading a lullaby aloud.

Example:

"I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just...thought it was nice to be close to someone."

Skills and traits :

Piano playing, with emotions so strong that even cold-hearted listeners fall quiet.

Poetry and journaling, where she spills her true thoughts no one ever hears.

Painting soft watercolors of things that make her feel safe—flowers, night skies, hands.

Exceptional memory when it comes to feelings—remembers exact words that hurt or healed her.

Habits :

Bites her sleeve ends when anxious.

Always walks with her hands clasped behind her back.

Carries a small sketchbook filled with pressed petals, scribbled notes, and doodles.

Over-apologizes, even when others are wrong.

Eats little; always shares her food or gives it away if someone else is hungry.

Power & Vulnerab :

Her power lies in her purity, her ability to remain kind despite being wounded.

She doesn’t fight—but her absence is punishment enough for those who hurt her.

Too soft for the world, but softness becomes her weapon when people realize they’ve lost her.

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currently :

Single (dumped by her boyfriend , has been dating for three years )

quote :-

which describe Vivienne

“She speaks like raindrops and breaks like glass too soft for the world, yet somehow still surviving it.”

Chapter One: The Gift She Never Got to Give

Vivienne still remembered the scent of the vanilla cake she never got to deliver.

She had stayed up all night decorating it herself—blue frosting, silver stars, and the words "To my Moonlight" piped across in careful handwriting. It was her boyfriend’s birthday. She wanted it to be perfect. She had spent weeks collecting his favorite records, printing polaroids of their quiet moments, even learning how to wrap a gift box properly because he once joked about how bad she was at it.

She had no idea.

No idea that while she was tying a silver bow over his gift, he was unwrapping someone else.

The first sign came as a message. A simple, brutal line blinking on her phone screen:

"You're too innocent for me, Vivienne. This won’t work anymore."

She’d stared at the words, frozen in her kitchen, cake knife in hand.

No explanation. No phone call. Just a verdict—too innocent.

Still holding the cake, still clutching the gift, she went to his apartment anyway. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he was drunk or hurting. Maybe it was a joke.

She still remembers knocking. The sound of music inside. The creak of the unlocked door.

She remembers the cold silence that followed when she stepped in and saw him.

Shirtless.

With someone else in his bed. Her legs tangled in his. His laugh careless.

They didn’t see her right away.

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t drop the cake. Didn’t scream or cry. She just… stood there.

Then slowly, she placed the cake on his kitchen counter. Set the gift box beside it.

And left.

That night, she didn’t sleep. She didn’t cry. She just stared at her ceiling and felt something inside her quietly collapse.

For weeks after the breakup, Vivienne moved like a ghost stitched in silk—polite smiles, bowed head, soft yeses.

No one knew her hands had trembled while deleting his pictures.

No one knew she still had the gift receipt folded in her diary.

No one knew she couldn’t bear to touch vanilla cake anymore.

Her friends called her too sweet, too forgiving, too "Soft for this world."

But softness didn’t protect her.

Softness didn’t stop her from watching the man she loved laugh with someone else in the bed they once talked about sharing.

What hurt the most wasn’t the cheating.

It was the message:

"You're too innocent for me."

As if being kind was a flaw.

As if love needed darkness to feel real.

Vivienne began to wonder:

Was there something wrong with her ?

Was love only real if it was rough? Raw? ruthless ?

One lonely night, she typed it into a browser. A stupid, desperate search:

["How to not be innocent." ]

What popped up was laughable at first—articles, videos, forums. But then…

A name.

A site.

A profile.

Rented Boyfriend. Confidential. No questions. Full discretion.

His name was Christopher .

And his bio said only this:

> "I Don't do love. I teach you what comes After it."

He looked like every warning label she’d been raised to avoid.

Tattooed wrists. Lazy smirk. Scar over one eyebrow like a forgotten story.

But that night, her finger hovered over Hire

And this time… she clicked.

Because if being innocent was a curse—

She was ready to be undone.

she searched for something reckless—something opposite of what she had always been.

Christopher.

A rented boyfriend. Dangerous by description. Untouched by sentiment.

The kind of man who didn’t send breakup texts—he sent warnings.

And in that moment, Vivienne didn’t want a prince.

She wanted the villain.

Because if love was going to hurt, she at least wanted to choose the knife.