Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Do not distribute, publish, transmit, modify, display or create derivative works from or exploit the contents of this story in any way. Please obtain permission.

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PROLOGUE

Eliana Maxine

I checked the time on my wristwatch—still ten minutes before nine. I’d gotten here ahead of time because my nerves wouldn’t let me stay still, but now, sitting alone in this pristine private room, the silence was only making things worse.

My fingers tapped against the white tablecloth as I bit down on my bottom lip.

What am I even doing here?

Oh. Right. Mica.

She’d begged me to come in her place, practically begging between coughs. And like the incredibly gullible best friend I am, I said yes—even though every logical part of my brain screamed no. According to her, it was just a harmless date-for-hire gig. She’d done this kind of thing multiple times before.

“You just sit there, make small talk, and boom—easy money,” she’d assured me.

I wasn’t exactly convinced. I’ve never done anything like this before, but... I needed the cash. Aunt George’s birthday was coming up, and I really wanted to buy her something special. Something more than just cheap clothes from a thrift store and a hand-painted mug.

Still, as I sat there with this expensive plate of pasta in front of me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The kind of off that prickles down your spine and whispers, run.

I sighed and picked up the fork, twirling the pasta. I figured I might as well eat while I waited. I mean, if this man was going to keep me waiting, then I was going to enjoy the free dinner.

I was just about to take a bite when—

Click.

The door to the private room swung open.

My hand froze midair as a tall, imposing man stepped inside.

His presence alone sucked all the air out of the room. He had broad shoulders, a devastatingly chiseled jaw, and piercing gray eyes that locked onto me like a loaded gun. His black three-piece suit fit him like a second skin. He looked like he belonged in a Forbes cover story, not in a private dining room with someone like me.

And boy, I could tell just from his eyes alone that he’s not happy seeing me.

He stopped a few feet away from the table, frowning as his gaze swept over me from head to toe like I was some kind of offense to his night.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice was deep, sharp as a blade, carrying an air of absolute authority.

I gulped, suddenly feeling like I’d committed some grave mistake just by sitting there. I quickly put the fork down and stood, heart pounding.

“I—uh—I’m Eliana Maxine Alvarado,” I stammered, forcing a polite smile. “I’m Mica’s fri—”

“Where is she?” he cut in, his tone even icier than before.

I blinked. Wow. Rude much?

For someone who looked like a Greek god, he had the manners of a stone wall. But I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he was expecting Mica, not me.

“She’s sick,” I explained, still trying to sound nice. “She really wanted to come, but she wasn’t feeling well, so she asked me to—”

“That is not my concern,” he cut me off again, expression unreadable.

I blinked at him. Seriously?

“Call her. Now.”

My eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Okay, wow. Jerk alert. Do all beautiful men come with terrible personalities, or was this one just extra gifted?

God must’ve spent all His time sculpting that face and completely skipped the kindness update. Ugh.

I took a deep breath and tried again. “She’s really sick. I know this might mess up some kind of... arrangement between you two, and I understand that she already received the payment, but she genuinely couldn’t make it tonight. That’s why I’m here—to stand in for her.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at me with those impossibly cold gray eyes, like he was weighing whether or not to believe me.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled a slow breath and muttered under his breath, “Unbelievable.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I know it’s not ideal, but I can still—”

“Do you even know why you’re here?”

The way he asked it—calm and quiet but with something dangerous coiled beneath—made my stomach twist.

“Yes?” I replied, uncertain. “Mica told me it’s like a date-for-hire thing. I mean, I’ve never done one before, but I think I can manage.” I gave a nervous laugh, hoping to lighten the tension.

His lips curved, but not in amusement. It was more like disbelief. “Is that what she told you?”

I hesitated. “...Yes?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It seems your friend conveniently left out the most important detail.”

My palms went cold. “What... detail?”

He stepped closer. And wow, he was tall. Like really tall. His presence towered over me like a storm cloud.

“This isn’t just a date,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “Your friend was supposed to meet me today to sign the final contract.”

My eyebrows scrunched. “Contract?”

His gray eyes met mine. “To be my contract wife.”

My breath hitched. My mouth fell open and my brain short-circuited.

The fuck? Contract wife?! What the hell is he talking about?!

“You’re joking,” I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “There’s no way Mica agreed to something like that.”

He didn’t say anything. Just kept watching me.

I scrambled for my phone. “I’ll call her right now—”

But before I could unlock the screen, a warm, firm hand closed around my wrist. Not rough, but just tight enough to make me freeze.

My eyes snapped up, meeting his.

“Well,” he mused, his gaze unreadable. “You’re not bad.”

What?

Before I could respond, his fingers brushed under my chin, tilting it upward ever so slightly. The touch was soft—almost teasing—but it sent an unexpected spark down my spine.

“Since you insisted on filling in for her,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, “you might as well take her place entirely.”

I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

My heart thundered in my ears.

That moment, all I could think was—

What the hell did I just get myself into?

Chapter 1: Neighborhood Drama

Eliana Maxine

Summer break had finally arrived, and for me, that meant one thing: absolute, uninterrupted laziness.

No exams. No last-minute cramming. No back-to-back lab reports. Just me, my bed, and a long, glorious list of dramas and novels I’d been dying to binge since the semester started.

Being a Human Physiology major was no joke, and after months of juggling lectures, practicals, and dense textbooks that read like ancient spells, this break felt like the breath of fresh air I desperately needed.

Right now, I was sprawled across my bed, completely tangled in my blanket like a human burrito, the soft morning sunlight streaming through the curtains. It was already eight in the morning, but I had zero plans of moving anytime soon. I had my iPad in hand, fully immersed in the fantasy webnovel on screen.

The protagonist, a battle-hardened regressor, was knee-deep in a brutal fight against grotesque monsters, and I was living for it. The snarls and screeches practically leapt off the page, and I couldn’t flip to the next chapter fast enough.

Just as he was about to land the final blow, a sharp knock on my door shattered the moment.

“Eliana!” Aunt George’s voice rang from the other side of my door, followed by another round of knocks—harder this time. “Get up, lazybones! I need your help in the kitchen!”

I groaned and sank deeper into my bed.

“Five more minutes?” I called out, hoping my voice would carry enough charm to buy me some time.

“Five more minutes, my foot!” she shot back. “If you’re not up in ten seconds, I’m coming in, and you know I will!”

Ugh.

With a dramatic sigh, I shut my iPad with flair and flung my blanket off. “Fine, fine! I’m coming!”

Dragging myself out of bed like a reluctant zombie, I shuffled toward the door and swung it open.

There she was. Aunt George, standing with her arms crossed, wearing her usual worn t-shirt and leggings and that look that said, ‘I love you, but I will not tolerate nonsense today.’

“That was fast,” she noted, raising a brow. “I was expecting more resistance.”

I yawned. “Like I even had a choice.”

“Exactly.” She smirked and turned on her heel. “Now chop-chop. We’ve got lumpia and palabok to make. One of the resident doctors at the hospital is having a birthday and ordered from me.”

Ah. That explained the urgency.

My aunt works as a janitress at the nearby hospital and sells packed meals on the side. She also takes food orders to earn extra income. I didn’t complain anymore. She worked hard every day, and helping her out was the least I could do.

I tied my hair up, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work in the kitchen. I was in charge of the lumpia, which meant mixing the filling—ground beef, chopped carrots, minced garlic and onions, an egg, and just the right amount of seasoning. The familiar smell of spices filled the air as I mashed and folded everything together, the bowl warm beneath my hands. It was strangely comforting, almost therapeutic.

Meanwhile, Aunt George was busy with the palabok. She heated oil in a large pan, sautéed garlic and onions until fragrant, then added ground pork and shrimp. The sizzle of the pan was music to my ears.

As I scooped portions of meat onto the lumpia wrappers, carefully rolling and sealing each one, Aunt George casually started a conversation.

“So…” she said, lowering her voice like she was about to reveal classified information. “Did you hear about Mrs. Smith’s son?”

I raised a brow, wrapping another roll. “What about him?”

“He got caught sneaking out last night.”

I paused mid-wrap. “Wait. Isn’t he, like... twelve?”

“Exactly.” she shook her head in mock disappointment as she added the soaked noodles to the pan. “Trying to meet up with some girl. Can you believe that?”

I gaped. “What kind of middle school Romeo and Juliet nonsense is that?”

“Right? Kids these days.” Aunt George scoffed. “Back in our time, we weren’t even allowed out after sunset without getting grilled like fish. Now these kids are out here plotting love affairs like it’s a K-drama.”

I laughed under my breath, still focused on my lumpia rolls.

“Oh, and you know Mrs. Gomez?” she added casually, stirring the palabok noodles into the thick, orange sauce.

I raised a brow. “What about her?”

“She got into another fight with her husband because he spent all their grocery money on gambling. Again.”

“Jeez. That’s, like, the fifth time now. Mr. Gomez seriously needs an intervention,” I said, shaking my head. “Poor Mrs. Gomez, though. I bet her blood pressure must’ve spiked through the roof.”

“Oh, it is. She came to the hospital yesterday for a check-up.”

I burst out laughing. “No wonder you know about it! You’re the unofficial hospital grapevine.”

Aunt George winked. “What can I say? The nurses love to talk during lunch breaks.”

“So, what else have I missed?” I asked, amused.

“Well…” She dragged the word out, amusement thick in her tone, “remember Mrs. Prescott’s son?”

“The one who walks around like he’s some male lead in a K-drama?”

“The very one.”

“What about him?”

“He got dumped.”

I gasped in mock horror. “No way!”

“Oh, yes,” she confirmed with a dramatic nod. “Word on the street is that his girlfriend found out he’s... not as blessed as he likes to act.”

I stared. “What?”

“Apparently,” Aunt George leaned in like she was telling a ghost story, “his dick’s the size of a pinky.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth but couldn’t stop the laugh that exploded from me. “Oh my God! Are you serious?!”

“That’s what I heard,” she said with a shrugged.

“Well, serves him right!” I grinned. “He always acted like he was God’s gift to women. Imagine the embarrassment.”

“I know, right?” she agreed with a smug nod. “And speaking of neighborhood drama... remember Mr. Brown?”

“The one who thinks he’s a real-life Sherlock Holmes?”

“Bingo. He’s convinced the new couple who moved in are undercover spies.”

I stared at her. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” she said, raising both hands. “Says they’re ‘too quiet’ and ‘too polite.’ Like since when was being polite a red flag?”

I snorted. “Our neighbors are absolutely unhinged.”

“You don’t say.”

We shared a look before breaking into laughter again.

“When do you even find the time to know all this?” I asked, wiping my eyes. “You’re always at the hospital.”

Aunt George gave me a mischievous look. “Honey, the hospital is basically a gossip hub. Nurses, patients, cafeteria ladies—we’re all part of the daily tea spill.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re probably more updated on neighborhood drama than the people actually living here full-time.”

She held her chin high. “I take my job very seriously.”

I snorted. “Clearly.”

Chapter 2: Husband

Eliana Maxine

By the time we finished, the kitchen smelled like heaven. Crispy golden lumpia stacked neatly on a tray and a big dish of steaming palabok resting on the counter, still letting off curls of delicious-smelling steam.

Aunt George wiped her hands on a towel, nodding with satisfaction like she’d just won MasterChef.

“Good work, chef,” she said, flashing me a thumbs-up.

I chuckled and washed my hands. “You’re lucky I love you, or I’d still be in bed right now.” I teasingly flicked a few drops of water at her.

She gasped like I’d thrown acid instead. “Susmaryosep! You did not just attack me in my own kitchen!” She clutched her chest dramatically. “After all the years I spent raising you, feeding you, loving you, and this is how you repay me?”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the towel to dry my hands. “Please. You act like you slaved away raising me when I’ve been helping in this kitchen since I could hold a spoon. If anything, I should be the one getting all the credit.”

I crossed my arms with a smug smile. “Let’s be real. Who’s been doing most of the heavy lifting in this kitchen the last few years?”

Aunt George huffed and waved a finger at me. “Well, how else are you going to find a husband if you don’t know how to cook?”

I groaned, throwing my head back. “Here we go again.”

“I’m just saying!” she insisted, hands on her hips like a telenovela mom. “Back in my day, we were taught to cook by the time we were ten. And now, look at me—I make the best lumpia and palabok in this entire neighborhood.”

I nodded. “That’s true. But you forgot one important thing, Aunt.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that?”

I grinned. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

She clicked her tongue and shook her head like I’d said something blasphemous. “Goodness, this child.”

“Oh, come on, Aunt. I don’t even have a boyfriend, and you’re already talking about marriage?”

“Well, maybe if you actually stepped out of your room instead of spending all your time watching K-dramas and reading novels, you would’ve had one by now.”

I scoffed. “Wow! That’s rich coming from you.” I gave her a pointed look. “Remember when I invited Psalm over for our senior high group project? You judged him like you were on some reality show panel. He wasn’t even my boyfriend, and you already started spiraling about how dating would ruin my life and I’d never reach my dreams. You were so dramatic!”

She waved her hand like it was ancient history. “That was different! You were still too young back then.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And I’m still young now,” I pointed out. “I’m barely twenty!”

“Well, your mother was nineteen when she had you.” She made the sign of the cross. “Bless her soul.”

I gasped in mock offense. “Then why don’t you get married instead? You’re almost forty and still single.” I smirked, giving her a pointed look. “You should be the one settling down, not me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, so now you’re turning this on me?”

I shrugged. “I mean, it’s true. You’re not getting any younger. What, do you think you’re Song Hye-kyo or something? Aging like fine wine? Maybe you should get married so I’m not the only one you’re fussing about.”

She scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. “Excuse me? Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m desperate. I happen to enjoy my freedom, thank you very much.”

I smirked. “See? That’s exactly my point! If you can enjoy your life without a husband, then so can I.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, realizing she’d just walked into her own trap. Her glare narrowed into slits.

“You little—”

I squealed and dodged the playful swat she aimed at me. “Too slow, old lady!”

“Brat,” she huffed, shaking her head.

I stuck my tongue out, earning another glare that was more fond than fierce.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” I said, stretching my arms over my head, “I’m going back to my actual summer plans: doing absolutely nothing.”

“You lazy child,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Alright, fine. Go back to your book, nerd. I’ll handle the cleanup.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I practically skipped out of the kitchen, climbed onto my bed, and sank into my blanket cocoon with a satisfied sigh. My iPad was right where I left it, and I grabbed it with giddy anticipation.

With a quick swipe, I unlocked the screen and pulled up the novel I’d been reading earlier.

“Now, where were we?” I murmured to myself.

My eyes scanned the screen, picking up right where I left off—the regressor protagonist still locked in battle, monsters snarling at his heels. I was instantly pulled back into the chaos, the story gripping me by the collar.

I had no idea how much time had passed until another knock pulled me out of my fantasy world.

I groaned, glancing up just as Aunt George peeked her head in. She’d changed into jeans and a simple white v-neck shirt, her hair pulled back neatly, and her trusty tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“I’m heading to work now,” she said.

“You need help carrying the food?” I offered half-heartedly.

“Nah. I can manage.”

“Good,” I muttered, flopping back into my pillows. “Because I can’t handle any more interruptions today.”

She rolled her eyes, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. “On second thought—”

“Aunt!” I shot upright, giving her an exasperated look.

She chuckled. “You lazybones. Alright, alright, I’m really leaving now.” She softened slightly. “Keep the doors locked, okay? And if anything happens, or if you need something, just text me.”

I sighed dramatically. “Yes, Mom.”

“Damn right,” she said with a wink.

I huffed, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Take care.”

“Always am.”

She stepped out, and a few seconds later, I heard the front door clicked shut.

I waited, just in case she came back with another request, but the apartment stayed blissfully quiet.

I sighed in relief.

Finally. Peace.

I sank deeper under the covers, pulled my blanket up to my chin, and smiled.