A Loveless Contract

Just as the air thickened with unspoken words, a waiter approached, balancing a silver tray adorned with an array of exquisite desserts. The clatter of dishes jolted Jerica from the emotional trance, reminding her of the present moment.

"Good evening! May I interest you in our dessert selection?" the waiter asked, his bright demeanor starkly contrasting the heaviness that lingered between them.

Jerica blinked, momentarily dazed as her heart raced to catch up. "Oh, um, yes, please," she managed, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She glanced at Harold, who seemed equally startled, his gaze still locked onto her.

The waiter gestured to the decadent treats. "We have a chocolate torte, raspberry mousse, and our signature crème brûlée. All made fresh today."

Jerica's stomach grumbled softly, reminding her of the uneaten food from earlier, but the richness of the desserts felt like a brief escape from the weight of the conversation that had just unfolded.

Harold, regaining his composure, turned to the waiter with a grin. "We'll take one of each, please. And make sure the chocolate torte gets extra attention. It's her favorite."

The waiter nodded enthusiastically and disappeared back into the restaurant, leaving the two of them in a momentary silence, the tension slightly alleviated by the distraction.

Jerica bit her lip, still feeling the intensity of Harold's words lingering in the air. "You didn't have to order all that," she said, her voice light, though her heart was still racing.

"I know," he replied, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. "But if we're going to have a proper catch-up, we might as well indulge a little, right?"

She chuckled softly, the sound wrapping around them like a warm blanket. "Indulging feels a bit extravagant tonight, don't you think?"

"Maybe," he said, leaning closer, his smile mischievous. "But I'd argue that you deserve it. You deserve a night that's more than just ordinary."

The waiter returned, expertly setting the desserts before them, each plate a masterpiece of delicate flavors and perfect presentation. Jerica's breath caught for a moment as she admired the elegant array, but her gaze drifted back to Harold. In his eyes, she caught a glimpse of something deeper—an ache beneath the surface. It tugged at her heart in a way that surprised her.

"What about you?" Jerica asked, her voice soft but curious. "Why are you here when you're getting married soon?"

Harold raised his brows, caught off guard. "How did you know?" he asked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Are rumors spreading that fast?"

Jerica leaned forward, a playful smile curving her lips. "Who is it? Come on, spill."

She was pleased that her guess had been right. Harold was committed, but something in his demeanor didn't quite fit the joyous occasion of an engagement.

Harold leaned in, glancing around as if sharing a well-guarded secret. "Chelsea Glover," he whispered.

Jerica's eyes widened. "Glover? As in… the Glovers?" She sat back, processing the weight of that name. It took her a second to recover. "Wow… Harold, that's huge. You're really aiming for the White House, huh?"

The Braddock family was influential and wealthy, but the Glover family? They played in a league of their own. Billionaires with global sway, the Glovers were the kind of people who could change the course of history with a single phone call. For Harold to be marrying into that kind of power meant one thing—this wasn't just a marriage. It was an alliance.

"It's not what you think…" Harold muttered, toying with the edge of his dessert plate.

Jerica noticed the sudden heaviness in his expression. His shoulders drooped slightly, the brightness that had flickered in his eyes earlier dimming. Her smile faded with it.

"It's for my uncle," Harold said, his voice quiet, his eyes filled with a sadness she hadn't seen in him before. "Chelsea… she's… the daughter of one of the illegitimate Glover sons. A black sheep in the family. This marriage, it's… political. Just business."

Jerica didn't press. Her chest tightened, sensing the burden he was carrying. This wasn't just an ambitious marriage—it was a sacrifice. "You don't have to explain, Harold. I know how it works in families like ours."

He exhaled, a deep sigh that seemed to carry years of frustration. "Yeah, I know you do." His shoulders slumped as he stared off into the distance, looking more defeated than she'd ever seen him.

After a long pause, Harold finally spoke again, his voice low and pained. "She told me she's only interested in women romantically. She agreed to have one child with me—IVF, of course—but after that? She won't interrupt my life, and I can't interfere with hers. That's the deal."

Jerica blinked, trying to digest his words. It wasn't just that Harold was in an arranged marriage; he was about to step into a cold, loveless contract, one that would strip him of the very values he used to hold so dearly.

The chocolate torte, which moments before had seemed rich and inviting, now tasted bitter on her tongue.

Harold had always prided himself on loyalty. Back when they were together, he was fiercely committed, someone who abhorred infidelity. He used to say that the worst thing anyone could do was betray their partner. And now, here he was, trapped in a marriage where loyalty didn't even seem to be on the table.

She looked at him, her heart aching. "Harold…" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. What could she say to ease that kind of pain?

He glanced at her, his smile sad and weary. "Yeah, well… this is the life I signed up for."

Jerica swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wished more than anything that Harold could find someone who truly understood him, who shared his principles. He deserved more than a marriage built on convenience and expectation.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on them both. The once-decadent dessert now felt like a hollow indulgence, a distraction from the deeper pain neither of them could escape. And yet, in that shared silence, there was an unspoken understanding—an acknowledgment of the lives they had chosen, the paths they had taken, and the sacrifices that came with them.

It wasn't fair, but it was real. And that was something neither of them could change.

As they finished their dinner, the heaviness between them lingered, but they managed to push through it. Jerica offered to split the bill, but Harold waved her off, sliding his card across the table without a second thought. She shot him a look of mild protest, but he only smiled in response.

"Old habits," he shrugged.

Jerica chuckled softly, shaking her head as they prepared to leave. But just as they neared the exit, Chef Smith came rushing toward them, a wide grin on his face.

"Ms. Evans!" he called out, slightly breathless. "Will you be attending the Charity Gala this year?"

Jerica's smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly replaced it with a polite expression. The Charity Gala—her mother's legacy. Once a cornerstone of her life, a bridge to the elite world she'd distanced herself from since her mother's passing. The weight of that inheritance still clung to her, even if she had relinquished the responsibility years ago.

"I…" She hesitated, the words catching in her throat.

"You should, Jerica," Harold chimed in, eyes gleaming with something she couldn't quite decipher. "Each year, everyone asks about you."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, Jerica felt exposed. It wasn't just a casual suggestion; it was a reminder of the world she used to belong to—the world she had deliberately left behind. And yet, there was a flicker of something in Harold's tone, almost as if he wanted to pull her back into that world, the place where she once shone so brightly.