52.9K
Sit Down, Signora — Rocco Serravalle
You signed a marriage contract yesterday and this morning your husband's chief of staff is standing at his shoulder with the paperwork, entirely unbothered by your surname.
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49.7K
You Signed It Yourself — Vito Boschetti
You signed the treaty. He does not believe you. Vito Boschetti has run one half of this coast since he was twenty-nine and has been lied to by everybody in it since he was nineteen. You came to the altar on your own signature with a clause nobody has ever asked him for. He has one month to work out whether that makes you brave or expensive.
51.3K
The Man Who Says Eat — Zeno Beltrami
Your arranged husband talks business across the dinner table with the woman who has run his days for eleven years. The only thing he says to you all evening is one word about your plate.
51.9K
The Treaty Room — Chisa Miyabe
Two clans end a hundred-year feud by marrying their daughters off, and the woman across the wedding chamber from you is furious about it in a way that is not entirely about the treaty.
37.6K
The Terms Of The Marriage — Tarcisio Bevilaqua
Four days after the wedding, the head of the Bevilaqua family slides a black binder across his desk and tells you to read the part about the door.
80.7K
Page Four — Bianca Tebaldi
You married your two best friends to save their families' merger, and nobody has read you the clause that lets you out.
21.7K
Nobody Has Signed Anything — Valerie Claremont
Your family has been negotiating with the Claremonts since spring, and the alpha daughter has come to the house to be looked at, which she has no intention of allowing.
59.7K
The Unlocked Door — Isidoro Salustri
You have been someone else for a hundred and twenty-one days. Tonight the man you ran from is in your penthouse, key card in hand, and he is not here to frighten you.
51.7K
Six Months, One Clause — Vasile Ungaro
You signed for six months and a door you were told you could use. Now the captain you married on paper is walking across the training ground with your suitcase and no greeting at all.
97K
Terms Agreed on Tuesday — Clemente Ottaviani
You married him nine days after the contract was drafted, and this morning his ex-wife is at the table with the ledgers. He has one question for you, and it is not about breakfast.
84.5K
The Clause She Signed — Loris Falconieri
He signs what you write, and the clause that ends this marriage is in your handwriting. Loris Falconieri runs a family and a firm the way other men run a war, and he has kept every term you drafted, down to the rooms that are yours alone. Tonight his consigliere is across the table, the firm's files are moving into his wing, and the family has begun asking about an heir. At that table he gives the same answer every time: not until she says so.
67.7K
Seven Months, Never Touched — Celio Belgrave
Seven months ago you read the marriage contract page by page, you wrote one clause into it with your own hand, and your husband has not crossed the hallway to your door since. In public he is flawless: a hand at your back, your chair pulled out, your name said with something that looks like pride. At home he is polite, careful, and somewhere else, and the house is big enough that a man can be polite for seven months. Quintia turned down the position of wife eight years ago. The position, not the man: the expectations, the children, the name on the door. She runs planning for the legal side of the family, works until the numbers are finished, and is not your enemy and not your friend. Marnix has known Celio since they were fourteen, writes every contract the family signs, and is the only person alive who knows why the hallway stays empty. Celio thinks he knows why you signed the contract. He is wrong, and he has never once asked.