Page 46 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Silence followed.
But not the kind that meant hesitation.
The kind that meant decision.
When he spoke again, his voice had changed.
“I’m holding out a pen,” he added. “Take it.”
A pen?
For what purpose—when the conversation was clearly not about signing anything, not yet.
I leaned forward slightly, moving with care, my free hand extending slowly into the space between us.
My fingers brushed air first before finally meeting the cool, solid surface of metal.
The pen.
I wrapped my fingers around it, grounding myself in the familiar shape, the slight weight of it settling into my palm.
“Sign it,” he said, as if the matter had already been concluded. “Ramiro will walk you through every detail afterward.”
Ramiro.
Even without sight, I knew Ramiro by presence—Rafael’s closest assistant, the one who stood nearest to him without ever needing to be seen.
He had been with the Pérez family long before Rafael had taken full control. Some said he had served Rafael’s parents directly. Others claimed he had practically raised Rafael himself in the years after... the incident that forced him out of his family estate in Italy at thirteen.
Ramiro was not simply an assistant.
He was history.
Quietly woven into everything Rafael had become.
I lowered my attention back to the document in front of me. I had heard the rustle of paper earlier—carefully placed, deliberately positioned within reach.
My fingertips hovered, then settled against the surface.
The texture told me enough.
Heavy-grade paper. Embossed edges. Structured formatting.
A contract.
His assistant agreement.
My stomach tightened.
Once signed, it would bind me to him—formally, legally. At least until the end of my internship in a few months. Until then, there would be no undoing it.
“We do not have all day, Miss Loretta,” he said.
My jaw tightened.
“And if I refuse to sign?” I lifted my face slightly, orienting toward where I believed his voice came from, though I could not see him. “What then?”
A pause.
