19.Terms and conditions applied
Denver walked up casually and dangled a keychain in front of Neil with that ever-present smirk.
“Happy married life, brother. Don’t break too many dishes on day one.”
Neil raised a brow, snatching the keys. “You’re hilarious.”
Denver chuckled. “You’ll thank me later. Apartment’s ready, just as you asked.” His eyes flickered to Eva knowingly. “I think she’ll like it.”
Eva blinked, confused. Apartment?
Neil didn’t explain—just gave a polite nod and ushered her toward the car.
She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands knotted in her lap, eyes glued to the passing city lights outside the window. It had taken her a whole two minutes—no, maybe more—to register what had just happened.
She was married.
Married.
Not the white-dress, rose-petals, teary-eyed vows kind of married.
Not the type she used to giggle about with Ria at night, whispering about love stories and soulmates.
No. This was the cold, efficient stamp of papers and signatures.
The kind that was supposed to last a year. A neat little box: 365 days.
And then what?
Her chest tightened. She was officially Mrs. Neil Morris now. A wife. To him.
Her gaze flicked sideways at him. Neil, the infamous Dr. Morris.
The grumpy, brilliant, untouchable surgeon.
The man who barked orders in the OT like a machine.
The man who had made interns cry. The man who, just an hour ago, had smiled at her grandparents as if he were the most dependable, family-loving gentleman in the world.
Fake. So fake.
Eva almost snorted. Her grandparents, bless them, had practically melted in their chairs watching him.
His quiet assurance, his respectful tone, his calm confidence—it was all a perfectly rehearsed act.
He had shaken hands with her grandfather like some old-fashioned gentleman and even pulled out a chair for her grandmother.
The same man who once tossed a chart at an intern for missing a dosage detail now suddenly had table manners?
Since when did Neil Morris know how to be polite?
Her fingers drummed on her knees nervously.
She knew he lived by himself—away from that enormous mansion, away from his family, wrapped up in his own world of work.
But she never knew where. She never cared.
Until now. Because now she wasn’t just “Eva Walter, new resident under his team.” She was his wife. Living with him.
Except… not in his place.
That part still scrambled her brain. He had bought a whole new apartment. For her. Or rather—for them. For this ridiculous, fake arrangement of theirs. For one year. Just one year.
Eva let the thought sink in and nearly groaned. A whole apartment bought for a fake wife? For a contract marriage? Rich surgeon indeed. She couldn’t even fathom what that kind of money meant.
She stole another glance at him. His hands rested steady on the steering wheel, his profile sharp and focused under the dim glow of streetlights. Unfazed. As if this was just another drive. As if he hadn’t just flipped her life upside down and called it practical.
Because that’s who he was, wasn’t he? Practical. Rational. Unshakable. He made choices like he was cutting through tissue in surgery—precise, calculated, detached. And here she was, spiraling into what-if’s while he simply… drove.
Her throat went dry.
What was coming for her next?
Would they be roommates who pretended to be strangers at the hospital and “married” at home?
Would he keep being this strangely observant version of himself—the man who had somehow noticed she liked warm light and balconies?
Or would he snap back into the machine she knew—the cold, clinical surgeon who didn’t waste words?
And her grandparents. Her sweet, emotional grandparents. They believed every word, every gesture. She’d seen the relief in their eyes. They believed she was safe with him. Safe.
Was she?
She pressed her lips together and forced her gaze back to the window. The city blurred past, neon streaks against the glass. A year. Just a year. She could handle this. Right?
Right.
And she realised how this man have manipulated her that easily to marry him.
The worst part is she could never say no to it.
It was too late for her to realise this.
"How dumb you are Eva."
Very dumb.
Silence. The kind of silence that was awkward and heavy with unsaid thoughts.
Eva finally broke it, twisting slightly toward him.
“You didn’t… take me to your place?”
Neil kept his eyes on the road, voice calm but decisive.
“No. My place isn’t suitable for you.”
Her brows furrowed. “Suitable? It’s a house, not a hospital ward.”
He glanced at her briefly, the corner of his mouth almost twitching. “Exactly. Which is why I had Denver buy an apartment that fits you. Open windows, warm lighting, a little garden balcony… according to what you’d like.”
Eva’s lips parted. She didn’t expect him—Dr. Morris, the man of cold efficiency—to have noticed her taste in such detail.
“You… researched me?”
“Observed,” he corrected, eyes still straight ahead. “You don’t like cold walls. You need space that feels alive. My apartment would suffocate you.”
Eva went quiet, caught off guard by the precision of his words. Her heart thudded strangely in her chest.
She muttered under her breath, “You make it sound like you’ve known me for years.”
Neil finally looked at her, his expression unreadable but intense.
“I know enough.”
Two minutes ago, she waved goodbye to her grandparents and Ria—her family, her world—and now… now she was sitting beside her fake husband.
Eva pressed her lips together. How could someone be that fake? That convincing? He didn’t just fool them—he fooled her heart for a split second too. That was the dangerous part.
For an entire year.
Twelve months.
Fifty-two weeks.
Three hundred and sixty-five days of… whatever this was.
"Wow my math is good I didn't know"muttered to herself.
Her thoughts ran by every passing second stressing her out.
And then, there was this. A new home. He could’ve easily taken her to his own place—wherever he stayed alone. But no. He bought an apartment just for this—just for her. Rich surgeon indeed. He made it look like money was paper he could toss around.
Her stomach flipped. Did he really do research about what she’d like? About her taste? That thought alone made her uneasy. Was this part of his whole act too? Or was there something else buried under his walls of stone and sarcasm?
The car slowed into a quiet lane, lined with green trees and tall buildings that didn’t look intimidating, but warm. Eva blinked, trying to place her bearings. This wasn’t a mansion —with cold marble, tall gates, and silence that echoed. No, this was… homely. Almost too homely.
“So,” he said, turning his head slightly toward her, his tone more casual than she expected. “We’re living here. Hope you like it.”
Eva blinked. What?
Her head whipped toward him. She almost laughed out loud because—this man, who barely strung two personal sentences together in the hospital, was… explaining himself? To her?
He unlocked the door and stepped out, not waiting for her but not in that dismissive way he usually did. This time it felt different, like he wanted her to follow.
She did.
When he pushed open the apartment door, Eva was impressed by the view.
It wasn’t what she imagined a rich, arrogant surgeon’s home to look like.
No grand chandeliers. No lifeless silence.
Instead, the place breathed warmth—muted cream walls, wide windows pulling in golden evening light, soft wood furniture, and bookshelves.
Actual bookshelves. Not just journals but novels, cookbooks, even plants scattered across corners and a whole balcony with a swing.
Eva froze, staring, and when she didn’t say anything for too long, Neil spoke again.
“I… tried to make it more to your liking.” His hands slipped into his pockets, his eyes steady but his voice lower this time, almost testing.
“Denver helped, but… most of this is from what I researched. You don’t like heavy spaces. You like light, cozy places.”
Her heart skipped. What ever his source was for the research it was giving wow for now.
Eva swallowed, unsure if she wanted to roll her eyes or… melt. He was supposed to be the cold surgeon who barked orders at her during rounds. Not the man who decorated an apartment to make it feel like hers, even if it was all for a fake marriage.
“It’s… nice,” she managed finally, her voice softer than she intended.
He gave a short nod, but she didn’t miss the way his shoulders eased—like her approval mattered.
Eva stepped further inside, her eyes roaming the warm space. This was it. Their new world. Their reality. One year, one roof, one Neil Morris.
Neil led her down the short hallway, stopping at a wide door. He pushed it open and gestured inside.
“The master bedroom,” he said simply.
Eva stepped in, instantly freezing. The room was spacious, with soft beige walls, a king-sized bed, and tall curtains swaying slightly with the evening breeze. Everything screamed couple, and for one tiny second, her brain short-circuited.
Her heart thudded. This is real. Too real.
Suddenly, the contract flashed in her mind like a red siren.
“Oh no—oh no-no-no,” Eva muttered, spinning on her heel. She dashed out of the bedroom, leaving a confused Neil behind. She rummaged through her bag in the living room until her hands found the crumpled stack of papers.
“Uff! Yeah—the terms and conditions, sir!” she exclaimed, holding them up like she had just discovered the holy grail.
Neil raised a brow, walking out slowly. “Really?”
“Really.” She thrust the papers into his hands.
He chuckled, shaking his head, but took the contract anyway. Without reading a word, he pulled out a pen and signed at the bottom in one smooth motion.
Eva’s jaw dropped. “You… don’t even wanna read?”
“Never mind,” Neil said, his voice steady but his eyes flickering briefly. “I trust you.”
Eva scoffed. “Well, I don’t trust you. You scared me enough the day you gave my grandparents those fake promises.”
Neil’s pen paused. His lips pressed together, but in his mind, the words slipped out quietly—
They weren’t fake though.
Instead, he leaned back on the sofa. “Okay then. Go on. Read your… list.”
Eva adjusted the papers, cleared her throat dramatically, and began.
“Rule number one: No entering each other’s personal space without permission. That includes,—bedroom side, bathroom cabinet, and snack drawer.”
Neil raised a brow. “Snack drawer?”
“Yes. Very important.” She pointed her pen at him like it was law. “No stealing.”
He smirked. “Fine.”
“Rule number two: This is a one-year agreement. No unnecessary romantic drama, no surprises, no ‘oh look we fell in love’ nonsense.”
Neil coughed, trying to cover his laugh. “You wrote that down?”
“I’m serious,” she insisted.
“Right. No… nonsense.” He couldn’t help the little smile tugging his lips.
“Rule number three: We behave like a normal married couple in front of others—family dinners, friends, whoever. But—” she raised her finger—“the second the door closes, we go back to being just… Neil and Eva. Nothing more.”
“Sounds… convenient,” he said, his eyes glinting.
“Rule number four: You cannot, under any circumstances, boss me around in this house like you do at the hospital. At home, I’m the boss.”
Neil tilted his head, amused. “Oh really?”
“Yes. Equal partnership. Or else.”
He gave a short laugh, signing again under the line she had scribbled EQUAL RIGHTS.
“And rule number five…” She paused, cheeks heating slightly. “…We sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Or better yet, separate rooms if possible.”
Neil leaned back, folding his arms. “That’s your grand finale rule?”
"Nope, I have more..."
“Noted,” he said, though his smirk told her he was very entertained.
Eva exhaled, slamming the papers shut. “Good”
Neil only smiled, shaking his head at her overly dramatic satisfaction. For some reason, her silly contract didn’t annoy him—it… made things lighter. Safe for both.
Eventually she read her whole list of conditions and he patiently listened to them.
Eva finishes reading her list.
She sighs, almost proud of herself, and waits for him to protest.
Neil (signing without hesitation): “Done.”
Eva (blinks): “That’s it? No objections?”
Neil: “I told you. I trust you.”
Eva: “But I don’t trust you.”
Neil (quietly, almost to himself): “we'll see.”
He leans back, watching her hug the papers like a shield. Then, almost casually—
Neil: “I’ll add only four rules of my own.”
Eva (eyes widen): “Wait, what? I thought—”
Neil (cuts in, calm): “One. Don’t overwork yourself. You look after everyone but forget yourself. I won’t tolerate that.”
(Her throat tightens, she wasn’t expecting that.)
Neil (second rule, with a faint smirk): “Two. Don’t run away when things get difficult. Especially not from me.”
(Eva stares, caught between indignation and something warmer.)
Eva (muttering as she folds the paper): “Unfair… my rules were logical, yours are emotional blackmail.”
Neil (soft chuckle): “and next,”
“Rule three: Stop calling me Doctor Mechanic. And Dr. Morris. You can call me Neil.”
Eva froze. Of all the things he could’ve said, that wasn’t on her bingo card.
“You—you want me to call you Neil?” she stammered.
“Yes.” His tone made it sound final, not negotiable.
“Fine. Neil,” she said, dragging out his name like a challenge.
He didn’t even blink.
“Rule four most important rule-
He paused for a second before completing his words.
"Don’t ask questions about why this marriage happened.”
Her playful expression slipped. That rule landed heavier than she expected. She wanted to argue, wanted to ask more—but the steel in his eyes told her it wasn’t up for debate.
Eva crossed her arms, muttering under her breath, “Cryptic surgeon.”
Neil ignored it, then continued, his voice softer but edged.
“That’s it,” Neil said, standing. “Simple.”