BROKEN HEART: A Contract Marriage With Mr Stone

AURORA POV..

She's here..

She’s here.

I pulled on a robe and peeked through the window. Tessa stepped out, her long hair tied back, dressed too nicely for a “casual visit.” That was Tessa — my sister, but somehow always the one who looked like she belonged anywhere. Pretty, polished, and a little too perfect for comfort.

Darren’s voice carried from downstairs before I even got there. Smooth. Too smooth.

“Long time, Tessa.”

The way he said her name — soft, teasing — made my pulse spike. I hated that tone. I knew it too well. It was the same one he used when he wanted to be remembered.

I stepped into the living room. “You’re early."

Tessa smiled, her eyes bright. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Yeah. Surprise.” I forced a smile back.

Darren stood by the counter, coffee mug in hand, looking entirely too casual for someone who’d been all ice and distance just yesterday. “I was just telling your sister how much you’ve been looking forward to this,” he said.

I shot him a glare, but he only sipped his coffee and grinned.

“Really?” Tessa turned to me. “You didn’t sound that excited on the phone.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “a lot can change in two days.”

She laughed lightly, oblivious — or pretending to be. “You two look great together, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Darren said smoothly before I could reply.

“She’s a handful, but I manage.”

Tessa giggled, and I clenched my jaw.

They chatted — about the house, the view, the “arrangements” like it was all just business. And maybe that’s what it was supposed to be. But with the way Darren kept looking at her — like he was remembering something or someone — I couldn’t breathe right.

It was subtle. A glance too long. A smirk too familiar.

I felt like I was watching something I shouldn’t.

“So,” Tessa said after a while, “when do we start?”

“Soon,” Darren replied, meeting my eyes briefly. “The sooner we handle this, the better.”

I swallowed hard. My throat burned, but I managed to nod. “Right.”

He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that wasn’t meant for comfort. “You’ll be fine, Aurora. You always are.”

And just like that, the room felt colder.

Tessa started unpacking, humming softly, completely unaware of the tension wrapping around us like smoke.

Darren left after a few minutes, saying he had “work” His cologne lingered long after he was gone.

Tessa turned to me once he left. “He’s changed,” she said quietly.

"Changed?? I guess so" I said flatly. "Follow me I'll show you to the guest room"

We both stride toward the guest room, our footsteps echoing against the marble floor like we’re walking into something neither of us fully understands.

Tessa pushes the door open and steps inside first, her perfume flooding the space — that sweet vanilla scent she never changes, like she’s trying to trademark innocence. She places her designer tote on the edge of the bed, the kind that screams sponsorship deal, then lowers herself gracefully onto the mattress like she’s in some glossy lifestyle reel.

“Sit, Aurora.” She pats the space beside her, her voice soft but commanding — like it’s not a suggestion, it’s an order wrapped in sisterly sweetness. “We have a lot to talk about.”

I hesitate, my spine stiff, before sitting down beside her. The air between us feels rehearsed — like a scene we’ve both been cast in, but neither wants to perform.

“What do you wanna talk about?” I ask, keeping my tone flat.

“Everything, Rora.” She exhales dramatically, turning toward me with that practiced guilt-trip face. “It’s been so long since we really talked. I’m sorry about not showing up at the hospital. Amy called, but I was out of town.”

She lies so smoothly, it almost sounds like truth.

I don’t call her out — I just let out a small hum, pretending to buy it. But inside? I scoff. Loudly.

Tessa is an Instagram freak. She posts every second — her morning coffees, her mirror poses, her out-of-town brunches that are usually just down the street. If she’d actually left town, I would’ve known. Everyone would’ve known.

But instead of dragging her for it, I smile. Or at least, something close to it. My lips tug upward just enough to pass for polite, though it probably looks more like a threat than warmth.

“I understand, Tes,” I say quietly. “Actually, I should be thanking you for this. For… being willing to do this for me. It means a lot.”

The words taste heavy on my tongue — gratitude mixed with something bitter I can’t name.

Tessa’s eyes soften. Or maybe she wants me to think they do. “Of course, Rora. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Her hand finds mine — warm, steady, too confident.

And for the first time since she arrived, I realize how far apart we really are. Two sisters, one pretending to save the other, both drowning in different ways.

☆☆☆☆

Darren came back later that evening, casual as ever—shirt unbuttoned just enough to sell charm, phone in one hand, that half-smirk like life never stings him long enough to scar.

Now we’re all in the living room, the three of us sitting in an awkward triangle of fake comfort and cheap small talk.

The clock ticks too loudly. The air feels heavy with something I can’t name—like guilt wearing perfume.

“So,” Tessa says, her tone light, her voice dipped in sugar. “Should we… go do it right now?”

Just like that.

No hesitation. No pause.

Let’s go do it.

Like she’s talking about a workout session, not what’s about to happen.

My stomach twists.

Can I really do this?

Where do I even belong in all this—here, pretending everything’s fine? Or outside, pretending I don’t care?

“Hum, Rora.”

Darren’s sharp voice snaps me out of the fog. His eyes are on me—cool, impatient.

“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing hard. “Just—uh, hope you’re not on any pills or anything?” I say, trying to sound composed.

Tessa shakes her head too quickly. “No, sister. Nothing like that. Would you… be staying with us?”

She bats her lashes—slow, deliberate. Like some discount Barbie trying to play innocent.

I nearly choke on my own disgust.

“Absolutely not.” I stand up, adjusting my skirt to keep my hands busy. “I’ll be at the café down the street.” My voice is steady, but it feels like glass—too thin, too breakable. “How many hours do you two need?”

Tessa looks at Darren for an answer. He shrugs, lips twitching. “I don’t know—depends on how sweet— I mean, uh—depends.”

His stammer makes my chest tighten, not because I’m shocked—but because I expected it.

Of course he’d say that.

“Right.” I force a tight smile, my fingers trembling as I smooth imaginary wrinkles off my skirt. “I’ll give you two hours. Maybe two and a half. That should be… enough.”

The room goes silent.

Even the clock seems to stop.

I don’t wait for a response. I grab my purse, walk toward the door, and step out without looking back.

A single tear escapes before I even reach the hallway. I wipe it fast, as if pretending it isn’t there will make the moment less real.

It’s happening.

The thing I swore I’d never allow—the thing I thought I could handle.

I’m walking away while my husband and my sister prepare to betray me in the next room.

The sound of my heels on the tile is the only thing keeping me grounded.

---

Later — At the Café

The little café smells like burnt espresso and cinnamon syrup—loud enough to drown the silence screaming in my head. I slide into a corner booth, phone in hand, fingers shaking as I dial Amy.

She picks up before the first ring ends.

“Aurora?”

My throat tightens. “Yeah. It’s… it’s happening.”

There’s a pause. Then Amy’s voice softens, all empathy and quiet fury. “I’m coming over. Don’t sit there alone.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, though the word barely leaves my lips.

She promises to be there in ten minutes, and I just sit—staring out the café window, watching people laugh and live and breathe, while I wait for my world to end in the time it takes to finish a latte.

☆☆☆☆

The café is dim, quiet, almost too normal for a night like this.

A couple laughs near the counter, the sound sharp and foreign, like it belongs in another world.

I sit in the corner booth, fingers wrapped around a mug that’s already gone cold. The steam’s long gone, but I keep pretending it’s still there — something warm, something alive.

My reflection in the window looks like someone else. Someone who used to smile without calculating it first.

The bell over the door jingle.

The café door creaked open, letting in a rush of cold air and the familiar click of heels.

Before I could even blink, Amy was across the room and wrapping her arms around me.

“I can’t believe it’s actually happening,” she breathed into my hair, her voice trembling somewhere between pity and disbelief.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, stiff in her hold. “Me neither.”

She pulled back, eyes scanning my face like she was checking for cracks. “I just… I really hope it works out, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said again, because what else was there to say? My smile didn’t reach my eyes; it never does anymore.

Amy huffed and slid into the seat across from me. “Okay, no. Enough doom and gloom. You need a distraction. I know exactly what’ll take your mind off this trainwreck.”

Before I could answer, she was already unlocking her phone. Her eyes gleamed — that same mischievous look she used to have back in senior year whenever she was about to start chaos.

She spun the phone around, screen facing me.

And there he was.

Elias.

Half-naked.

Water dripping from his hair, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The photo looked accidental — except it wasn’t. His kind of sin is always intentional.

My throat went dry. “You’re kidding.”

Amy grinned, devilish. “Posted this an hour ago. Tell me that’s not illegal.”

My pulse stuttered. I dragged my gaze away, but it was too late. My mind had already replayed the image — water tracing the curve of his neck, the ridges of his stomach — and my body reacted like it hadn’t gotten the memo that we were supposed to be depressed tonight.

I shoved the phone back across the table, heat creeping up my neck. “You’re the worst.”

Amy laughed. “And yet, your pupils just dilated like you saw God.”

I groaned, pressing my palms to my face. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” she sing-songed. “And you love him, apparently. Look at you, blushing like a sinner in church.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, half hiding, half smiling.

Amy’s grin softened. “Good. There she is. My Rora. The one who still feels something.”

And damn it — she was right.

Even in the mess, the ache, the waiting — that picture reminded me I was still alive. Still capable of wanting something that didn’t destroy me.

At least not yet.