Terms of Love
Author
H L Wampler
Reads
797K
Chapters
40
Eden walks into the courthouse ready to say “I do.” Instead, she’s left with two coffees, no groom, and a heart in freefall. Enter Alexander—a billionaire with everything to lose unless he finds a bride today. Their chance meeting sparks a deal: one signature, no emotions, just business. But in a city where pride burns hotter than love and rules are made to be broken, what starts as a cold arrangement begins to melt into something neither of them planned for. As Eden finds her strength and Alexander learns what he’s really fighting for, the lines between duty and desire blur in the most unexpected way.
Not Him
EDEN
I picked the bench near the dirty window because it felt a little less like drowning, and I forced myself to look at the street rather than the clerk’s desk.
I told myself I was just early, and that Craig always ran late, so ten minutes didn’t mean anything yet. The lie sat smoothly in my mouth because I had been practicing it for years, wrapping his flaws in neat little packages of logistics to protect myself from the truth.
I set the second coffee beside me on the bench, careful not to tip the cardboard tray over. He liked his with three sugars and no sleeve, and I remembered that detail with a painful clarity. I remembered everything, and that felt incredibly important because holding onto the details made this agonizing delay feel temporary.
My phone said 9:10.
The appointment was at nine.
I watched couples pass the window while some laughed and some were quiet, but all of them were moving with an ease that made my chest ache. No one else was scanning the room with wide, desperate eyes, checking their phone every thirty seconds, or rehearsing explanations for a man who hadn’t bothered to show up.
I tightened my grip on the paper cup in my hand until the heat bled through the cardboard sleeve and actually hurt my skin, because the physical pain gave me something to focus on besides the creeping, suffocating certainty that this wasn’t a delay.
This was abandonment, and it was settling deep into my bones.
The second coffee sat there like a cruel placeholder for a man who was supposed to appear, slide onto the bench, and say something charming to smooth this over. He always had a line ready about traffic, a wrong turn, or an emergency meeting that ran late, and his crooked smile usually did most of the heavy lifting.
But the cup stayed full and silent. The foam collapsed, the caramel drizzle melted into a dismal brown smear, and the plastic lid had a deep dent from where I’d squeezed it too hard, as if gripping it could somehow hold the fragments of my day together.
I checked the time again at 9:15, and the numbers felt like a physical blow. We were late, and he was late, but the idiot part of my heart still hoped he would appear through the glass doors any second.
I kept filling in Craig’s absences with excuses in my mind because that was the rhythm I had established over five years, and breaking it meant admitting what he truly was.
I tried to sit smaller and quieter, pulling my arms tighter around myself. Couples lined up near the clerk’s desk while waiting for their names to be called, and I saw people in jeans, a young woman in bright-pink Converse with an ironed veil, and a grandmother holding a bouquet of grocery-store flowers.
And then there was me.
I was wearing a knee-length white satin dress that was soft and simple. I had picked it so I wouldn’t look like I expected too much from him, but right now, under the fluorescent lights of the lobby, it made me look like I expected everything.
Across from me, a little girl in a blue dress watched me with wide, unblinking eyes while her mom scrolled on her phone, missing half the whispered commentary aimed directly at my breaking soul. I didn’t look back at the girl because even at seven years old, she could see the reality of the scene. I was the pathetic woman who got stood up at City Hall.
My phone stayed entirely blank with no messages or missed calls, so I tried his number again. It went straight to voicemail without a single ring. I tried once more, and it gave one hollow ring before hitting the automated recording again, which meant he was actively hitting the decline button. That wasn’t normal, even for Craig’s worst moods.
Suddenly my phone buzzed against my palm, and my heart leapt into my throat as I grabbed it too fast, but it was just a voicemail notification from my mother. I hit play anyway because I was still in the desperate stage where I believed movement could fix the silence.
“Hi, sweetheart! I hope you’re married by now, but I just wanted to say your dad’s crying in the living room because he’s so happy—”
I hung up before her hope could crack something open inside me, because her joy felt wrong and entirely too loud for this miserable space. She didn’t know I was sitting alone in a sterile courthouse lobby, completely humiliated before the vows could even start.
I bent forward with my elbows on my knees, letting my face fall into my hands while my skin buzzed like I’d been plugged into a live wire.
I replayed every single scenario possible, wondering if he got lost, got the time wrong, or if something terrible had happened to his car. But deep down, I knew nothing had happened to him, and this absence was the actual answer he was giving me.
I sat up when the entrance doors hissed open, and my body moved before my mind caught up, but it wasn’t Craig.
A man entered with the kind of presence that sliced the room completely in half. He wore a dark, tailored coat over broad shoulders, and he had a sharp, composed face that didn’t look like it belonged among people dividing assets or fighting parking tickets.
A woman followed quickly beside him while talking in clipped, urgent business tones. He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t look at anyone else, but he walked through the room like he had already made peace with whatever corporate storm waited behind the clerk’s counter.
Yet something about him caught me, because he held himself with a controlled, unyielding stillness that felt dangerous in a place like this. I rubbed my arms to keep from unraveling while my white dress felt thinner and more exposed by the second.
I stood up on shaky legs and walked to the counter. “My fiancé’s running late,” I said, and my voice cracked terribly on the last word.
The clerk typed something without looking up from her monitor. “Name?”
“Hale. Eden Hale. And Craig Daniels.”
She paused, looking at the schedule. “You’ve been bumped down. If he checks in, we’ll call you, but we’re completely full for the next hour.”
“If he—” My throat tightened until I couldn’t breathe, so I just said, “Of course. Thanks.”
I returned to the bench where the second coffee stared at me like it knew the truth of my humiliation. My chest burned with a sudden, sharp heat, but I refused to cry in front of these families who were actually wanted by the people they loved.
My phone buzzed with a calendar alert: 9:00 a.m. Civil Marriage Appointment with Craig Daniels. The little ring emoji next to his name felt like a mockery of everything I had built my life around.
I opened our text thread and typed out messages, deleting them over and over before finally hitting send out of sheer panic.
Eden
I’m here. You almost here?
Eden
They bumped us down, but we can get an appointment in an hour.
Eden
Craig?
Eden
You okay?
Nothing came back, and there wasn’t even a delivered tag under the gray bubbles.
The girl across from me whispered to her mother again, her high voice cutting through the lobby. “She’s all alone, Mommy.”
Her mom glanced up, caught sight of my white dress, and winced. “Emma, honey, that’s not—” She didn’t finish her sentence because she didn’t need to, since the kid was absolutely right.
A man nearby laughed too loud into his phone about an estate settlement, and the sound bounced off the concrete walls. The courthouse made it entirely clear that heartbreak had a wait time and a paper trail. My body tensed because everything felt too sharp, too bright, and too exposed for me to survive it.
Another buzz brought another voicemail from my mother, asking if I was blissed out and married yet, so I ended the call before she could finish. She didn’t know Craig had left me sitting here in front of half the city, and she didn’t know the man I loved hadn’t chosen me enough to even reject me to my face.
I pressed a hand to my collarbone as an unwanted memory surfaced from last week, when Craig had been leaning against our kitchen counter with a beer.
“I don’t like your job,” he’d said in a dismissive tone that made me feel small. “It drains you.”
I’d laughed it off and told him it paid the bills, but he insisted I shouldn’t have to deal with it, offering to talk to some vague, powerful people he knew.
Craig liked making decisions for me because it made him feel important, but when I suggested he shadow a day at my office so he could understand the strategy side, he quickly changed the subject.
My job wasn’t glamorous, but it was highly visible. I worked in corporate strategy, which was a client-facing role where your ideas were either brilliant or disposable depending on who repeated them louder in the boardroom.
I built the decks that made other people look decisive, anticipated client objections, and cleaned up messes I didn’t make while smiling through the presentations. Craig liked to call it stressful, but we worked in the same department, so he knew exactly how often my work ended up under his name.
He never corrected anyone when the directors praised him, but I let it go because I loved him, and I knew I was better at the actual job than most of the men who talked over me. When pitfalls happened, I stayed late to fix them, and I never crumbled under pressure.
Yet here I was, crumbling over a man who wasn’t even here.
The window’s glare shifted as a cloud passed, turning the glass into a dull mirror, and that’s when I saw him again. The man in the dark coat was standing near the entrance, and he was still enough that he looked completely out of place in a room built for frantic motion.
His posture was rigid, his shoes were polished, and his jaw was set in a way that suggested long practice with authority.
He scanned the lobby until his dark eyes caught mine. It was a fast, intense flicker, and then he looked away, tucking his hands deeper into his coat pockets like he needed them contained. Maybe he was here for a corporate lawsuit, a will, or a marriage of his own.
His eyes lifted again, landing on me long enough for my cheeks to start burning under the heat of his attention, and then he looked away.
I’d seen him before. I was sure of it.
