Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 70: Favorite Flowers

Sarah

I wake up when the sunlight hits my eyes, warm and persistent against my eyelids. For a moment, I’m confused. Then everything from last night slowly comes back to me.

The argument.

The tension.

The shower.

Matthew.

I blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the morning light spilling across the room. I shift slightly and realize I’m not alone. His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and warm, his body pressed close behind mine.

I don’t move. I barely breathe. I just lie there.

Something tells me to look at the time, so I reach for my phone on the nightstand next to me. I look at it and gasp.

"The meeting!" I yelp.

Matthew stirs behind me, his grip tightening instinctively as I try to sit up.

"What meeting?" he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep.

I twist around, pulling the sheet with me. "I have to be at the board meeting in less than an hour!"

He blinks a few times, processing, then runs a hand through his messy hair. "You didn’t set an alarm?"

I glare at him like it’s somehow his fault. "I always set an alarm. You distracted me."

He smirks. "You didn’t seem very distracted last night."

I groan, throwing the sheets off. "Not the time, Matthew!"

I jump out of bed and scramble for the clothes in the dresser. Then I run to the bathroom to splash water on my face, brush my teeth in record time, and return to find Matthew still in bed, watching me with a lazy expression.

"You’re really not gonna help?" I snap.

"What do you want me to do? Brush your hair?"

"Not helping!" I grab my bag and throw my phone in it. "Are you not going to work?"

"I feel like staying in today. Is that okay with you...Boss?" he asks, cocking his head.

Is he flirting with me?

"Y...yeah...fine. I will see you when I get home. Bye," I say and rush out of the house.

I rush inside my car and ask my driver to drive as fast as he can and then lean back.

God...this is all Matthew’s fault. If he hadn’t made love to me so sweetly last night. If his warmth hadn’t put me into this deep sleep, I would’ve woken up this morning just fine.

I cross my arms and glare out the window as the car speeds down the road, my heart still thudding too fast.

Last night was supposed to be the usual tension. Another argument. More cold silence.

But it wasn’t.

It was soft. Intimate. Real.

And now I’m late, flustered, and completely thrown off balance.

"Ma’am?" my driver, Aaron, says, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. "We’re almost there."

"Thank you," I reply, sitting up straighter and checking my reflection in my phone screen. My hair’s a bit wild. I smooth it down and reapply a bit of gloss, wishing I had time for a proper touch-up.

As we pull up to the company building, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and step out of the car like I didn’t just fall asleep wrapped up in the man who’s been emotionally tormenting me for months.

I make it inside with five minutes to spare. Not ideal, but not the worst. I give the receptionist a tight smile and take the elevator up to the conference floor.

I push open the door, and all eyes turn to me.

"Ah, there she is," says Martin, one of the older board members declares.

I smile at them. "Sorry I am late. Let’s begin."

I take my seat at the head of the table, set down my bag, and open my laptop.

I try to focus on the presentations. Financials. Department reports. Strategic planning. I nod at the right times and ask a few sharp questions, but I’m aware, too aware of the way my mind keeps drifting back to Matthew.

The way his voice sounded when he called me Boss with that lazy smirk.

"Sarah?" Martin’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

I blink and look up. "Yes?"

He raises a brow. "Are you okay with moving forward with the restructuring plan for Q3?"

Right. Restructuring. I click back to the right tab on my laptop.

"Yes," I say confidently. "Let’s move forward. But I want weekly reports and updated projections before the next quarter."

Martin nods, satisfied, and the meeting rolls on.

Half of me is here. The other half is still at home with Matthew.

Why did he want to stay home anyway? Maybe he would like to meet me here for lunch?

I shake my head. Why do I feel so nervous? Having lunch with my husband shouldn’t feel like such a revolutionary proposition. I can just ask him.

"And finally," Martin says, "the acquisition proposal from Westfield Industries."

My attention snaps back instantly. This is the part I can’t afford to miss.

"Their final offer came in yesterday," Martin continues, sliding a folder toward me. "Twenty percent higher than their initial proposition."

For the next thirty minutes, I listen carefully, taking notes and forcing myself to be fully present. This is my company. My responsibility. My father’s legacy that is now mine.

After the meeting, I stare at Matthew’s number for a full minute before typing: "Free for lunch? We could meet at that Italian place you like."

I send it before I can overthink it, then set my phone down and turn to the stack of reports waiting for my review.

Ten minutes later, my phone buzzes.

"I am busy," he wrote.

I stare at the message, feeling disappointed. Busy? He just decided to stay home this morning. What plans could he possibly have made so quickly?

Unless he had them all along.

I look up as I hear someone knock on my door. Sophia, my assistant, offers me a nervous smile. "Um...Sarah. Someone sent you some flowers. Do you want me to put them on your desk?"

I blink at Sophia, caught completely off guard. Flowers?

"Flowers?" I echo my thought. "From who?"

She shrugs, already stepping into the office with a large, elegant bouquet in her arms, pale pink roses, and a few sprigs of eucalyptus wrapped in soft cream paper and tied with a satin ribbon.

She sets them gently on my desk. "There’s a card," she says quietly, then slips back out, leaving me alone with the unexpected gesture.

I stare at the bouquet for a long second before reaching for the small white envelope tucked among the stems. My heart thuds as I open it.

"Just wanted to congratulate you on your pregnancy. You will be a great mother, Sarah." —Love, Josh.

I smile at the note. This really is unexpected. Josh is the sweetest.

At least someone cares about me.

~-~

I get home pretty late and is surprised to find Matthew home.

"Hey," I chirp.

Matthew narrows his eyes. "Why are you so cheerful? Did something happen at work?"

I hesitate. If I tell Matthew about the flowers, I bet he will be jealous. The thought gives me a secret satisfaction, so I go for it. "I got surprised by flowers today, so it made my day," I say, smiling brightly.

Matthew’s jaw tightens almost instantly. "Flowers?" he asks. "From who?"

"Josh," I say, as if it’s no big deal. "He left a sweet note too. Said I’d make a great mother."

There’s a beat of silence. A muscle in Matthew’s jaw twitches. "That asshole..."

"Matthew! You have no right to call him that. At least he thought of me and sent me flowers," I protest.

"Oh yeah? What kind of flowers?" he growls.

I give him a puzzled look. What does it matter what kind of flowers he sent? "He sent me these gorgeous pink roses," I reply.

Matthew scoffs.

"What?" I glare at him. "Do you have something to say?"

"Dude thinks he is in love with you but doesn’t even remember your favorite flowers," he says.

I blink. "What do you..."

"You love white Lillies, not roses," he reminds me as if I don’t know my own favorite flowers.

"You...how do you know that?" I breathe.

"Sweetheart. You used to come to my office, babbling about things you love, remember? Of course I fucking know what your favorite flowers are," Matthew says mockingly. "I also know your favorite food, your favorite color, your dream vacation, yada yada. God, you used to talk my damn head off," he grumbled.

I stare at him.

And then, I can feel a smile spreading across my face before I can stop it, warmth flooding through my chest.

He remembers.

All those times I sat in his office, rambling while he pretended to work. I thought he was just tolerating me, but he was listening. Really listening.

"So Josh sent you roses," Matthew continues, leaning against the wall now, watching me with those intense eyes. "And what exactly did his note say again?"

I walk closer to him, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Just that I’ll be a good mother."

"How would he know that?" he barks, his face twisted into a frown as if he is irritated.

But his harshness does not bother me this time. All I feel is giddiness.

Matthew remembers all my favorite things.