The Quiet Contract

Lisa know's

Jennie POV

As soon as dinner ended, I stormed off to my room, my heels clacking sharply against the floor. I didn't even bother saying goodnight. The second the door slammed shut behind me, I let out a frustrated groan and kicked off my shoes, sending them flying across the room.

I paced back and forth, my thoughts racing like a whirlwind. Diana Flipo. Why did that name keep clawing at my brain? I clenched my fists, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it was no use.

The nerve of Lisa. Letting herself get tangled up in rumors with some actress when we're supposed to be building an image together. Didn't she care about how this affected me—or us?

I sank onto the edge of my bed, gripping the comforter tightly. Diana Flipo. The name tasted bitter on my tongue. I hated how easily it rolled off people's lips, how it was now tied to Lisa in every article and post.

The thought made my chest tighten. It wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be. I didn't even like Lisa. I told myself that over and over, but it didn't stop the nagging feeling in my gut.

I grabbed my phone and opened Instagram, my fingers moving almost on their own. I searched Diana's profile. Of course, it was perfect. Glossy photos, designer outfits, a dazzling smile. She looked like she belonged in Lisa's world—the kind of world I didn't want any part of.

The headlines flashed in my mind: Lisa Manoban spotted with Thai actress Diana Flipo. New romance brewing?

Romance. The word burned. I tossed my phone onto the bed, standing up abruptly. This was ridiculous. I was ridiculous.

Why should I care who Lisa's linked to? It's not like we're really together. It's an arrangement. Just business. That's all.

But then why did it feel like I was losing some unspoken game? Why did the idea of Diana being close to Lisa make my blood boil?

I ran my hands through my hair, letting out a shaky breath. "Get a grip, Jennie," I muttered to myself.

Lisa was probably laughing about all this, completely unbothered, while I was here, tearing myself apart over nothing. I hated how calm she'd been at dinner, how composed she always seemed no matter what I threw at her.

And then there was that look on her face when my dad mentioned the wedding being moved up. She hadn't protested, hadn't argued. She just... accepted it, like she always does.

I fell back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet, but my mind was deafening.

"Diana Flipo," I whispered bitterly. The name echoed in my head, mocking me.

This wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be.

Could it?

I turned onto my side, clutching a pillow to my chest as if it could somehow ground me. The word "wedding" replayed in my mind, over and over, like a broken record.

In a month.

A month.

How was this happening so fast? It felt like just yesterday my parents were casually mentioning the arrangement, and now we were talking about walking down an aisle. My aisle. With Lisa Manoban standing at the end of it.

I closed my eyes tightly, but the mental image was already there. Lisa, in a tailored suit, standing confidently like she belonged in that moment. Like she belonged with me.

A shiver ran through me, and I shot up, tossing the pillow aside. "No," I muttered. "This is ridiculous."

Marriage wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be about deals or partnerships or media optics. It was supposed to be real. Emotional. Something built on love.