ᴛᴄ

The Contract — Short Story Rebekah Verstappen stared at the document spread across the polished conference table. Marriage. The word alone was enough to make her stomach twist. But it was the clause near the bottom that made her blood run cold. An heir must be produced within three years of the marriage. A child. Not a suggestion. Not a hope. A requirement. Her signature sat at the bottom of the page beside Toto Wolff’s. The deal had already been made. Months later, the wedding was over, the photographs were framed, and the world believed they were the perfect couple. Only Rebekah knew the truth. She barely spoke to her husband. Every smile was for the cameras. Every touch was rehearsed. Every day felt like another reminder that her future no longer belonged to her. One evening after a race weekend, she found Toto sitting alone on the balcony of their hotel suite. A bottle of whiskey rested between two glasses. “Drink with me,” he said. Normally, she would have walked away. Instead, she sat down. Silence stretched between them as the city lights flickered below. Then Toto spoke. “You hate me.” Rebekah laughed bitterly. “You signed the contract.” “So did you.” She looked at him. For the first time, there was no arrogance in his expression. No power. No control. Only exhaustion. “They told me it was my duty,” he admitted quietly. “Just like they told you.” The confession stole the anger from her chest. For months, she had treated him like the enemy. Now she wondered if he was just another prisoner. Her eyes drifted to her wedding ring. To the future already planned for them. To the child neither of them had chosen. When she looked back up, Toto was already watching her. Neither spoke. Yet for the first time since signing the contract, the distance between them felt just a little smaller. And somehow, that terrified her more than the marriage ever had.