As we step out of the elevator, we enter a huge suite with two bedrooms, a living room, and a sitting area where Mason is seated, inviting me to sit beside him. I do so, feeling nervous, anxious, and exhausted all at once. "I have a copy of the contract signed by our parents. They don't know I have it. If you want, you can read it, but I've done it more times than you'd like to know, and there's no way to annul it," he says, taking a folder from his right side. The truth is, I don't have the mental capacity to read it right now. I trust Mason's word when he says there's no way to annul the contract. He's just as unhappy with the idea of getting married as I am. "I can't focus on reading it now. I'd prefer we clarify our agreement. Tomorrow, if my headache subsides a bit, I can read the document in detail," I say, handing the folder back to him. "I understand. Well, I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of knowing about this before you, but I took the liberty of drafting a
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