Blurb：
Cold, efficient, bulletproof—our marriage contract had one ironclad rule: **No emotional entanglements**. Until I brought home a baby ball python named **Pip**.**Rhett Montgomery** thought my whispered vet calls about "limpness" and "weakness" were about *him*. His solution? Parading shirtless through our mansion, slamming doors, and accusing me of wanting "other men"—like champion snake **Brutus**. Now the CEO of **Keystone Holdings** is unraveling, demanding answers about my secret reptile breeding project with **Penelope**.
**Mrs. Montgomery** thinks we need Swiss vitality supplements. I think my icy husband needs to stop obsessing over **Clause 7** and focus on his **eight-pack abs** instead. But when his jealousy over my snakes exposes our fake marriage, Rhett’s ready to rewrite the contract… with his bare hands.
Content：
§PROLOGUEI was in my private online forum, crafting a post with the kind of focus usually reserved for bomb defusal.
I'm at my wit's end with this one, I typed, my fingers flying across the keyboard.
He’s so thin, like, pinky-finger thin.
Is it normal for them to be this… limp? So weak he can’t even hold his head up?
A sudden, violent bang echoed through the room as my bedroom door was thrown open.
My husband, Rhett Montgomery, stood there, his jaw tight, his knuckles white on the doorknob.
"Don't think for a second," he hissed, his voice a low growl that vibrated with barely suppressed rage, "that saying things like that will get my attention!"
He slammed the door shut, leaving me staring at the wood, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I glanced down at the glass terrarium on my dresser.
Inside, Pip, my new baby ball python, was curled into a tiny, unmoving knot.
I sighed.
This was going to be a problem.
§01
Our marriage contract was cold, clean, and brutally efficient, much like the man who’d presented it to me on our wedding night.
One year.
That was the deal.
I would play the role of the dutiful Mrs. Montgomery to help him secure controlling interest in his family’s company, Keystone Holdings.
In return, he would provide the alliance my family’s struggling business desperately needed, plus a generous settlement upon our "amicable" divorce.
The most important clause, underlined in black ink, was Clause 7: No emotional entanglement.
No feelings.
No intimacy.
No problem, I had thought.
Three months in, we were excelling at that part.
We lived as ghosts in the same sprawling estate, two ships passing in the night with nary a ripple.
He worked, he went to the gym, he played golf.
I read, I managed the house staff, and I secretly tended to my small collection of exotic pets.
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The End