Roronoa Zoro -Paper Marriage

The sound of rain hitting the roof of the car was the only thing that broke the deathly silence inside the limousine.
(User) sat on the edge of the cream-colored leather seat, trying in vain to avoid soaking the upholstery with her drenched wedding dress. The cold water chilled her to the bone, but the trembling of her hands wasn't just from the cold. It was from the man sitting across from her. Roronoa Zoro was watching her with the same clinical attention a predator uses to assess wounded prey. There was no pity in his gaze, only calculation. He had offered her a dry towel from a hidden compartment, and now he waited for her to stop shivering so they could talk business.
Ten minutes earlier, (User) stood outside the church, her wedding dress now reduced and soaked from the rain. She had just witnessed her fiancé exchange vows with Victoria, a wealthy heiress.
She had worked tirelessly for him, saved for his tuition, and eaten leftovers to finance his studies. Now, on the arm of a bride in a flowing gown, he remarked matter-of-factly, "Did you really think I'd marry a poor girl like you?"
She huddled on the cold, wet sidewalk, tears streaming down her face, and the background music was a wedding march that had nothing to do with her.
At that moment, a long, luxurious black car stops in front of the church. Its headlights cut through the darkness of the storm.
Zoro is in a hurry. His time is running out. He must be married before midnight or he'll lose control of the family business and his grandfather's inheritance. He's come to this church seeking a miracle, a sign. And that's how they met.
Inside the car.
"Drink this," he ordered, handing her a glass containing an amber liquid.
(User) picked it up with clumsy fingers.

• What is it?
  — Brandy. It'll help warm you up. You need it if you want to pay attention to what I'm about to say.
  (User) took a sip. The liquid burned his throat, but the heat quickly spread through his chest.
  "Fine," Zoro said, placing his own glass on a side table. "We don't have much time, (User). I have to be married before midnight. So I'll be direct."
  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His aura of power filled the confined space of the vehicle.
  — This is a business. Nothing more. You need... well, judging by your situation, you need everything. And I need a marriage certificate.
  —Why? —asked (User).
  “Because my grandfather, the owner of everything you see and everything you don’t see, put a very specific clause in his will. I must be a ‘stable, family man’ to inherit total control of the conglomerate.” Zoro grimaced at the words. “Ironically, now he’s out of the picture, but his lawyers aren’t.”
  — Offside?
  “He’s in a coma,” Zoro explained coldly. “He suffered a stroke a few weeks ago. The doctors aren’t optimistic, but legally he’s still the company president. If I don’t get married today—the deadline he set a year ago—control will pass to a board of vultures who will dismantle the company in a matter of months.”
  (User) looked down at the glass he was holding. A man in a coma. A desperate grandson.
  "I hope he wakes up soon," she murmured. And she meant it. She knew what it was like to lose family, she knew what absence was. She didn't wish death on anyone, not even this arrogant man's grandfather.
  Zoro looked at her, searching for any trace of sarcasm or flattery, but found only honesty in her violet eyes. That disconcerted him for a second. He quickly regained his composure.
  —But let's get to the conditions. If you accept, we'll sign two documents right now: the civil marriage certificate and a very strict prenuptial and confidentiality agreement.
• Conditions?
  "The main one is the duration," Zoro explained, counting on his fingers. "We can't get a divorce until my grandfather gives me full control of the company and the inheritance is legally in my name."
  "And how long will that take?" (User) asked. The idea of ​​being tied to a stranger made her dizzy.
  "I don't know. It could be months. It could be years. It depends on whether she wakes up or... whether she dies." Zoro said without blinking. "Until then, you will be Lady Roronoa in the eyes of the law."
  (User) nodded slowly. He had nowhere to go. The apartment he shared with Albert was no longer his home; he had no money; he had spent it all on the wedding and on Albert's studies.
  "Besides time, there are rules of cohabitation," Zoro continued, taking a black leather folder from his briefcase. "I want you to understand that this will be a marriage of convenience only. A facade. We will not share a house, a room, or a bed."
  Upon hearing that, (User) felt immense relief. The fear that he expected "marital rights" dissipated.
  —But my intention is to keep you hidden. It's best if I don't introduce you to the press.
  "That sounds good to me," (User) replied. She had no interest in becoming famous or meeting rich people who would look down on her, the way Victoria Navarro had done in church.
  Zoro watched her. (User) had no idea who he was. To her, he was just an expensive suit and a fat wallet. She liked that. Women who knew who Roronoa Zoro was usually feigned disinterest while calculating the hills in his bank account. (User) seemed genuinely oblivious to his world.
  "Will I ever meet your family?" she asked, just out of curiosity.
  "Probably not. Only if absolutely necessary, as I said. And your family?" he asked, his pen hovering over the paper. "Will I have to deal with a jealous father or siblings scrambling for jobs?"
  "No," (User) said firmly, lifting her chin. "I'm an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage. I have no one."
  Zoro nodded. Perfect, he thought. No ties, no drama, no in-laws. The ideal candidate had literally fallen from the sky.
  "Fine. Let's talk about your compensation." Zoro adopted his most professional tone. "I don't work for free, and I don't expect you to. In exchange for your signature and your time, I'll give you a house. I own a property in the north. It's modest by my standards, but comfortable. I'll put it in your name immediately. It will be yours, no matter what happens to us."
  — And I'll give you a sum of money every month. More than enough for you to live comfortably without having to work if you don't want to.
  (User) looked out the fogged window. The money was tempting, yes. But she didn't want to be a kept woman. Albert had used her and then discarded her because she had remained stagnant while he moved on. She wouldn't make that mistake again. She had a dream.
  "Is there anything you want in particular?" Zoro asked, pulling her from her thoughts. "A car? Jewelry? Trips? Ask now, (User). I'm a generous man when it comes to closing deals."
  (User) turned and looked him in the eyes. At that moment, Zoro saw for the first time the steel behind the girl's sadness.
  "I want to study," she said. "I want to study medicine."
  Zoro raised an eyebrow, surprised.
  — Is that all? Medicine?
  "Yes. Albert... my fiancé..." The word caught in her throat, bitter. "He studied law with my help. I postponed my own career for him. I don't want jewelry, Zoro. I want a degree. I want to be someone on my own."
  Zoro felt a pang of respect. It was a clever request. Jewels are lost, money is spent, but a title and knowledge were his forever.
  "Done," he said without hesitation. "Damian will take care of it."
  — Damian?
  "My trusted man. He's driving now." Zoro gestured toward the driver's cabin, separated by a dark glass partition. "Damián Rossi will take care of enrolling you and paying for your entire degree at one of the best universities in the country. Books, materials, specializations... it's all on me. Whether you finish your degree or not is up to you. I provide the resources, you provide the effort."
  — That seems fair to me.
  "If you ever need anything," Zoro added, looking back at the papers, "you can contact him. In fact, any matter, house problem, or medical need, you discuss directly with Damian. He's my intermediary."
  — Won't I talk to you?
  "No," Zoro was adamant. "There will be no contact between us. I have my life, my business, and... my private affairs. You'll have yours. I won't ask for fidelity, (User), because this isn't a real marriage."
  Zoro considered adding a discretion clause. He wasn't planning on being faithful; his life as a sought-after bachelor wasn't going to be put on hold for a piece of paper. But he also didn't want (User) appearing on the covers of cheap magazines with three different boyfriends.
  “However,” she clarified, “I’ll tell my lawyer to add a discretion clause to the confidentiality agreement you’ll receive tomorrow. Do whatever you want, with whomever you want, but keep it private. Don’t embarrass me. If you go out with someone, don’t let the cameras find out. Understood?”
  "I have no intention of dating anyone," (User) replied bitterly. "I think I've had enough of men in a lifetime."
  "That's better," he said indifferently. But he knew that (User) was young and only hurt now. In a few years she would change her mind and should be protected.
  Zoro spread the contract out on the small folding walnut table. He handed her a fountain pen with gold and black lacquer.
  — Sign here, here and here.
  (User) picked up the pen. It was heavy. He stared at the black lines of the legal text. Words like "separate property", "indefinite duration", "assignment of rights".
  For a moment, he wondered where the catch was. It seemed too easy.
  She looked at Zoro. He wasn't saving her out of kindness. He was using her. But she was using him too. It was a fair trade. Two castaways clinging to the same plank for different reasons.
  "Do you agree?" he asked impatiently, looking at his watch. It was forty minutes to midnight.
  (User) took a deep breath, swallowing the fear and nostalgia for the life he thought he would have. That life was dead.
  "Yes," she said firmly. "I agree."
  The pen tore the paper. (User) Graham.
  With that stroke, he sold his freedom and bought his future.
  Zoro quickly grabbed the papers, checked the signatures, and sighed with obvious relief. He put everything in the folder and tapped the dividing glass twice with his knuckles.
  The car started smoothly, gliding along the wet road.
  — Welcome to the family, wife — Zoro said, pouring himself another drink and looking at his phone, instantly forgetting about her.
  (User) leaned back in her seat, watching the city lights blur past through the rain. She didn't feel like a wife. She felt like a survivor.

Six years have passed. Just as they had agreed, since that rainy afternoon when they both signed a marriage contract out of desperation and spite, they haven't seen each other in six years, like two parallel lines.
In the attic of the Roronoa Tower building, the silence is almost absolute.
Roronoa Zoro stands by the window, shirtless, a glass of aged whiskey in his hand. He observes the city lights with the same indifference with which he observes everything lately. He is thirty-one years old, and the world considers him a financial god, untouchable and invincible. But inside he feels empty, with nothing that truly fills him.
Behind him, on the immense bed, the sheets rustle. Constanza stretches with the laziness of a contented cat. She's the new marketing director of Roronoa Corp. A stunning woman, intelligent on paper, but terribly obvious in her intentions. She joined the company three months ago with a clear objective: not to increase sales, but to conquer the unconquerable man.
Zoro takes a long swig of whiskey. The amber liquid burns his throat, but not enough to erase the feeling of boredom. They've shared a couple of nights, and the novelty has already worn off. Constanza isn't bad in bed, but she's predictable. And at work, her ideas are mediocre. Zoro detests mediocrity.
She's thinking that first thing tomorrow morning she'll call Damián Rossi. Damián is her shadow, her head of security, her driver, and the only man she trusts implicitly to clean up her mess. She'll give him the terse order: "Fire Constanza. Give her a generous severance package so she won't talk, and find someone competent for the Marketing department. Someone who will work, not someone looking for a husband."
He feels slender arms wrap around his waist from behind, but it provokes the same reaction in Zoro as if he were being touched by a piece of furniture.
"I found out something today that shocked me," she whispers close to his ear, tracing circles on his chest with her nails.
Zoro raises an eyebrow.
"What did you find out?" she asks, playing along in a monotone voice.
— That you are a married man.
Silence stretches out in the room. Zoro doesn't tense up, he doesn't flinch. He simply takes another sip of his drink.
—And that surprises you? It's public information. Even if the press doesn't talk about it anymore.
"Yes, but..." She steps back slightly to look him in the face, searching for a reaction. "You keep your wife hidden. No one has ever seen her. Not even at charity galas. They say she lives abroad, or that she's an invalid, or that you simply hate her."
Zoro lets out a short, humorless laugh.
— People have a lot of imagination.
The truth is much simpler, and yet more complex. Zoro hasn't seen (User) for years. Since the signing of the final contract, the day after that failed wedding, their lives have run along parallel tracks that never intersect.
They have a watertight agreement. She receives a monthly allowance, he pays for her studies (or paid for them; he assumes she finished them long ago), and she gives him what he values ​​most: silence and the legal status of being married. She's never called to ask for more money. She's never sold a story to the tabloids. She's never shown up drunk at his office. She's the perfect partner.
"Even I sometimes forget that I'm a married man," he admits, and it's the first truth he's spoken all night.
Constanza grows bolder. "And why don't you get a divorce?" she asks, with that innocent tone that hides a fierce ambition. "You're young, rich... you could be with whomever you want."
Zoro's gaze hardens. He gently but firmly releases his grip on her and walks to the nightstand to put down the glass.
— It's not something that interests you, Constanza.

• But...
  — It's None of Your Business.
  She can't get a divorce. It's the ironclad clause. Her grandfather, the patriarch Don Arashi Roronoa, suffered a massive stroke shortly before the wedding. Since then, he's been in a coma, connected to machines that keep him in a limbo between life and death in a high-security private clinic.
  The will is clear: Zoro will have full control of the shares and absolute ownership of the empire only if he remains married until his grandfather's natural death or until the grandfather wakes up and decides otherwise. If he divorces while the old man is still alive, he loses 51% of the company to a board of directors full of vultures.
  Zoro isn't going to lose what's his because of a legal process. So (User) remains his wife. A paper wife.
  —And doesn't she mind that she has to share you? —Constanza insists, unable to drop the subject.
  Zoro stares at her. His eyes are two dark wells.
  Constanza blinks. She knows she's crossed a line. She raises her hands in surrender, forcing a flirty smile.
  An hour later, the attic door closes. Constanza has left, with the vague promise to "talk tomorrow at the office" and a triumphant smile that will soon fade. Zoro mentally transfers the task to Damián Rossi.
  He is alone again. The silence returns, comforting.
  She pours herself another drink, even though she knows she shouldn't. She sits on the edge of the unmade bed and, for the first time in a long time, the image of (User) Graham flashes through her mind.
  He vaguely remembers her large, frightened, violet eyes in the rain. He remembers her trembling signature on the contract. He knows he's doing his part. Damian sends him quarterly reports: "Ms. Roronoa continues to reside at the assigned property. No incidents. Expenses within normal limits." Zoro doesn't even read the details. He just files away the fact that she's not a problem.
  But Constanza's question echoes in his head like an annoying nagging sound: And doesn't she mind having to share you?
  Zoro frowns. In six years, he's had many lovers. One-night stands, physical encounters. He assumes (User) has a life too. She's young, must be twenty-nine now. Does she have lovers?
  The idea gives him a strange pang in his stomach. It's not jealousy, he tells himself. It's territoriality. (User) bears his last name. Legally, she's his. The idea of ​​another man touching the woman who bears his last name, even if it's just a contract, is... unsettling.
  — Ridiculous — he muttered to himself, finishing his whiskey in one gulp.
  She's about to turn off the light when her personal phone vibrates on the nightstand. The screen lights up in the darkness.
  It's a message from his mother, Eleonor.
  Zoro feels an immediate sense of tension. His mother never writes at three in the morning unless it's a catastrophe. He fears the worst: that his grandfather has died. That the legal battle over the inheritance is about to begin.
  He unlocks his phone and reads the message. It freezes, his finger hovering over the screen.
  [Come to the hospital right now. It's a miracle. Your grandfather woke up.]
  Did he wake up? After ten years in a deep coma, doctors said it was impossible.
  Then a second message comes in.
  [He's asking for you. And he demands to meet your wife. He wants to see (User). Bring her with you.]
  Zoro drops the phone onto the silk sheets. He curses under his breath. Grandpa has woken up, and the first thing he wants to do is inspect the "happy marriage" that secured his legacy.
  He has to find (User). And he has to do it before the sun comes up.
  Zoro dials Damián Rossi's number.
  — Damian, wake up. We have a code red. Get the car ready. We're going to pick up my wife.
  ...
  Six years can be a blink of an eye or an eternity, depending on who's counting. For (User) Graham, it's been years of meticulous construction, brick by brick, scar by scar.
  From the moment she signed that contract in the rain, her life took a complete turn, though not in the direction everyone would have expected from the "wife of a millionaire." Zoro kept his word with the coldness of a banker: he assigned her a residence—an old but well-maintained mansion in a quiet part of town—and took care of her university tuition.
  Every first of the month, a notification arrives on (User's) phone: Deposit received. Sender: Roronoa Group. The sum is exorbitant. A monthly allowance that would allow anyone to live without lifting a finger, travel the world, and buy designer clothes.
  But the money is still there. Untouched.
  (User) has never touched a single penny of that account for personal expenses. It's his small act of rebellion, his way of maintaining his dignity.
  Throughout medical school, (User) held down part-time jobs: walking dogs, cleaning tables at a late-night café, and doing shifts at small hospitals. She graduated with honors, dark circles under her eyes, but her pride remained undiminished.
  Now, the ground floor of the house Zoro gave him has been transformed into the Graham Clinic. It's not a huge hospital, but it's the best in the neighborhood.
  Trafalgar Law, her college friend and now colleague, is a good man, with an easy smile and endless patience. He looks at her with an admiration that goes far beyond the professional, something that everyone else seems to notice less (User). Or perhaps she chooses not to notice.
  Albert's betrayal left a deep scar. She doesn't trust men. She wears the white gold wedding band Zoro slipped onto her finger six years ago, not as a symbol of love, but as a shield. That ring screams "unavailable" and keeps anyone who tries to get too close at bay, including Law.
  — Pliers —she asks.
  The operation is delicate, a gastric torsion that requires precision. For an hour, the outside world disappears. Only she, the patient, and the steady rhythm of the heart monitor exist.
  When the last suture is finished, (User) exhales and lets the face mask fall to his neck.
  — Good job, team. It was a success.
  Law hands her a small towel to dry the sweat from her forehead. His fingers brush against hers for a second longer than necessary.
  — You're amazing at operating, (User). You have a gift.
  (User) gently withdraws hand, breaking contact.
  — It's practice, Law. And study. Thanks for the help.
  ...
  The black Maybach cruised through the empty streets like an elegant shadow. Inside, Roronoa Zoro loosened the silk cravat he wore around his neck.
  He looked out the window, watching the middle-class residential buildings go by.
  "Sir," said Damian, breaking the silence from the driver's seat, "shouldn't we go to the clinic first to see your grandfather? The doctors said he's stable, but anxious."
  Zoro ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated.
  —No, Damian. I already told you. My grandfather opened his eyes, asked if I was still married, and when they told him yes, he demanded to see my wife. He doesn't want to see me. At least, not only me. He wants to see the "miracle" of my emotional stability. He wants (User).
  Damian nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.
• I understand.
  Zoro sighed, turning over the empty whiskey glass he was still holding.
  — What news do you have about her, Damian?
  The bodyguard glanced at him briefly in the rearview mirror.
  — What do you mean, sir?
  "What's she doing? How's she living? I haven't seen her in six years." Zoro paused, searching his memory. "I don't remember her, Damian. If I ran into her right now on the street, I swear I wouldn't recognize her. I only remember that she was... small. And that she was soaking wet."
  Damian cleared his throat, uncomfortably. He did remember (User). He had handled every payment, every registration, every procedure.
  — Sir, Ms. (User) contacted me only to tell me which university she had chosen. All I know is that she graduated with honors quite a few years ago.
  "Did he never ask for more money?" Zoro asked, genuinely surprised. In his world, people always asked for more. Lovers asked for jewels, partners asked for percentages, family members asked for positions.
  “Never,” Damian confirmed. “He never asked for an increase in his monthly allowance, never asked for a new car, never made a scene. In fact, the expense reports for the corporate credit card we gave him are empty. Zero transactions in six years.”
  Zoro remained silent, processing the information.
• You're sure?
  — Absolutely. She lives off what she earns, I suppose. Or she's very frugal.
  Zoro felt a strange mix of admiration and suspicion. Every woman who approached him did so out of self-interest. What kind of game was (User) Graham playing? Or was it possible that she simply wasn't interested in his fortune?
  He tried to reconstruct her face in his mind. She wasn't ugly. Despite having met her in deplorable circumstances, with smeared makeup and swollen eyes, he remembered her natural, almost wild beauty. Violet eyes that shone even in the darkness of that car.
  "I hope she's still living in the house I assigned her," Zoro muttered. "It would be a problem having to track her down all over town at five in the morning."
  — It's still there, sir.
  The car turned a corner and stopped in front of an old, two-story house with a stone facade and vines that gave it a welcoming feel. But something was different. An elegant neon sign hung above the entrance.
  Graham Clinic - 24-hour Emergency Room
  Zoro frowned.
  — What is this, Damian? Is it a clinic?
• Yes sir.
  “I didn’t remember there being a business in this house.” Zoro looked at the facade disapprovingly. He had given her a house to live in, not to run a business. “Since when did the real estate agency allow this?”
  Damian turned off the engine and turned to his boss, with that infinite patience that only very loyal employees possess.
  — Sir, do you remember that your wife wanted to study medicine? That was her only condition.
  — Yes, I remember. But to go from that to turning my property into a clinic...
  "With all due respect, Mr. Roronoa," Damian interrupted, "the deeds have been in (User) Graham's name for six years. She can do whatever she wants with the property. Don't you remember?"
  Zoro was speechless. Yes, he vaguely remembered signing the transfer to "secure the deal."
  — Okay. Let's knock on the door.
  They got out of the car. The early morning air was freezing. Zoro adjusted his tuxedo jacket, feeling ridiculous dressed in formal attire in the middle of a quiet residential neighborhood.
  Damian rang the doorbell. Once, twice, three times.
  They waited.
  Zoro began to grow impatient. He was about to order Damian to break down the door when he heard bolts turning.
  The door opened. There she was.
  She wasn't the frightened little girl from six years ago. The woman standing before him radiated a quiet strength, a beautiful woman, even just after waking. She wore a simple nightgown, her white hair slightly tousled, and her face unwashed. But it was her violet eyes that struck Zoro like a physical punch. They were intense, intelligent, and, in that moment, icy.
  (User) looked him up and down. There was no immediate flash of recognition, or if there was, he hid it perfectly behind a mask of indifference.
  Her expression was not one of pleasure. It was the look one gives to an intrusive door-to-door salesman.
  Zoro, feeling that he was losing control of the situation before it even began, decided to use his best weapon: cynical charm.
  — I'm also glad to see you again, my dear wife — he said, flashing that half-smile that used to melt the hearts of the women at the country club.
  (User) didn't smile. Didn't even blink. Crossed his arms, pulling his robe even tighter around his chest.