Roronoa Zoro -Paper Marriage

The sound of rain drumming against the car roof was the only thing breaking the deathly silence inside the limousine.
(User) sat on the edge of the cream-colored leather seat, trying in vain not to soak the upholstery with her drenched wedding dress. The cold water seeped into her bones, but the trembling of her hands wasn't just from the chill. It was because of the man sitting across from her. Roronoa Zoro watched her with the same clinical attention a predator uses to evaluate wounded prey. There was no pity in his gaze, only calculation. He had offered her a dry towel he'd pulled from a hidden compartment, and now he waited for her to stop shivering before talking business.
Ten minutes earlier, (User) had been outside the church, her wedding dress ruined and soaked by 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, arm-in-arm with a bride in a flowing gown, he had commented casually, "Did you really think I'd marry a pauper like you?"
She had curled up on the wet, cold sidewalk, tears streaming down her face, while the background music was a wedding march that had nothing to do with her.
At that moment, a long, luxurious black car pulled up in front of the church. The headlights cut through the darkness of the storm.
Zoro was in a hurry. His time was running out. He had to be married by midnight or he would lose control of the family company and his grandfather's inheritance. He had come to this church looking for a miracle, a sign. And that was how they found each other.
Inside the car.
"Drink this," he ordered, handing her a crystal glass filled with an amber liquid.
(User) took it with clumsy fingers.
"What is it?"
"Brandy. It'll help you warm up. You'll need it if you want to pay attention to what I'm about to tell you."
(User) took a sip. The liquid burned her throat, but the warmth spread quickly through her chest.
"Good," Zoro said, placing his own glass on a side table. "We don't have much time, (User). I have to be married by 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 arrangement. Nothing more. You need... well, judging by your situation, you need everything. And I need a marriage certificate."
"Why?" (User) asked.
"Because my grandfather, the owner of everything you see and don't see, put a very specific clause in his will. I must be a 'stable family man' to inherit full control of the conglomerate." Zoro grimaced at the words. "Ironically, he's out of the picture now, but his lawyers aren't."
"Out of the picture?"
"He's in a coma," Zoro clarified 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 marry today—the deadline he stipulated a year ago—control passes to a board of vultures who will dismantle the company in months."
(User) looked down at the glass she 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 felt like. 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 he found only honesty in her violet eyes. It threw 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 cannot divorce until my grandfather cedes full control of the company to me 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 feel dizzy.
"I don't know. It could be months. It could be years. It depends on whether he wakes up or... if he passes away." Zoro said it without blinking. "Until then, you will be Mrs. Roronoa in the eyes of the law."
(User) nodded slowly. She had nowhere to go. The apartment she shared with Albert was no longer her home; she had no money; she had spent everything on the wedding and his studies.
"Besides the time, there are rules for cohabitation," Zoro continued, pulling a black leather folder from his briefcase. "I want you to understand that this will be a marriage on paper only. A facade. We will not share a house, a room, or a bed."
Hearing that, (User) felt an immense sense of relief. The fear that he expected "conjugal rights" vanished.
"But my intention is to keep you hidden. It's better if I don't introduce you to the press."
"That's fine with me," (User) replied. She had no interest in being famous or meeting rich people who would look down on her, just as Victoria Navarro had at the church.
Zoro observed her. (User) had no idea who he was. To her, he was just an expensive suit and a fat wallet. He liked that. Women who knew who Roronoa Zoro was usually pretended to be disinterested while calculating the zeros in his bank account. (User) seemed genuinely oblivious to his world.
"Will I ever meet your family?" she asked, out of curiosity.
"Probably not. Only if strictly necessary, as I already said. And your family?" he asked, pen suspended over the paper. "Will I have to deal with a jealous father or siblings looking 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 have a property in the north zone. It's modest by my standards, but comfortable. I'll put it in your name immediately. It will be yours, regardless of what happens between us."
"And I'll give you a monthly allowance. A sum 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 forward. She wouldn't make that mistake again. She had a dream.
"Is there anything in particular you want?" Zoro asked, pulling her from her thoughts. "A car? Jewelry? Travel? Ask now, (User). I'm a generous man when it comes to closing deals."
(User) turned and looked him in the eyes. In 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 arched an eyebrow, surprised.
"That's all? Medicine?"
"Yes. Albert... my fiancé..." the word choked her, bitter, "he studied Law with my help. I postponed my career for him. I don't want jewelry, Zoro. I want a degree. I want to be someone on my own."
Zoro felt a flicker of respect. It was an intelligent request. Jewelry is lost, money is spent, but a degree and knowledge were hers forever.
"Done," he said without hesitation. "Damian will handle it."
"Damian?"
"My right-hand man. He's driving right now." Zoro pointed toward the driver's cabin, separated by dark glass. "Damian Rossi will handle your enrollment and pay for your entire degree at one of the best universities in the country. Books, materials, specializations... everything is on my account. Whether you finish the degree or not is up to you. I provide the means; you provide the effort."
"That seems fair."
"If you need anything," Zoro added, looking back at the papers, "you can communicate with him. In fact, any matter, problem with the house, or medical need, you discuss it directly with Damian. He is my intermediary."
"I won't speak with you?"
"No." Zoro was blunt. "There will be no contact between us. I have my life, my business, and... my private affairs. You will have yours. I won't ask for fidelity, (User), because this isn't a real marriage."
Zoro thought about adding a discretion clause. He didn't plan on being faithful; his life as a coveted bachelor wasn't going to stop for a piece of paper. But he also didn't want (User) appearing on the covers of cheap magazines with three different boyfriends.
"However," he clarified, "I'll tell my lawyer to add a discretion clause to the confidentiality contract that will reach you tomorrow. Do what you want, with whoever you want, but keep it private. Don't embarrass me. If you date someone, make sure the cameras don't find out. Understood?"
"I have no intention of dating anyone," (User) replied bitterly. "I think I've had enough of men for a lifetime."
"All the better," he said indifferently. But he knew (User) was young and currently just hurt. In a few years, she would change her mind, and he needed to be protected.
Zoro spread the contract over the small, fold-out walnut table. He handed her a gold and black lacquer fountain pen.
"Sign here, here, and here."
(User) took the pen. It felt heavy. She stared at the black lines of the legal text. Words like "separate assets," "indefinite duration," "assignment of rights."
For a moment, she wondered where the trap 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 exchange. Two castaways clinging to the same plank for different reasons.
"Do you agree?" he asked impatiently, checking his watch. Forty minutes remained until midnight.
(User) took a deep breath, swallowing the fear and the nostalgia for the life she thought she would have. That life was dead.
"Yes," she said firmly. "I agree."
The pen scratched the paper. (User) Graham.
With that stroke, she sold her freedom and bought her future.
Zoro quickly took the papers, verified the signatures, and sighed with evident relief. He put everything in the folder and knocked twice on the dividing glass.
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, forgetting her instantly.
(User) leaned back in the 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 both signed a marriage contract out of desperation and spite, they didn't see each other again for six years, like two parallel lines.
In the penthouse of the Roronoa Tower, the silence is almost absolute.
Roronoa Zoro stands by the window, shirtless, with a glass of aged whisky 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, in the immense bed, the sheets move. Constanza stretches with the laziness of a satisfied cat. She is the new marketing director of Roronoa Corp. A stunning woman, intelligent on paper, but tremendously obvious in her intentions. She entered the company three months ago with a clear goal: not to increase sales, but to conquer the unconquerable man.
Zoro takes a long sip of whisky. 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 evaporated. Constanza isn't bad in bed, but she's predictable. And at work, her ideas are mediocre. Zoro detests mediocrity.
He's thinking that first thing tomorrow he'll call Damian Rossi. Damian is his shadow, his head of security, his chauffeur, and the only man he trusts blindly to clean up his "trash." He'll give the brief order: "Fire Constanza. Settle her with a generous severance so she doesn't talk, and find someone competent for the Marketing area. Someone who works, 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 a piece of furniture had touched him.
"I found out something today that left me in shock," she whispers near his ear, tracing circles on his chest with her nails.
Zoro arches an eyebrow.
"What did you find out?" he asks, playing along in a monotonous voice.
"That you're a married man."
The silence stretches 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 pulls away slightly to look at his 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, at the same time, more complex. Zoro hasn't seen (User) in years. Since the signing of the final contract, the day after that failed wedding, their lives have run on parallel tracks that never touch.
They have an ironclad agreement. She receives a monthly allowance, he paid for her studies (or he did, he assumes she finished long ago), and she gives him what he values most: silence and the legal status of being married. She has never called to ask for more money. She has never sold a story to the magazines. She has never appeared drunk in his office. She is the perfect partner.
"Even I forget I'm a married man at times," he admits, and it's the first truth he's spoken all night.
Constanza grows bolder. "And why don't you divorce?" she asks, with that innocent tone that hides a fierce ambition. "You're young, rich... you could be with whoever you wanted."
Zoro's gaze hardens. He releases himself from her grip gently but firmly and walks toward the nightstand to leave the glass.
"It's not something that concerns you, Constanza."
"But..."
"It Is None Of Your Business."
He cannot divorce. It's the iron clause. His grandfather, the patriarch Don Arashi Roronoa, suffered a massive stroke shortly before the wedding. Since then, he has 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 the grandfather's natural death or until he wakes up and decides otherwise. If he divorces while the old man still breathes, he loses 51% of the company in favor of a board full of vultures.
Zoro is not going to lose what is his over a legal formality. So (User) remains his wife. A paper wife.
"And doesn't she mind that she has to share you?" Constanza insists, unable to let the subject go.
Zoro looks at her. His eyes are two dark pits.
Constanza blinks. She knows she's crossed a line. She raises her hands in surrender, forcing a flirtatious smile.
An hour later, the penthouse door closes. Constanza has left, with a vague promise to "talk tomorrow at the office" and a triumphant smile that will soon vanish. Zoro handles the mental transfer of the task to Damian Rossi.
He is alone again. The silence returns, comforting.
He pours another glass, though he knows he shouldn't. He sits on the edge of the rumpled bed and, for the first time in a long while, the image of (User) Graham crosses his mind with force.
He vaguely remembers her violet eyes, large and frightened under the rain. He remembers her trembling signature on the contract. He knows she fulfills her part. Damian sends him quarterly reports: "Mrs. Roronoa continues to reside in the assigned property. No incidents. Expenses within normal limits." Zoro doesn't even read the details. He just files the fact that she is not a problem.
But Constanza's question echoes in his head like an annoying echo: And doesn't she mind that she has to share you?
Zoro frowns. In six years, he has had many mistresses. Passing women, physical transactions. He assumes (User) also has a life. She's young; she must be twenty-nine now. Does she have lovers?
The idea causes a strange pang in his stomach. It's not jealousy, he tells himself. It's territoriality. (User) carries his last name. Legally, she is his. The idea of another man touching the woman who carries his name, even if it's just a contract, feels... unpleasant.
"Ridiculous," he mutters to himself, finishing the whisky in one gulp.
He is about to turn off the light when his personal phone vibrates on the nightstand. The screen lights up in the darkness.
It's a message from his mother, Eleonor.
Zoro feels immediate 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