Bound By Blood: His Unwanted Contract Bride

The wheels of the luggage cart squeaked against the polished terrazzo floor of the LAX VIP terminal. Darleen pushed it forward, her knuckles white against the handle. The smell of jet fuel and expensive perfume hung heavy in the air. Julian walked close to her side, his small hand gripping the hem of her coat. His eyes darted around the crowd, sharp and watchful. Aria skipped between them, her pigtails bouncing. "Stay close," Darleen said, her voice tight. Aria ignored her. The massive crystal chandelier in the center of the hall caught the light, throwing rainbows across the floor. Aria's eyes went wide. She gasped, pointing at the sparkling fixture. "Mommy, look! A star!" Before Darleen could grab her, Aria yanked her hand free. She darted into the sea of arriving passengers, her little legs pumping fast. "Aria!" Darleen shrieked. She let go of the cart. It rolled a few feet and crashed into a pillar. Darleen shoved past a man in a tailored suit, her eyes locked on the pink pigtails disappearing into the crowd. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the sound roaring in her ears. Aria ran straight toward the center of the hall. She didn't see the silver-tipped cane. She didn't see the polished shoes. Thud. Aria bounced off the solid object and landed hard on her bottom. Her face scrunched up, ready to cry. She looked up, her gaze traveling up the expensive fabric of a suit, past a watch that cost more than a house, until she met a pair of sharp, pale blue eyes. Thurston West glared down at the child. His jaw clenched, ready to scold the careless brat who had bumped into him. But as his eyes focused on the small face staring back at him, the words died in his throat. The breath caught in his chest. The shape of her eyes. The stubborn set of her chin. The exact shade of her hair. It was a face he hadn't seen in thirty years, not since he had last looked at a photograph of his grandson as a toddler. Darleen burst through the crowd. She dropped to her knees, her arms wrapping around Aria so tight the little girl squeaked. "I'm so sorry," Darleen panted, her voice shaking. She looked up at the old man, her body angled to shield her daughter. "She didn't mean to. Are you okay, baby?" Thurston didn't hear her apology. His gaze shifted past Aria, locking onto the boy who had just run up behind Darleen. Julian stood there, his chest heaving from the run. He didn't cry, but stared at Thurston with a watchfulness far beyond his years, his small hand clutching his mother's coat as if ready to pull her away from danger. Crack. Thurston's cane struck the floor. His entire body began to shake. The blood drained from his face, leaving his skin papery and thin. "Surround them," Thurston rasped. Black suits moved in from the shadows. Within seconds, a wall of muscle and dark fabric closed around Darleen and her children. The noise of the airport faded away, replaced by the suffocating silence of the bodyguards. Darleen shot to her feet. She pushed Julian and Aria behind her back, her hands trembling but her spine rigid. She glared at the old man, her pulse thudding in her neck. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension. "Who are you?" Thurston ignored her questions. He leaned forward, his blue eyes burning with a feverish intensity. His voice shook as he spoke. "Who is their father?" Darleen felt a drop of sweat slide down her temple. She recognized him now. The West family patriarch. The most dangerous man in the room. She swallowed hard, forcing her fear down into her stomach. "That's none of your business," she said, her tone icy. "It's my privacy." Thurston straightened up. The shock on his face melted into absolute certainty. He didn't blink. "Bernardo West," he said, the name echoing in the space between them. "He is their father." Darleen's stomach dropped. The airport seemed to tilt. Flashes of that night four years ago-the storm, the heat, the confusion-blasted through her mind. Her palms grew slick with sweat. Aria peeked out from behind Darleen's leg. She tilted her head, looking at the scary old man. "No, he's not," Aria said, her voice clear and high-pitched. "He's the stinky king daddy." Thurston stared at the little girl. A strange, strangled sound escaped his throat. It was almost a laugh. The child's words confirmed everything. Bernardo had been called worse by his own family. "Bring them to the estate," Thurston ordered, pointing his cane at Darleen. "Now." A bodyguard reached out, his thick fingers closing around Darleen's arm. She twisted violently, ripping her arm free. She bared her teeth, her eyes flashing with a raw, vicious fury. "Don't touch me," she hissed. "Try that again, and I will scream kidnapping so loud every camera in this terminal will be on you." Thurston saw the wildness in her eyes. He saw the protective stance, the way she was ready to fight a dozen armed men for her cubs. He held up a hand. "Back off," he commanded. The bodyguards stepped away, giving them a few feet of space. Thurston adjusted his grip on his cane. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by the cold calculation of a corporate raider. "Why did you hide them for four years?" he asked, his voice hard and demanding. "Did you think we wouldn't find out?" Darleen didn't cower. She lifted her chin, staring him down from across the gap. "If the West family wants to claim their blood," she said, her voice ringing with defiance, "they should learn some manners first. You don't send goons to grab a mother in an airport." Thurston's eyes narrowed. He hadn't been spoken to like that in decades. He studied her, reassessing the woman in front of him. She wasn't a scared little girl. She was a fighter. Julian tugged on Darleen's sleeve. He looked up at Thurston and said clearly, his voice small but steady, "You look rich, but you're mean." Darleen smoothed her son's hair. She reached into her purse, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out a simple white business card. She held it out to Thurston. He took it, his brow furrowing. The card was blank. No name, no company, no address. Just a single phone number printed in black ink. "If you prove he is the father," Darleen said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "he has to marry me." Thurston stared at the card. He looked up at her, his mouth slightly open in sheer disbelief. He thought he had misheard. "What did you say?" "You heard me," Darleen said. She didn't give him a second to process it. She turned, grabbing Julian's hand so tightly her knuckles were white. She forced herself to walk, not run, each step a battle against the urge to flee. She didn't look back, terrified that if she did, the fragile courage she had summoned would shatter. Thurston stood frozen, his grip crushing the business card. He watched the three figures disappear into the crowd. His eyes hardened. A fire lit in their depths, the kind that burned before a hostile takeover. "Get me the head of security," Thurston barked into his earpiece. "I want every detail of Darleen Reynolds's life on my desk in one hour. I want to know what she ate for breakfast four years ago."