Bound By Contract: The Possessive CEO's Bride
Kaylee's family was drowning in debt, and her stepmother locked her inside a freezing bedroom.
To save their bankrupt company, they decided to sell her off to a sixty-five-year-old man with a disgusting reputation.
They cut off her allowance and confiscated the only precious keepsake her dead mother had ever left her.
"Put on the engagement dress, or I will smash your mother's crystal box into a million pieces."
Terrified of the old man, Kaylee risked her life by jumping out of the second-story window into a violent storm.
She hit the muddy ground hard, twisting her ankle and tearing her skin on rusted iron gates as she escaped into the pitch-black night.
Dragging her bleeding bare feet across the cold sand, her lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass.
She didn't understand why she had to be the sacrifice for their endless greed, or how they could be so cruel as to hold her dead mother's memory hostage.
She had absolutely nowhere to go, and the old man's cars were already pulling into the estate to claim her.
Cornered by the blinding headlights of a motorcade on the beach, she threw herself at the feet of Ernest Blackwell, the most ruthless billionaire in New York.
"Marry me! You need a wife, and I need a husband right now!"
To buy her freedom and crush the family that sold her, she chose to sign a twenty-million-dollar fake marriage contract with the devil himself.
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Chapter 3
Kaylee sat frozen in the wet sand, buried under the massive suit jacket.
"Get in," Ernest ordered. His voice was flat. He turned his back to her and walked toward the rear door of the Maybach.
The bodyguard immediately let go of her arm. His demeanor flipped instantly. He stepped forward and respectfully held the heavy car door open for her.
Kaylee was stunned. She dragged her muddy, bleeding feet across the sand and climbed into the luxurious leather backseat.
The moment the door closed, the roaring storm was completely cut off. Warm air blasted from the vents, wrapping around her freezing skin. She sank into the soft leather, a shaky sigh escaping her lips.
The opposite door opened. Ernest slid into the seat.
A wide center console separated them, but his physical presence was overwhelming. The sheer size of him seemed to suck the oxygen out of the cabin. Kaylee pressed her knees together and tried not to breathe too loudly.
The interior of the car was dead silent. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.
In the front seat, Edson glanced at the rearview mirror. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the filthy girl ruining the pristine leather.
Ernest caught his eye in the mirror. He shot Edson a look so lethal that the assistant instantly snapped his eyes back to the windshield.
Ernest pressed a button on the door panel. A thick soundproof glass partition glided up, completely sealing off the back seat from the front.
He turned his head and locked his eyes on Kaylee. It felt like an X-ray scanning her bones.
"Explain your situation," he demanded coldly. His long fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his knee. "I have no tolerance for wasted time."
Kaylee forced her racing heart to slow down. She spoke fast. She detailed the Fletcher family's impending bankruptcy. She explained Donita's plan to sell her off to Mitch Ziegler to cover the debts.
When she mentioned Mitch's name, a sneer formed on Ernest's lips. He clearly knew of the old man's disgusting reputation.
Kaylee's voice cracked when she talked about her mother's confiscated belongings. She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek to force the tears back down. She refused to cry in front of him.
Ernest watched her jaw tighten. His tapping fingers paused for a fraction of a second. A strange glint flickered in his dark eyes.
He leaned back against the headrest and crossed his arms over his chest. "I will clear your debts and handle the old man. In exchange, you will play a role for me."
Kaylee's head snapped up. Pure relief washed over her face. She nodded frantically. "I will do anything."
"Three months," Ernest stated, his voice hard as steel. "For three months, you will act as my devoted wife. You will deal with my family."
He leaned forward. His broad shoulders invaded her space. "During this contract, you follow my orders absolutely. Do not ask questions. Do not touch things that aren't yours."
The heavy scent of his cologne and raw male pheromones hit her face. Kaylee's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively pressed her back harder against the door.
"When the three months are over, the contract terminates. I will wire you a compensation fee large enough to fund the rest of your life. We walk away clean," he finished ruthlessly.
Hearing the words "walk away clean," a tiny, irrational sting hit Kaylee's chest. But the overwhelming joy of buying her freedom crushed it instantly.
She didn't hesitate. She reached out her right hand. It was covered in dried mud, blood, and rust. "Deal, Mr. Blackwell."
Ernest looked down at her hand. His severe germaphobia kicked in immediately. His body went rigid. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows.
Kaylee realized what she had done. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She felt sick with embarrassment. She quickly tried to pull her dirty hand back, wishing the floorboards would swallow her whole.
Just as her fingers began to retreat, Ernest reached out. His jaw tight with an ingrained, visceral revulsion to dirt, his hand hovered for a fraction of a second. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away from the mud and blood. Yet, driven by a strange, inexplicable compulsion that overrode his severe germaphobia, his large, strong hand clamped down over hers.
The physical contact was an absolute violation of his own rules, a shock to his highly controlled system. His palm was warm and slightly rough. The grip was firm and undeniable. A jolt of electricity shot up Kaylee's arm. She shivered.
He held her hand for exactly one second before letting go.
He pressed the intercom button to the front seat. "Edson. City Hall."
The car swerved slightly. Edson's voice came through the speaker, stammering. "Boss? Right now? It's one in the morning."
Ernest's eyes narrowed. "Do I need to teach you how to drag the mayor out of his bed to open the doors?"
"No, sir!" Edson barked back.
The Maybach's engine roared. The car shot forward into the rainy night with brutal acceleration.
Kaylee was pushed deep into the seat by the force. She turned her head and stared out the window at the blurred streetlights. Her brain could not process reality.
She stole a glance at the man sitting next to her. He had his eyes closed. She pulled his warm suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, her fingers gripping the lapels like a lifeline.
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9.7
I ran through the freezing rain, desperate to escape the Pennington estate. My adoptive family had raised me for one purpose: to be sold off as a bargaining chip in a wealthy arranged marriage.
But before I could reach the highway, I was cornered. Not just by my family's cruel guards, but by Hollis Wall—a terrifying, ruthless billionaire who snapped my tormentor's wrist and dragged me into his car. He didn't want a ransom. He threw a prenuptial agreement in my lap.
I thought he was insane until he took a scalpel to his own arm, and a burning agony ripped across my flawless skin. Because of a near-drowning accident three years ago, our nervous systems were linked. Every time I bled, he felt the agony. He locked me in his fortress to keep me safe, but when I finally escaped back to my adoptive parents, they didn't protect me. Instead, my adoptive father smiled and showed me a live video of my biological father on life support, a guard's hand hovering over the plug.
"You will marry Douglas Cherry tomorrow, or your father dies," he sneered.
My own family was willing to murder my only real flesh and blood just to secure their wealth. I collapsed onto the cold marble floor, my heart crushed in a vice of absolute, suffocating despair.
"I'll marry him," I sobbed, surrendering to the darkness.
But miles away, in his dark study, the ruthless Hollis Wall violently collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as my severe panic attack bled directly into his chest. Our twisted bond was killing him, and I knew he would tear the city apart to find me.
7.2
I thought I was just marrying a middle-class commercial pilot who proposed to me in a Brooklyn cemetery to fulfill his grandmother's bizarre dying wish.
But when an arrogant pilot tried to harass me at the airport, my "ordinary" husband suddenly appeared, his eyes like chips of ice.
"Take your hand off my wife."
With that single cold command, he had the airline's top executives groveling and the man practically fired on the spot.
Everyone called him "Mr. Chandler." He handed me an exclusive black Centurion card, claiming it was just a standard "manager's perk." His retired parents, who supposedly ran a small business, visited me wearing Patek Philippe watches. I ignored all the glaring red flags, foolishly believing I had just lucked into a stable, caring marriage after a lifetime of disappointments.
Yet, despite his constant, suffocating generosity, he kept a physical wall between us. After a kiss so desperate and hungry it felt like he had been starving for it his entire life, he violently pushed me away.
"We should take this slow."
I couldn't understand why a man who looked at me with such intense, possessive devotion would treat our marriage like a sterile business deal. Why was he orchestrating every perfect detail of my life while refusing to even share a bed with me?
I had no idea that the man sleeping in the guest room wasn't a pilot at all. He was Harmon Chandler, the ruthless billionaire emperor of the Chandler Group. And he had been secretly monitoring my every move for ten years.
9.7
I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him.
Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister.
Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair.
I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people.
But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse.
I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges.
The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill.
When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell.
But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone.
His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life.
I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me.
Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference.
"I'll do it, but I control the venue."
I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again.
9.3
For years, Gabriela believed the man beside her would be the one she grew old with. They had loved each other since they were young, but in the end, all those years meant nothing beside a younger woman's smile.
Returning from a business trip, she uncovered his betrayal with brutal clarity. Still, she did not cry or beg. She took out her phone, recorded every damning second, and filed for divorce the moment she could.
Afterward, she rebuilt her life into something brighter, richer, and stronger, even marrying a powerful tycoon. As for her ex and his shameless mistress, they could rot together.
9.5
Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.
9.7
For three years, I played the role of a devoted, naive wife to billionaire Conrad Whitney. I hid my true identity and foolishly believed in our fairy tale.
Then he handed me a harsh divorce agreement, ordering me to sign and walk away with absolutely nothing. He was leaving me to marry Cindy, the fragile woman he claimed had saved him from a fire.
He expected me to cry and beg. Instead, he watched coldly as Cindy and her family illegally transferred my father's trust fund. When I confronted them at the hospital, Conrad shielded her, calling me a greedy, toxic viper. He mocked me, completely blind to the fact that Cindy was a fraud. He truly believed I was just a pathetic, useless housewife who would be utterly destroyed without his money and status.
I looked at the man I had actually dragged out of that burning debris with my own soot-covered hands. My trauma, my sacrifices, and my love had all been reduced to a joke by his sheer arrogance and a few fake tears from a manipulative liar.
I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed the papers, drugged his wine, and left a crumpled one-dollar bill on his unconscious chest with a sticky note mocking his terrible service.
Then, I picked up my encrypted phone. It was time for the world's top surgeon, Dr. Hades, to return, and for Conrad to finally see the god he had just thrown away.