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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Kaylee clutched the tissue in her fist. She stumbled after Ernest's broad back as they exited City Hall. The heavy rain had reduced to a steady drizzle.
Edson was already holding the door open. Ernest slid into the backseat. Kaylee climbed in right after him. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them inside.
The Maybach pulled away from the curb like a ghost. The silence inside the cabin was thicker and more oppressive than before.
Kaylee twisted her fingers together in her lap. She kept her head bowed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Blackwell," she whispered, guilt gnawing at her insides. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this mess."
Ernest leaned his head back against the leather headrest and closed his eyes. He didn't even look at her. "Call me Ernest. Remember your position."
Kaylee choked on her words. She swallowed hard. "Okay... Ernest. But I can go back and get it myself. You don't need to-"
Ernest's eyes snapped open. His gaze pierced straight through her. "Go back yourself? So they can pack you up like trash and throw you into that old man's bed?"
The words were brutal. They sliced right through Kaylee's desperate facade. Her face went completely white. She bit down on her lower lip, tasting blood again. She had no argument. It was the truth.
Ernest saw the color drain from her face. He realized his words were too harsh. A flash of irritation crossed his features. He aggressively yanked his tie loose and turned his head to stare out the tinted window.
He pulled a heavily encrypted phone from his inner pocket. His thumbs flew across the screen. He sent a direct order to Edson in the front seat.
"Edson. Three minutes. I want the preliminary financial data on the Fletcher Corporation, and run a surface sweep for any immediate red flags regarding her mother's estate."
In the driver's seat, Edson's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. He immediately steered the car with his left hand and pulled up a tablet with his right, his fingers flying across the digital keyboard.
The only sound in the car was the tires splashing through the puddles on the road. Kaylee stared out the window. The scenery was becoming familiar. They were heading back to Long Island. Her body started to tremble uncontrollably.
Two minutes and fifty seconds later, a secure file pinged onto Ernest's tablet. Edson's voice came through the intercom. "Boss, the deep dive will take hours, but I pulled their immediate financials and a flagged asset log."
Ernest opened the document. His eyes scanned the Fletcher Corporation's financial statements. A cold sneer touched his lips. "Insolvent. A pile of garbage. They are drowning in debt."
He scrolled down to the asset log. The notes on the crystal box were brief, pulled from an old probate record: Belonged to biological mother, Ione Dale. Material unknown. Currently in Donita Fletcher's possession.
Ernest locked the tablet. He turned his head and looked at Kaylee. She was curled up in the corner of the seat, shivering. A strange, violent urge to protect her flared up in his chest. He didn't bother analyzing it.
The Maybach turned onto the wealthy streets of Long Island. The massive iron gates of the Fletcher estate came into view.
The gates were wide open. Parked right in the middle of the driveway was a tacky, oversized stretch Lincoln. Mitch Ziegler's car.
Kaylee saw the vehicle. Her pupils shrank. Her breathing turned into rapid, shallow gasps. She pressed her back hard against the leather seat, trying to put distance between herself and the house.
Ernest noticed her panic. His voice cut through the air like a blade. "Edson. Drive straight through. Ram anything in the way."
The Maybach's engine growled. The car didn't slow down. It shot through the gates, swerved violently around the Lincoln, and slammed on the brakes right in front of the main doors.
Kaylee sucked in a lungful of air. She put her hand on the door handle. She had to face those monsters alone.
"What are you doing?" Ernest's voice was freezing.
Kaylee looked back at him. She forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I'll just run in and grab it. I'll be fast. You don't have to-"
Before she could finish her sentence, Ernest pushed his door open. He stepped out, walked around the back of the car, and yanked her door open from the outside.
"Get out," he commanded. "I am walking in with you."
You may also like
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.