Bound By Contract: The Superstar's Secret Wife

Allyson's palms were pressed flat against the hard plane of Byron's chest. She could feel the steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat through his dress shirt.

Her face burned. The heat radiated down her neck.

The rapid-fire clicking of the cameras sounded like a firing squad. They were capturing every millimeter of this disaster.

"Let me go," Allyson whispered, her voice trembling.

Byron looked down at her. A dark, suppressed emotion flickered in the depths of his eyes. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin.

Slowly, agonizingly, his fingers uncurled from her waist.

Allyson took a step back. A sudden gust of wind swept across the carpet.

The broken zipper on the back of her cheap dress finally gave out completely. The cold air hit her bare spine. She shivered violently, her hands flying to her back to hold the fabric together.

Byron's eyebrows pulled together in a sharp frown.

Without a single second of hesitation, he reached up and shrugged off his custom, priceless suit jacket.

The crowd gasped, the sound loud and sharp.

Byron stepped forward and draped the heavy jacket over Allyson's trembling shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body. The scent of cedar wrapped around her like a physical embrace.

Joanne stood ten feet away, her perfectly manicured nails digging so hard into her palms that they nearly drew blood. Her face was a mask of pure jealousy.

The reporters surged forward like sharks smelling blood in the water. They shoved their microphones over the velvet ropes, practically hitting Allyson in the face.

"Allyson! Was this a calculated stunt to get his attention?" a reporter screamed, his voice dripping with venom.

All the blood drained from Allyson's face. The multi-million dollar penalty clause of their secret marriage contract screamed in her head. If she exposed them, she would be ruined forever.

She forced her lips to stretch into a wide, painfully fake smile. She took another half-step back, creating a physical distance between her and Byron.

She bowed deeply to the cameras. "Not at all. Mr. Estes is just a highly respected senior colleague who was kind enough to help a clumsy junior."

The air around Byron instantly dropped ten degrees.

He didn't say a word to contradict her. He just slowly turned his head and locked his eyes on the reporter who had asked the question.

The look in Byron's eyes was lethal. It was a silent, suffocating threat.

The reporter swallowed hard and instinctively took a step back, the microphone lowering in his shaking hand.

Byron's security team finally broke through the chaos, forming a physical wall between the stars and the press.

Allyson pulled the oversized jacket tighter around herself. She kept her head down and practically ran toward the end of the carpet, fleeing the flashing lights.

Byron stood perfectly still, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared into the shadows. Only then did he turn and walk into the venue.

As soon as Allyson reached the dark corner near the exit, Hollie grabbed her arm and yanked her into the waiting Lincoln.

The heavy car door slammed shut. The silence inside the cabin was deafening. Allyson let out a shaky breath, her chest heaving.

Hollie stared at the men's jacket draped over Allyson. Her eyes scanned the fabric like an x-ray machine.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Hollie grabbed her own hair, looking crazed. "This PR nightmare is going to end your career!"

Allyson slowly slid the jacket off her shoulders. She hugged it to her chest, her fingertips mindlessly stroking the expensive wool.

Hollie leaned in close, her eyes narrowing. "You signed that NDA three years ago. Who the hell is this secret husband of yours? Is he a mobster? A politician?"

Allyson's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Hollie, a bitter, reckless urge rising in her chest.

She offered a casual shrug. "Actually, my secret husband is Byron Estes. The guy on the red carpet."

Hollie stared at her for two full seconds.

Then, Hollie threw her head back and let out a loud, barking laugh. "Right. And I'm married to the President. Stop making sick jokes and help me draft an apology statement."

Allyson watched her manager laugh. She forced a bitter smile onto her own lips and turned her head to look out the dark window.