Contract marriage to my billionaire ex boyfriend's brother
Marissa," he said softly, but there was nothing gentle about it. His voice was low, controlled to the point of fracture. "Walk away. Now. Or I won't be able to stop myself."
The sound slipped from me before I could cage it-a quiet, helpless moan.
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze.
"Don't," I whispered. "Don't stop yourself, Carlton."
His last bit of restraint snapped, along with the clasp of my bra
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Chapter 3
Marissa: It was Saturday and I woke up feeling -not so good, but a bit better. My job as a makeup artist is quite tasking. People need to get glammed up, bills need to be paid, and I couldn't be caught slacking. Clients don't care if your world is crumbling; their appointments are important. I showered and got out swiftly. I was late. I slipped into a blue jean and a white T-shirt, took my bag, and wore my sandals and dashed out of the house . Mrs Shauna, one of my best clients, had booked me for today, and I'd be damned if I missed that appointment. On my way to my little studio, I stopped to get coffee at my favourite coffee shop. "What would you like, ma?" "Iced latte, please." I sat for a bit to wait for my order. Thankfully, Mrs Shauna had called to say she'd be an hour late, and I was thankful for the lateness. The little bell at the front of the café rang, and that meant someone was coming in. I wasn't paying attention- until I was. The scent hit me first: sandalwood. Sandalwood. My chest tightened before my brain could catch up. I already knew who it was. Justin. Holding hands with Peyton. He dared to bring her to our favourite café. "Bastard," I muttered. My heart splitting like I had just been torn apart. They couldn't even have the decency to hide. I quickly made my way out of there. My hurt turned to something else, something hotter, sharper. My anger felt like it was easier to carry than a heartbreak. I took one last glance at them from the transparent door and made my way to my studio. I didn't even bother about my coffee. I got a call from Mrs Shauna when I was out of the café, and I quickly made my way to my studio. At the studio, I prepped everything I would need to beat her face to perfection ... I was angry, not hurt ...it was anger I felt. That didn't stop me from doing my job right. "Hello, dear," she said with the brightest smile that got to her eyes. Beautiful blue eyes, hair that flows to her back. She is so beautiful. " Good afternoon, Mrs Shauna. You may have your sit." I got started off on the makeup, and in two hours, I was done, and I was happy with the glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "This is so beautiful, Marissa." Her eyes sparkling with joy, and that alone brought a smile to my lips. She tipped me and made her way out. Thankfully, my other two clients called and cancelled. I sat in my studio chair; the earlier day's occurrence sufficed. Anger took over me once more. Hands trembling, legs tapping lightly on the ground, I was furious. I decided I was going to call that strange man. *** Got home, and I dashed to my room, took the paper from my drawer where I had stashed it. I stared at the note in my hand and my cellphone in the other. "Is this a great idea?" I debated. "Why am I even bothered about anything?" I Dialed the number, and a voice came in. His voice was calm in a way that felt deliberate. "Hello, Marissa." I hated the warmth his voice stirred in me. This man has some sort of effect on me that I didn't like. I had thought about his proposal all day after seeing Peyton and Justin together. I couldn't believe the word I was about to say... I was going to marry a stranger, but the thought of the marriage, for some reason, didn't scare me. "I will marry you." It fell from my mouth, and I knew I couldn't take it back. "Meet me at Casa dien. I'd send you the code to get in," he didn't even seem surprised. It felt like he knew I was going to call back, and he was right. Am I really going to marry a strange?, the question didn't linger too much before I gave myself an answer. I definitely will if it's going to destroy those two.
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8.8
They say tough situations don't last, but tough people do.
They are bloody liars, whoever said that.
My tough situation didn't make me stronger. It pushed me into the arms of Elias Thorne. CEO of Blackwood Holdings. One of the richest men in the country. And, apparently, my fake husband.
I'm just a contract wife. A transaction. He needs me to secure his standing in the company. He hates me and I don't care. I need his money, his influence, his resources, anything to save my mother's and sister's life.
Forty-five days. Then I walk away.
That was the deal.
No love or feelings. Just business.
But a penthouse is smaller than it looks. And forced proximity has a way of cracking open doors you swore you locked up.
He has his own wounds. His own ghosts. And sometimes, when he looks at me, I swear he's not seeing a contract at all.
Forty-five days.
Either we walk away untouched.
Or we burn.
7.7
Eva Brooks, a 25-year-old woman, was set up by her best friend. Her fiancé broke up with her and demanded compensation for allegedly cheating on him.
Eva had a one-night stand with the richest CEO in Dominic City, Ethan Owen. He was arrogant and offered her a job as his secretary.
As his secretary, Ethan couldn't shake his fondness for Eva. He became obsessed with her, worrying that she was cheating on him.
He broke up with his fiancée to become engaged to Eva, but will his fiancée let him go? Will Eva accept a relationship with her boss?
8.1
I was supposed to be the lucky one, the bankrupt Beaumont heiress engaged to Devyn Langley, the golden boy of Boston's elite.
But the moment I landed from Europe, my best friend shoved a high-definition photo in my face. It was Devyn, tangled in white sheets with another woman.
I didn't cry. Instead, I planted hidden cameras in his secret Manhattan penthouse and heard the disgusting truth.
"When are you going to dump that boring bitch?" his mistress whined.
"Soon. As soon as her family's final trust fund payout clears. Then I'll toss her out like trash," Devyn laughed.
To add insult to injury, he removed me from the guest list of his family's charity gala.
When I showed up anyway, his mother pointed a shaking finger at my face in front of the entire upper crust.
"You are a charity case! A beggar! Get out!" she screamed, while Devyn demanded I get on my knees and apologize.
They paraded around like saints, using my family's tragedy for good PR while secretly plotting to steal my last penny and destroy me.
Did they really think I was just a weak, compliant fiancée who would quietly accept her ruin?
Wearing a blood-red dress, I hacked the ballroom's main screen and broadcasted his 4K sex tape to every billionaire and reporter in the room.
Then, I threw my five-carat ring at his chest and walked away with Kian Koch—the most terrifying man on Wall Street—leaving the Langley empire to burn.
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.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
8.9
For fifteen years, I thought my mother had died in a tragic fire.
Then the wealthy Ross family's butler knocked on my door, revealing she was alive—locked away in the psychiatric annex of their massive estate.
I rushed into the lion's den to save her, only to run straight into Graydon Ross, the ruthless billionaire CEO.
He looked at my cheap clothes with pure disgust, convinced I was a bottom-feeding scammer trying to extort his family.
"Throw this bitch out into the snow."
He ordered his armed guards to drag me away, completely cutting off my only chance to see my mentally broken mother.
But as he violently grabbed my collar to throw me out, I saw a custom eagle-head cufflink hanging from his coat pocket.
My blood turned to ice, and a wave of paralyzing terror crashed over me.
Eight months ago, I accidentally slept with a masked stranger in a pitch-black hotel room and fled before dawn.
That cufflink belonged to him.
The man who took my virginity—the Wall Street tyrant I had been hiding from—was Graydon Ross.
If he ever found out I was that woman, he would literally destroy my life.
But to save my mother, I couldn't be thrown out.
When his grandmother suddenly appeared, I dropped to the floor, exposed the dark bruises Graydon had just left on my wrists, and sobbed.
I framed the billionaire for assault to secure my place in the mansion, forcing myself to live right next door to the monster whose bed I had fled.