Fifty Million Dollar Contract: My Enemy Husband
Eloise was the untouchable Brandt family heiress, just one audition away from landing a lead movie role and escaping her golden cage.
But overnight, her family's empire completely collapsed.
With her father dying of heart failure, her mother forced her to beg the only man who could save them: Christian Clarke.
Christian was the ruthless billionaire who had publicly humiliated Eloise in college, ripping up her love letter in front of a laughing crowd.
Now, he tossed a fifty-million-dollar acquisition contract on the table.
"What exactly is the Brandt heiress putting up for sale today?"
To secure her father's medical care, Eloise was forced to sign a suffocating marriage contract, selling herself as a corporate tax shield.
He moved her into his freezing penthouse and treated her like a purchased asset. He mocked her attempts to cook him dinner, yet pinned her against the wall with punishing, possessive kisses whenever she tried to pull away.
Eloise's pride was entirely shattered.
She didn't understand why he was doing this. If he hated her so much and only wanted revenge, why did his touch carry such an agonizing, desperate heat?
Determined to survive, she went to her final audition and miraculously won the lead role, crying tears of joy because she had finally earned something on her own.
She had no idea that the cold-blooded monster sleeping beside her had just secretly threatened to destroy all of Hollywood to give it to her.
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Chapter 1
Eloise's chest heaved. She stood in the center of the Soho rehearsal studio, her lungs burning as she sucked in the stale air. Sweat dampened the back of her neck, making her blonde hair stick to her skin. She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow, trying to hold onto the desperate, hollow feeling of the lead character in The Mist.
Clara walked across the wooden floor. She handed Eloise a bottle of room-temperature water.
"You need to stop," Clara said quietly. "You've been running this scene for four hours. Your voice is completely gone."
Eloise took the bottle. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unscrewed the cap. Before she could take a sip, the heavy glass door of the studio swung open.
Sloane marched in. Her high heels clicked rapidly against the floorboards. Her face was flushed, and she was waving her tablet in the air.
"Five minutes!" Sloane shouted, her voice echoing off the mirrored walls. "Julian Finch just agreed to give you a five-minute slot tomorrow morning. Five minutes to show him you aren't just some Upper East Side socialite."
Eloise dropped the water bottle. It hit the floor with a dull thud, water spilling over the wood. She covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes burned with sudden heat. This was it. This was the only way out of the golden cage her family had built for her.
From the corner of the room, a phone started ringing.
It was a sharp, customized ringtone. The sound cut through the excitement in the room like a physical blow. Eloise lowered her hands. The smile fell from her face. Her stomach dropped.
She walked over to her bag on the bench. The screen lit up with the name Genevieve.
Eloise picked it up and pressed it to her ear. "Mom, I can't talk right now. Sloane just got me-"
"Get downstairs," her mother's voice snapped through the speaker. It was cold. Absolute. "My driver is waiting outside."
"Mom, you don't understand. Julian Finch is letting me audition. I need to prep-"
"The company is filing for bankruptcy by Friday, Eloise," Genevieve interrupted. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. "Christian Clarke flew back into the city this morning. He is the only one who can inject enough capital to save the Brandt legacy."
Eloise stopped breathing. Her fingers clamped down on the phone. Her nails dug into the plastic case. The name Christian Clarke hit her ears, and all the blood drained from her face. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
"Eloise?" Sloane stepped closer, her brow furrowing. "What's wrong? You look sick."
Eloise swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "I have to go."
She didn't wait for Sloane to argue. She grabbed her wool coat from the chair and practically ran toward the exit. Clara called out her name, but Eloise pushed through the glass door, her sneakers hitting the hallway carpet.
She took the elevator down to the street level. The cold New York wind bit into her cheeks as she stepped onto the sidewalk. A black Lincoln Navigator sat idling at the curb. The rear door pushed open from the inside.
Eloise climbed into the back seat. The door clicked shut, sealing her in the quiet, leather-scented space.
Genevieve sat next to her, wearing a pristine Chanel suit. She didn't say hello. Instead, she held out a tube of Tom Ford lipstick.
"Fix your face," Genevieve ordered. "You look like a corpse."
Eloise pushed her mother's hand away. "Why are we doing this? You know what he thinks of me. You know what happened. Going to him is just begging for humiliation."
Genevieve's jaw tightened. "Brandt stock plummeted another fifteen percent at the closing bell. The bank is taking the Hamptons house tomorrow. This townhouse is next."
The air in the car suddenly felt too thick to breathe. Eloise stared out the tinted window. The blurred lights of Manhattan sped by, but all she felt was a suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.
Genevieve reached into her designer tote and pulled out a thick financial report. She tossed it onto Eloise's lap. The pages fell open. Columns of red numbers glared back at her.
"Your father's heart is failing," Genevieve said, her voice finally cracking, losing its icy edge. "If we lose the company, we lose his premium care. A hundred years of the Brandt name, Eloise. It all ends this week if you don't make this work."
Eloise closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away aggressively. Her hands shook as she picked up the lipstick. She uncapped it and dragged the red color across her pale lips, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. She felt like an animal being prepped for the slaughterhouse.
The SUV slowed to a stop. They were parked outside a three-Michelin-star restaurant near Central Park. The doorman rushed over and pulled the door open.
Eloise stepped out onto the red carpet. Her high heels wobbled slightly on the pavement. She took a deep breath, forcing her spine straight.
She followed her mother through the heavy revolving doors. The restaurant was dim, smelling of expensive truffles and aged wine. Low jazz played from hidden speakers. The hostess led them past the crowded main dining room, straight toward the VIP private booths in the back.
The hostess pushed open a heavy oak door.
A blast of air conditioning hit Eloise's bare arms, making her shiver. The lighting in the room was terrible, just a few candles flickering on the center of a long table.
Sitting at the head of the table was a man in a custom-tailored black suit. He was slowly turning a crystal glass of whiskey between his long fingers.
At the sound of the door opening, he stopped moving. He lifted his head.
His blue eyes locked onto Eloise. They were the color of a frozen ocean, holding zero warmth.
Eloise's heart seized. It had been years, but Christian Clarke still carried that same suffocating, heavy presence. It made her want to shrink into the floor.
Genevieve instantly plastered on a bright, desperate smile. She grabbed Eloise's arm and pulled her forward.
"Christian, it is so wonderful to see you," Genevieve said, her voice dripping with fake warmth.
Christian didn't stand up. He didn't even look at Genevieve. His gaze remained dead set on Eloise's rigid face.
He slammed the whiskey glass down onto the table. The sharp clink of crystal against wood echoed in the quiet room. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a cruel, mocking smirk.
"So," Christian said, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrated in Eloise's chest. "What exactly is the Brandt heiress putting up for sale today?"
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9.7
Clarissa rushed into a crowded nightclub for one simple reason: to save her wildly drunk best friend.
But her ruthless billionaire husband, Giovanny, was watching from the VIP room. After effortlessly ruining a man just for grabbing her wrist, Giovanny punished Clarissa for breaching their public image contract with an impossible curfew.
When she inevitably arrived back at his penthouse late, he didn't just yell. He forced her to her knees by his bathtub to wash his back, making her watch an explicit, humiliating video as punishment.
A sudden family medical emergency dragged them to his parents' estate. Still in her soaked, transparent dress and his misbuttoned shirt, Giovanny's mother caught them. She joyfully assumed they had been passionately intimate.
Instead of clearing her name, Giovanny pulled Clarissa close and lied to his mother's face.
"We are working very hard on the family's future, Mother."
He locked her in the guest suite, tossed a sheer silk nightgown on the bed, and literally shattered the tablet holding their "no-contact" prenuptial agreement. He then slapped a file against the window—he had secretly bought all her father's toxic debt.
Clarissa was terrified. They were supposed to be business allies bound by a strict contract. Why was he suddenly acting like a predator determined to own her body and soul?
"Give me an heir, or your father goes to federal prison," he whispered.
Stripped of all choices, Clarissa picked up the white silk. She would surrender tonight to save her family, but as his shadow swallowed her, she made a silent vow to survive this monster, and one day, tear his empire to the ground.
8.0
Abigayle was the proud heir to the Pena Group, living a perfect life and engaged to Jeffery Sullivan.
But the morning after a charity gala, she woke up drugged in a hotel room, blinded by paparazzi cameras. Her fiancé and her best friend stood at the foot of the bed, throwing a forged pregnancy report at her face to publicly frame her for cheating.
The betrayal was only the beginning of the slaughter. Before she could even clear her name, the Sullivan family ruthlessly bankrupted her family's company overnight. Her father was rushed to the ICU with a heart attack, her brother was run off the road into a coma, and violent repo men raided her penthouse. Just as she was thrown out into the freezing rain, Jeffery's terrifying uncle, Donovan Sullivan—the very mastermind who engineered her family's ruin—stepped in. He offered to cover the life-saving medical bills, but only if she agreed to become his personal plaything.
Abigayle's blood turned to ice. She couldn't understand how the people she trusted most could plot such a vicious, coordinated destruction just to break an engagement. How dared the man who destroyed her entire family stand there playing the savior, trying to buy her body with her own stolen wealth?
Facing a $100,000 hospital deadline and abandoned by everyone she knew, she didn't shed another tear.
"I will never beg him."
Clutching her last diamond bracelet, she hailed a cab straight to the biggest pawnshop in the Diamond District. The Sullivans thought they had buried her, but her counterattack was just beginning.
7.5
Five years of a fake marriage to a billionaire.
Christi thought she was a wealthy wife-until City Hall told her the truth.
No marriage license. No legal rights. Nothing but a lie.
Her husband cheated on her for four years.
His entire family mocked her, used her, and planned to trap her with a baby.
She was ready to ruin them all.
Then a secret changed everything:
Her late parents were DARPA elites. She is the sole heir to $50 billion.
There's only one catch-marry Cornelius Gregory, Wall Street's ruthless paralyzed tycoon.
She signs the contract in an instant.
Freeze their accounts. Destroy the Rivera family.
The game is over for them.
And the queen has just arrived.
8.7
I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother.
She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars.
To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day.
Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife.
When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop—my only home and livelihood.
To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt.
My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night.
But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate.
He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline.
I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego.
The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me.
"Annulment. Now," he demanded.
But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter.
"State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."
9.5
I woke up gasping from a nightmare of flames devouring Chandler Finch's estate, my body wrapped in burning curtains as I died alone.
But my eyes opened to silk sheets in his penthouse master bedroom. He was alive beside me, his cedarwood scent real. This was my second chance—I'd been reborn.
His phone buzzed: Eugenia Stewart's "emergency." Her security detail reported her refusing meals, unstable. Chandler bolted without a glance, rushing to her side.
I signed the brutal cohabitation contract binding me to him, but Temperance had planted birth control pills in the trash—a trap to frame me. Chandler found them, exploded in jealous rage, crushing the pills to dust. "No child unless it's mine," he growled, possessive fire in his eyes.
Brett, Eugenia's lapdog, stormed in later, accusing me of manipulation. I fired back: Chandler demanded my womb for his heir. Brett paled, fled to tattle.
Then the storm hit—power outage, locked on the terrace in pouring rain, freezing as Eugenia faked an asthma attack on Chandler's line, stealing his focus again. I hung up, huddled with a stray puppy, nearly dying from hypothermia.
He'd never believed me before—Eugenia's lies always won, dooming me to isolation and fire. Why did her every whimper trump my screams? How could he be so blind?
This time, reborn weeks before the inferno, I wouldn't beg. I'd play his game, shatter Eugenia's web, and make Chandler mine—before the flames returned.
9.5
Janet woke up gasping, the phantom fire of a deadly explosion still scorching her lungs. She had been reborn three years in the past, on the exact day her mother forced her into a marriage contract with Gaylord Bradford, a paralyzed and severely disfigured billionaire.
Before she could even process her second chance, her cousin Kandy kicked the bedroom door open, flaunting a massive diamond ring. Kandy, who had also been reborn, smugly announced she had stolen Janet's Wall Street golden boy fiancé, Jax Adler.
"You're going to marry that paralyzed monster," Kandy spat, gloating that she would build a billionaire dynasty with Jax while Janet wiped drool off a rotting corpse. Kandy expected Janet to have a complete mental collapse, completely unaware that Gaylord's own medical team was secretly injecting him with lethal neurotoxins to finish him off.
But Janet only felt a cold, clinical pity. Kandy's "prophetic" memories were a polluted lie. Jax was actually sterile and dying of irreversible kidney failure, while Gaylord wasn't a dying freak—he was a dormant god whose body was merely in a high-dimensional hibernation. Why would Janet mourn losing a doomed fraud?
Leaving her delusional cousin behind, Janet packed her bags and headed straight to Gaylord's maximum-security military cell. She physically tackled his corrupt doctor, drove three bio-electric silver needles into the crippled king's spine to awaken his deadened nerves, and looked him dead in his glacial blue eye.
"Sign the marriage contract," Janet whispered. "I will make you walk again, and we will take back everything."