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 2
Eloise flinched. She took a physical step backward, her heels scraping against the carpet. She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that she felt the skin break.
Genevieve laughed. It was a high, nervous sound that grated on Eloise's ears. She yanked Eloise's arm, forcing her to sit in the chair at the far end of the long table.
"Oh, Christian, you always had such a sharp sense of humor," Genevieve said, taking the seat next to Eloise.
A waiter silently appeared, placing plates of caviar in front of them. No one picked up a fork. The only sound in the room was the faint clinking of silverware from the main dining area outside.
Genevieve leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I was just telling Eloise the other day about your time at the boarding school in Connecticut. We always knew you were destined for great things. The Brandt family always supported you."
Christian leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. He looked at Genevieve the way a buyer inspects a defective product.
"Your total debt is four hundred and twenty million, Genevieve," Christian said. His voice was flat. He didn't blink. "Two hundred million is due to the creditors by Friday."
Genevieve's mouth snapped shut. The fake smile melted off her face, leaving her looking old and terrified. The exact numbers stripped away every ounce of her upper-class dignity.
Eloise felt a hot rush of humiliation burn her cheeks. She couldn't take it anymore. She snapped her head up and glared straight into Christian's cold blue eyes.
"You could at least show some basic respect," Eloise said. Her voice shook, but she forced the words out.
Christian shifted his weight. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The physical distance between them seemed to vanish. His eyes darkened.
"Respect?" Christian repeated softly. "People who come begging for my money don't get to demand respect, Eloise."
The words hit her chest like a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.
Under the table, Genevieve's hand shot out. Her fingers pinched the soft flesh of Eloise's thigh, twisting hard. It was a silent, violent warning to shut up.
Christian reached into his jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of legal documents and tossed them onto the center of the table. He pushed them. The heavy paper slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of Eloise.
"That is the acquisition agreement," Christian stated. "I am stripping Brandt Group of all its core assets. The real estate, the tech patents, the shipping lines. You get to keep the name and an empty shell. I assume the debt."
Genevieve let out a choked gasp. She jumped up from her chair. "That is robbery! You are destroying a hundred years of our family's work!"
"Business is business," Christian replied, his face completely blank. "If you don't sign it tonight, the Wall Street Journal will publish your bankruptcy filing at 6:00 AM tomorrow."
Eloise stared at the thick white paper. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots. He wasn't here to negotiate. He wasn't here to help. He was here to watch them bleed. He was here for revenge.
She stood up. She pushed her chair back so hard the wooden legs screeched against the floor.
"We are done here," Eloise said, her voice hollow.
Genevieve grabbed Eloise's wrist. Her grip was frantic. "Sit down! Eloise, please!" Tears spilled over Genevieve's eyelashes, ruining her expensive makeup. She was crying in front of him.
Eloise yanked her arm free. Watching her mother beg broke the last piece of her pride. She couldn't breathe in this room anymore.
Christian sat in the shadows at the end of the table. He watched Eloise's red-rimmed eyes. His hand gripped his empty whiskey glass so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.
Eloise grabbed her clutch from the table. She looked at Christian with pure hatred. "Even if we end up on the street, we will never sell to a cold-blooded monster like you."
She turned around and walked toward the heavy oak door. Her heels sank into the carpet. Every step felt like walking through wet cement, but she didn't stop.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold brass door handle.
"Julian Finch," Christian's low voice echoed behind her.
Eloise froze. Her hand cramped around the brass handle.
"I heard you've been looking at the script for The Mist," Christian continued, his tone dangerously calm. "Campbell Kirk's project. Very interesting."
Eloise turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wide with shock. She couldn't believe he was tracking her private reading materials.
Christian stood up. His massive frame blocked out the dim light of the room. He walked slowly around the long table, closing the distance between them.
He stopped inches from her. Eloise had to tilt her head back to look at him. The smell of his cologne-cedar and something sharp-filled her nose.
"One word from me," Christian whispered, looking down at her. "Just one word, and you won't get any decent script in Hollywood again. You won't even get a callback for a commercial."
Eloise's blood turned to ice. Her entire body went rigid. She stared at the man standing over her, feeling a deep, paralyzing terror. He wasn't just taking her family's money. He was taking her only escape.
Christian slowly lifted his hand. Eloise flinched, but he just reached out and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her skin. They were warm, but the gesture made her stomach churn with fear.
"Go home, Eloise," he said softly. His eyes were sharp like broken glass. "Think about it."
Eloise shoved the door open. She practically ran into the hallway, leaving the private room behind. The moment she hit the main dining area, the tears she had been fighting finally spilled over her cheeks.
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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."