One Year with the Billionaire.
Pastry chef Olivia Chen is drowning in debt when billionaire Ashton Blackwell makes her an offer: marry him for one year to secure his inheritance, and he'll pay off everything plus give her a million dollars. No love, just business.
But fake vows become real feelings, and when Ashton's vengeful ex returns with devastating family secrets, Olivia must choose between protecting the man she's fallen for and exposing the truth that could destroy him.
In a world of lies and betrayal, their contract marriage might be the only real thing worth fighting for.
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Chapter 2
Ashton's Pov
The woman sitting in my car smelled like vanilla and desperation. I'd built a fortune reading people, and Olivia Chen was drowning. The worn soles on her shoes, the way her hands trembled slightly, the dark circles under her eyes-she was one catastrophe away from complete collapse.
Perfect.
"Where do you live?" I pulled out of the parking garage.
"Oakland. Near Lake Merritt." She stared out the window, her reflection ghostly against the city lights. "You don't have to do this. I can take BART."
"At eleven at night? No." I merged onto the Bay Bridge. "Besides, I meant what I said. We need to talk."
"About your grandmother's insane comment?"
"About why she made it." I kept my eyes on the road. This conversation required precision. "I'm turning thirty-five in six months. My grandfather's will stipulates that I must be married by then to inherit full control of Blackwell Industries. If I'm not, the company goes to the board of directors."
She turned to face me. "That's medieval."
"That's my grandfather. He believed marriage created stability, commitment, all the qualities that make a good leader." I took the Oakland exit. "He was wrong, but his will is ironclad."
"So get married. I'm sure there's a line of women who'd love to be Mrs. Blackwell."
"Women who want the name, the money, the status. Not me." The bitterness surprised me. I usually kept that locked down. "I tried love once. It taught me that people are transactional. Everyone wants something."
"Wow. Cynical much?"
"Realistic." I glanced at her. "You think I'm wrong?"
She was quiet for a moment. "I think you're hurt. There's a difference."
Her honesty startled me. Most people told me what I wanted to hear. "Turn left here?"
"Yeah. The blue house." She pointed to a small, tired-looking Victorian that had seen better decades. "Thanks for the ride."
"Wait." I parked. "I wasn't finished. My grandmother meant what she said. She thinks you'd make a suitable wife."
Olivia laughed, sharp and humorless. "She saw me for five minutes while I was yelling at you."
"Exactly. You didn't simper or flirt or calculate. You treated me like a person, not a bank account." I turned to face her fully. "That's rare in my world."
"I still don't understand what this has to do with me."
"I need a wife for one year. Just long enough to secure the inheritance and satisfy the board. After that, we divorce quietly, you get a settlement, everyone moves on." I watched her face. "In exchange, I'll pay off your debts and give you enough capital to start your bakery. No strings, no tricks. Just a business arrangement."
Her mouth fell open. "You're insane."
"I'm practical. You need money. I need a wife. It's simple economics."
"It's fraud."
"It's a contract." I pulled out my phone, opening my notes. "I had my legal team draft a preliminary agreement on the drive here. Marriage for twelve months, public appearances as needed, separate bedrooms, complete discretion. You'll receive debt forgiveness up to five hundred thousand dollars plus two million upon completion of the contract term."
"You had this drafted while driving me home?" She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "That's psychotic."
"That's efficient. I know what I want, and I go after it." I scrolled through the document. "You'd live in my penthouse, attend events, play the role of devoted wife. In return, you'd have financial security for the first time in years."
"I don't even know you."
"You'd know me better than most. We'd spend significant time together." I met her eyes. "Look, I've done my research. You owe three hundred thousand in medical debt from your mother's cancer treatment. Your catering business is barely breaking even. You work three jobs and still can't make minimum payments. The bank is threatening foreclosure on this house. Am I wrong?"
Her face went pale. "How do you know that?"
"I know everything about my business partners. And that's what you'd be. A partner in a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"This is crazy." But she didn't get out of the car.
"Crazy is working yourself to death for a debt you'll never escape. Crazy is sacrificing your dreams because the healthcare system failed your family." I softened my voice slightly. "I'm offering you a way out. One year of your life for complete financial freedom."
"Why me? You could hire an actress, find someone from your world who understands the rules."
"Because my grandmother likes you, and her approval matters to the board. Because you're genuine, which will sell the story. And because you're desperate enough to consider this but principled enough to do it right." I locked my phone. "Think about it. You have seventy-two hours."
"Why seventy-two hours?"
"Because that's when the bank forecloses on this house according to public records. Your brother Marcus still lives here while finishing his senior year at Berkeley. Where will he go when you lose it?"
Her hands clenched into fists. "You really are ruthless."
"I'm honest. That's more than most people offering you money." I reached across and opened her door. "My card is in your pocket. I put it there when you weren't looking. Call me when you've made your decision."
She patted her jacket and found the card, her expression somewhere between impressed and horrified. "You pickpocketed me?"
"I acquired your contact information creatively. There's a difference." I almost smiled. "Goodnight, Olivia."
She climbed out, then leaned back in. "What if I say no?"
"Then I find someone else, you lose your house, and we both wonder what might have been." I held her gaze. "But you won't say no. Because underneath that pride and those principles, you're a survivor. And survivors do what they must."
"You don't know me."
"I know you worked three jobs rather than let your brother drop out of school. I know you're still making your mother's recipes even though it must hurt. I know you kicked my car tire when you thought no one was watching." I started the engine. "I know exactly who you are, Olivia Chen. The question is whether you know yourself well enough to make the smart choice."
She slammed the door and walked toward her house without looking back.
I waited until she was inside before driving away. My phone rang immediately.
"Well?" Eleanor's voice was smug.
"She'll call."
"You sound certain."
"Because I am. She's perfect." I merged back onto the freeway. "She'll fight it, rationalize it, maybe even call me names. But in the end, she'll sign."
"And if you're wrong?"
I thought about the fire in Olivia's eyes when she'd called me out in front of my investors. The way she'd stood her ground even when it cost her everything.
"I'm not wrong. She just doesn't know it yet.
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7.1
Belle Triston, a pediatrician with a brilliant career faked her relationship with a billionaire. She didn't like Gabrielle Rolland's arrogance at all, but she had to become a surrogate mother to give birth to Gabrielle's offspring in order to fulfill her mother's last wishes before she died.
Their relationship was complicated because Gabrielle was married to a famous actress, Fleura Delacour. Belle and Gabrielle made an agreement that their relationship would only be professional. But unexpected things happened. Fleura's affair with her co-star left a deep wound in Gabrielle's heart. When his heart was wounded and bleeding, Belle was there to heal his wounds. Their relationship was no longer as simple as they thought when hearts started playing in it. When Gabrielle realized that he loved Belle and wanted to be with her, Fleura came and begged him for a second chance. Gabrielle had to choose, while his heart couldn't choose. Belle knew Fleura's biggest secret and she wouldn't just keep quiet. She would fight for her baby and her love for Gabrielle.
7.2
I am a resident surgeon, secretly married to Dr. Barrett Walters, the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery. It was a transactional marriage; he paid my mother's mounting medical bills, and I was his secret, obedient wife in the dark.
But at the hospital, he was a cold-blooded tyrant who deliberately made my life a living hell. During a major medical conference, he viciously tore apart my successful surgical repair, looking me dead in the eye as he called me incompetent in front of all my colleagues.
The humiliation didn't stop there. With his tacit approval, the senior residents bullied me, assigning me every brutal night shift. When his beautiful, wealthy heiress "girlfriend" visited the ward, he publicly mocked my background to make her smile.
"Some people get in through the back door. They're not fit for the front lines."
Even when I was forced to work as a secret banquet waitress to cover the medical copays he ignored, he found me, ruined the job out of pure possessive jealousy, and then fined my meager resident salary the very next morning just to show his absolute control.
I endured his punishing kisses and cruel rebukes, sacrificing my dignity just to keep my mother alive. But I couldn't understand why he had to destroy every shred of my peace. If he wanted the perfect heiress, why did he refuse to let me go?
Staring at his cold, controlling eyes in the stairwell, my exhaustion finally overpowered my fear. I was done being his victim, and it was time to tear up this contract.
7.5
To save my dying father, I made a deal with the billionaire Christopher Kirkland. I became his secret, a bird in a gilded cage he paraded around when it suited him.
But I was just a pawn in his twisted game to win back his ex-girlfriend.
He proved it when he publicly outbid me for my own mother's heirloom necklace, only to gift it to her right in front of me.
Then he threw me out of the penthouse. My few cherished belongings-my books, a photo of my parents-were tossed out.
"Chaney doesn't like clutter," he told me, erasing my entire existence for her.
A text on his phone confirmed the brutal truth.
"Our little game is working perfectly," she'd written. "She's completely fooled."
Years later, after she betrayed him and his empire nearly crumbled, he came back begging. He thought he could buy my forgiveness. He was about to learn that my freedom had no price tag.
7.1
I waited a year for my mate, Alpha Justin, to return from the border war. While he was gone, I used my ten-million-dollar dowry to keep his crumbling pack afloat and buy life-saving elixirs for his mother.
But when he finally walked through the door, he reeked of another female's scent.
He brought back Gamma Brenna and a Royal Decree, coldly announcing she would be his "Co-Luna."
His family, who survived entirely on my wealth, immediately turned on me. They mocked me for being a wolfless orphan since my father and brothers were slaughtered defending the kingdom.
"You're just a fragile woman who belongs hidden away," Justin told me.
They demanded I accept this humiliation, step aside for his new warrior mate, and continue funding their luxurious lifestyle. Justin even arrogantly offered to sleep with me just once to give me a pup as a "consolation prize," declaring his heart and body belonged entirely to Brenna.
They thought my ruined pack meant I had no backing. They thought I was a pathetic victim who would cling to their scraps and accept a polluted mate-bond just to avoid being cast out into the woods as a Rogue.
They had no idea I had already visited the Alpha King.
I wasn't going to cry, and I certainly wasn't going to share my mate. I packed up every last cent of my ten million dollars, secured a Royal Severance Decree, and prepared to watch their arrogant pack starve to death.
9.7
Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.
9.2
I spent three years as the perfect, silent wife to billionaire Ezequiel Sanford, enduring a marriage colder than the marble floors of our Manhattan mansion. The day I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test was the same day my world burned down.
I found Ezequiel at the hospital, but he wasn't there for me. He was cradling his ex-girlfriend, Alexa, with a gentleness he had never shown me, while my own father was being rushed into the ICU after a suicide attempt triggered by our family's bankruptcy.
Instead of comfort, Ezequiel handed me divorce papers. He had checked a box that read "No Issue of Marriage," effectively erasing any claim I had to his legacy. He blackmailed me, promising to save my father’s company only if I signed away every cent of alimony and walked away with nothing.
When Alexa called him claiming an emergency, Ezequiel shoved me aside so violently I hit the sharp corner of his glass desk. As I collapsed to the floor, clutching my abdomen in sudden, searing pain, he didn't even look back.
"Stop acting," he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. "It’s pathetic. I will never love you, Claudia, no matter how many times you fall down."
He walked out to be with her, leaving me bleeding on his office carpet with the secret he had spent years trying to avoid. He thought I was a gold-digger faking a crisis, never realizing I was actually carrying the Sanford heir he claimed didn't exist.
Now, I’m hiding in a private clinic while my husband’s security team scours the city for me. My childhood friend just handed me a one-way ticket to Paris and a chance to restart the medical career I sacrificed for a lie.
The money just hit my father's account. I’m signing the papers and disappearing. By the time Ezequiel realizes what he’s lost, I’ll be a world away, and he’ll never even know my child’s name.