Taming My Silent Billionaire Contract Husband

Cassie walked briskly down Lexington Avenue. She didn't open her Uber app. Instead, she spotted a row of blue Citi Bikes parked near the corner. She scanned the QR code with her phone and pulled a heavy bike from the dock. She needed to feel the wind. She needed physical movement to burn off the residual adrenaline still coursing through her veins. As Cassie pedaled into the heavy New York traffic, a black Lincoln Navigator pulled up to the curb just a few yards behind her. Inside the SUV, Adelaide sat behind the tinted glass. She glared at Cassie's retreating figure. Adelaide let out a harsh, mocking scoff. "Look at her. Riding a public bike like a peasant." Adelaide leaned forward and tapped the glass partition. "Drive past her. And honk." The heavy SUV accelerated. As it passed Cassie, the driver laid on the horn. The blaring sound was deafening, designed to startle and humiliate. Cassie didn't even flinch. She didn't turn her head. She simply shifted her weight, smoothly avoiding a puddle near the curb, and kept pedaling. She treated the million-dollar SUV like it was nothing more than a noisy garbage truck. Cassie rode toward the edge of Central Park. Her leg muscles burned with the effort, but it felt good. It felt like freedom. She was finally in control of her own body, her own choices. As she pedaled, her mind raced. She mentally reviewed every clause of the prenuptial agreement she remembered from the novel. No scandals. No infidelity. No discussing family matters with the press. As long as she played the perfect, quiet wife, the massive trust fund would unlock in two years. That was the goal. Financial freedom. Cassie arrived at the luxury residential building on Central Park South. She locked the Citi Bike into the rack and took a moment to smooth down her wind-blown hair. She adjusted her designer jacket, slipping back into her role. The uniformed doorman saw her approaching. He immediately pulled open the heavy brass doors. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Harvey," the doorman said, offering a flawless, professional smile. "Good afternoon, Thomas," Cassie replied, giving him a genuine smile back. She walked across the expansive marble lobby, heading straight for the private elevators at the back. She pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. The elevator doors slid open silently. She stepped inside, and the car shot upward, taking her directly to the penthouse. The elevator doors opened directly into the foyer. Cassie stepped off the elevator and onto the thick Persian rug. Instantly, she was swallowed by the absolute, suffocating silence of the apartment. It was always like this. The penthouse felt less like a home and more like a high-end museum where talking was strictly forbidden. Cassie slipped off her heels and slid her feet into soft slippers. Assuming the house was empty except for the staff, she walked down the long hallway, her own breathing loud in her ears. She silently recited the names of every designer in her closet, a ridiculous mantra to remind herself what she was fighting for. She walked down the long hallway. As she passed the massive walk-in closet near the entrance, she froze. The closet door was slightly ajar. Hanging on the rack, standing out against her colorful coats, was a dark grey Brunello Cucinelli men's cashmere overcoat. Cassie's humming stopped instantly. Her throat closed up. Her eyes darted down to the floor. Sitting perfectly aligned on the mat was a pair of custom Italian leather dress shoes. Her brain went into overdrive. According to the novel's timeline, Garrison was supposed to be in Frankfurt right now. He was attending a European Mergers and Acquisitions summit. He wasn't supposed to be back in New York for another three days. Cassie's stomach dropped. She wasn't ready for this. She took a slow, quiet step forward. She peeked around the corner into the massive, double-height living room. There he was. Garrison Harvey stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows. His back was to her. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His posture was rigid, his broad shoulders tense. He looked like a flawless, ice-cold statue carved from marble. He held a crystal glass of whiskey in his right hand. He was staring out at the sprawling green expanse of Central Park, completely motionless. Cassie swallowed hard. Her mouth was suddenly incredibly dry. This was the final boss. The man who never spoke. The man who could ruin her life with a single signature. Panic flared in her chest. She decided to retreat. She would sneak back down the hall, hide in her bedroom, and pretend she hadn't seen him. As she took a step backward, she slightly misjudged the distance to the pedestal. She lost her balance. Her arms flailed out as she stumbled backward, her shoulder slamming into a tall bone-china vase resting on a marble stand. Cassie gasped. She threw her arms around the heavy vase, hugging it to her chest to stop it from crashing to the floor. She saved the vase. But as she braced herself, the soft rubber sole of her slipper dragged hard against the polished floor, letting out a short, sharp squeak that sliced through the oppressive silence. By the window, Garrison's shoulders stiffened. Very slowly, he turned around. His deep, icy blue eyes locked onto Cassie. He was standing forty feet away, but his gaze hit her with the physical force of a tidal wave. There was no anger in his eyes. There was no surprise. There was just a vast, freezing emptiness that made the hair on Cassie's arms stand up. Cassie stood frozen, still hugging the vase. Her mind went blank. She frantically searched her memory for how the original Cassie would handle this. The original Cassie would have run away or started crying. Cassie took a sharp breath. She forced her lungs to expand. VIP client mode, she reminded herself. He is just a very difficult client. Cassie carefully set the vase back on its pedestal. She stood up straight and forced her facial muscles into the brightest, most welcoming smile she could manage. She took a deliberate step forward, breaking the unspoken rule of keeping her distance. "Welcome home, Garrison," Cassie said. Her voice was clear and cheerful, ringing out in the quiet room. Garrison's brow furrowed. It was a microscopic movement, but Cassie caught it. He stared at her. He looked deeply confused by her sudden warmth. He looked at her smile like it was a complex math problem he didn't want to solve. He didn't nod. He didn't reach for his digital tablet to write a response. He just stared at her for three agonizingly long seconds. Then, he turned his back to her and went back to looking out the window. He dismissed her completely. He treated her like she was nothing but thin air. Cassie stood in the middle of the living room. Her smile slowly faded. But instead of feeling humiliated, she felt a spark of irritation ignite in her chest. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Fine, she thought, glaring at his broad back. Be an iceberg. I'm going to melt you down until there's nothing left.