Taming My Silent Billionaire Contract Husband
I transmigrated into a novel as the cannon-fodder wife of Garrison Harvey, an ice-cold Wall Street billionaire.
According to the original plot, my fake best friend Adelaide was sitting across from me right now, secretly recording me complaining about my suffocating marriage.
That single audio clip breached my strict prenuptial agreement. Because of it, I was thrown out of the penthouse with absolutely nothing. I can still feel the freezing rain hitting my face and the rough concrete scraping my knees. I remember Garrison handing me the divorce papers without a single word or a second glance. And I remember Adelaide standing in the warm luxury lobby, smiling her perfectly contoured smile as she watched me freeze on the streets.
Until my last breath, my lungs burned with bitter injustice. Why did I let a fake friend manipulate me into giving up my wealth? Why did I expect romance from a mute, robotic CEO instead of just taking the money?
Blinking hard, the blurry cafe sharpened into focus. I was back.
Adelaide was leaning forward, her phone face-down with the red recording timer running, coaxing me to vent about my husband.
Instead of falling into her trap, I stretched my lips into a flawless, sickeningly sweet smile.
"Torture?" I said loudly, making sure the microphone caught every word. "I have absolutely nothing to complain about. Garrison is the most perfect husband in all of New York."
This time, I'm treating my icy contract husband like my ultimate VIP client, and that massive trust fund will be mine.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 3
Cassie stood in the living room, staring at Garrison's rigid back.
She took a slow breath, letting the air fill her lungs to calm her racing heart. She could not let this first attempt at breaking the ice fail. If she let him ignore her now, the pattern would be set forever.
She slipped off her designer jacket and tossed it casually over the back of a cream-colored sofa.
She walked forward. She made sure her footsteps were audible, not trying to sneak up on him. She stopped just two feet behind him-close enough to smell the sharp, clean scent of his cedarwood cologne, but far enough to respect his physical boundaries.
In the reflection of the massive glass window, Cassie saw Garrison's jaw tighten.
His fingers tightened around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned white. His body was physically rejecting her proximity.
Cassie cleared her throat.
"Are you exhausted from the flight?" Cassie asked, keeping her tone light and breezy. "Do you want to have dinner together tonight?"
The words dropped into the silent room like a live grenade.
Over in the open-concept kitchen, Marta, the head housekeeper, dropped a silver spoon. It clattered loudly against the granite countertop.
Marta gasped and stared at Cassie with wide, terrified eyes.
In this house, the husband and wife eating together was strictly forbidden. They ate at separate times, in separate rooms. That was the rule.
Garrison slowly turned his head.
He looked over his shoulder at Cassie. His blue eyes were wide with genuine shock. He scanned her face, his gaze piercing, trying to find the hidden agenda behind her invitation.
Cassie didn't flinch. She met his intense stare head-on.
She tilted her head slightly to the side and gave him a soft, innocent smile. She looked completely relaxed, as if asking her estranged husband to dinner was the most normal thing in the world.
Garrison stared at her for five full seconds. The silence was so heavy it made Cassie's ears ring.
Finally, Garrison gave a single, microscopic dip of his chin.
He agreed.
Cassie's stomach did a little flip of victory. Order secured.
She kept her smile perfectly composed. She turned away from him and looked toward the kitchen.
"Marta," Cassie called out smoothly. "Please set the table for two tonight."
Marta looked like she was going to faint. She blinked rapidly, then nodded her head so fast it looked painful. She immediately started rushing around the kitchen, pulling out extra plates.
Half an hour later, Cassie and Garrison sat at the massive mahogany dining table.
Seeing the two place settings at opposite ends of the vast table, Cassie paused. Then, without a word, she picked up her plate and cutlery, walked the length of the table, and placed her setting directly to the right of Garrison's chair. She sat down, completely ignoring Marta's horrified gasp from the kitchen.
The dining room was dead silent. The only sound was the faint, metallic scrape of Garrison's knife cutting into his steak.
The air in the room felt thick and oppressive. It was hard to breathe.
Garrison kept his eyes glued to his plate. His movements were precise, elegant, and completely mechanical. He had zero intention of interacting with her.
Cassie chewed on a piece of lettuce from her salad. It tasted like cardboard.
Eating like this felt like attending a funeral. She couldn't stand it. She had to break the silence.
Cassie put her fork down. She picked up her crystal wine glass and swirled the red liquid gently.
"The steak looks perfect today," Cassie said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Marta really outdid herself with the sear."
Garrison stopped chewing.
He slowly lifted his head and looked down the length of the table at her. His eyes were dark and full of warning. The look clearly said: Do not speak while eating.
Cassie pretended she didn't understand the threat.
"The weather in Manhattan was actually decent today," Cassie continued, taking a small sip of her wine. "Though the traffic on Lexington was an absolute nightmare. I ended up taking a Citi Bike home."
In the corner of the dining room, Marta stood frozen. She was gripping her white apron so tightly her knuckles were pale. She looked terrified, waiting for Garrison to explode and walk out.
Garrison put his knife and fork down on his plate.
He picked up his crisp white linen napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth. His movements were slow and deliberate.
He rested his forearms on the table and stared directly at Cassie.
Cassie felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck under his intense gaze. But she forced herself to keep going.
"How was the weather in Frankfurt?" Cassie asked, offering him a polite smile.
Garrison didn't reach into his jacket pocket. He didn't pull out the digital writing tablet he usually used to communicate with the staff.
He just sat there, staring at her like she was an alien species that had just landed on his dining table.
Cassie realized she was pushing too hard. He wasn't going to use his tablet. He was shutting down.
She quickly pivoted.
"You know what, you don't have to answer," Cassie said softly, her tone dropping into something much more gentle. "I know you're exhausted from the trip. Just eat. I'll do the talking."
Garrison's eyes flickered.
The hard, defensive line of his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He looked surprised that she was backing off, that she recognized his boundary and respected it.
He picked up his water glass and took a slow sip. He didn't look away from her.
Cassie noticed the subtle relaxation in his jaw. The boiling frog strategy was working.
For the rest of the dinner, Cassie didn't ask him any more direct questions.
Instead, she provided a steady stream of light, meaningless chatter. She talked about a funny dog she saw in Central Park. She talked about a new coffee shop opening downstairs.
She created a comfortable blanket of white noise.
To her absolute shock, Garrison didn't leave.
Usually, the second he finished his last bite of food, he would stand up and vanish into his study.
Tonight, he finished his steak. He finished his water. And he stayed in his chair.
He sat there in silence, watching her as she slowly finished her dessert.
When Cassie finally put her spoon down, Garrison stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket with one smooth motion, preparing to head to his study.
Cassie sat in her chair and watched him walk away.
A triumphant smile spread across her face. Phase one of desensitization therapy was a massive success.
You may also like
9.3
They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
8.9
Ava Kidd just wanted to escape her abusive stepmother when she got drunk at a high-end club and stumbled into the wrong hotel room.
She woke up the next morning in a luxury penthouse, lying naked next to a terrifyingly handsome man covered in her scratch marks.
Recalling rumors of the hotel's secret underground concierge, she immediately assumed she had accidentally slept with an elite male escort.
Desperate to settle the bill, she offered him her only debit card with a pathetic $1,800.
But the man, who was actually Garrison Terry, the ruthless billionaire CEO, was deeply insulted by the cheap plastic.
He trapped her against the bed, coldly demanding a half-million-dollar service fee.
When Ava frantically offered her dead mother's tarnished locket as collateral, he cruelly dismissed it as worthless junk.
Ava was humiliated, her heart pounding with absolute terror.
She didn't understand why this arrogant gigolo was acting like a deranged extortionist, demanding a fortune from a broke girl who had clearly made a mistake.
Furious and refusing to cower, she sneaked out, put on his oversized designer shirt, and aggressively ate his $800 truffle breakfast.
Having no money left, she grabbed her cheap red lipstick, wrote a defiant IOU on his expensive linen napkin, and fled the hotel.
She thought she had escaped a criminal, but upstairs, the billionaire traced her lipstick-stained name with a predatory smile.
"Ava Kidd, I will absolutely find you."
7.1
After the one-night stand with a man who refused to tell her his name, Charlotte would figure out on TV that the man she had s*x with the previous night was the heir to a billionaire empire.
At the same time, Jace Norman-the infamous playboy heir-faces a public scandal that threatens his inheritance. To protect the family empire, his ruthless father forces him into an immediate contract marriage.
And just like that Charlotte would get married to the spoiled, reckless son of the most powerful billionaire in the city.
That One night, Room 55 and Five thousand dollars she desperately needed would change her life forever.
Weeks later, Charlotte discovers she's pregnant.
But before she can process the truth, her manipulative boyfriend claims the child is his and begins blackmailing her.
As their fake marriage becomes dangerously possessive, secrets begin to spiral. An ex-boyfriend demanding money. Jace's jealous college lover is determined to destroy Charlotte. Charlotte's sister is hiding betrayal behind sweet smiles. And a billionaire father who will eliminate anyone to protect the Norman name.
When a forged DNA test claims the baby isn't Jace's, the empire turns on Charlotte.
But the truth is far darker than any of them realize.
Because someone has been orchestrating every lie from the beginning.
And when Jace finally discovers the baby is his...
He will have to choose between his father's empire-
Or the woman carrying his heir.
8.1
I was a top-tier model with a fiancé I trusted to manage every cent I earned. I thought we were building a life together until a blown fuse at the studio sent me home twenty minutes early.
The silence of the penthouse was broken by a trail of clothes: Haywood’s silk tie, then a red-soled stiletto that belonged to Brandy, the girl I had mentored like a sister. Through the bedroom door, I watched the man I loved tell his mistress that I was "yesterday's news" while they tangled in the sheets I had picked out six months ago.
I didn't scream; I just turned to leave, but the betrayal went deeper than the bedroom. When I checked my banking app, my balance was exactly $12.45. Haywood had liquidated every holding account and savings entry I owned, using a "tax strategy" he’d convinced me of to steal my entire past.
Within hours, the man who robbed me was planting stories in the press, claiming I was having a drug-fueled breakdown. He wanted me penniless, homeless, and discredited so no one would believe the truth. He even tried to force me into a "rehab" facility to silence me forever while he promoted his pregnant mistress.
I stood on a New York curb with nothing left but a desperate, insane idea born from a headline on my phone. Isham Rhodes, the most ruthless CEO in the city, needed a wife by thirty to keep his empire, and I needed a shield to survive mine.
"Mr. Rhodes, I hear you need a puppet," I said, intercepting him in the rain outside City Hall. "I don't want your love. I want a legal document that makes me untouchable."
He didn't ask for a romance; he asked for my ID. Now, with a billionaire’s black card in my pocket and a marriage certificate in my hand, I’m going back to the agency to take back everything they stole. The war has just begun.
8.3
My five-year-old daughter was turning blue in my arms, her body rigid with a 104-degree fever. I called my billionaire husband, Clifton, dozens of times as I rushed to the hospital, but he declined every single call.
While I was screaming at doctors and fighting to save our child’s life, a news alert flashed on my phone. Clifton was at the Met Gala, looking devastatingly handsome as he intimately draped his tuxedo jacket over the shoulders of his mistress, Eleanora.
The nightmare didn't end at the hospital. Clifton used a secret clause in our prenup to snatch Lily from her bed and move her to a private facility without my consent. When I finally found her, my own daughter shrank away from me in terror. "Go away, bad Mommy!" she sobbed, while the mistress fed her oatmeal and whispered that I was the one who made the doctors hurt her.
Clifton stood by and watched, telling me I was too "hysterical" to be a mother. But then I discovered the real reason they were hiding her. My husband was illegally using my late mother’s rare bone marrow samples to treat Eleanora’s secret blood disorder. Now that those samples are failing, he is taking Lily to a secluded castle in Germany to harvest our daughter’s marrow for his mistress.
I sat in the dark, watching them play happy family with the child they plan to sacrifice. I realized then that my marriage wasn't just a lie—it was a biological harvest. They think I’m just a broken trophy wife who doesn't understand the science they are using to destroy me.
They have no idea that I am "Ghost," the anonymous medical genius behind the very research they are trying to steal. As we board the private jet to Germany, I’ve stopped crying and started calculating. If they want to play with life and death, I’ll show them exactly what happens when a mother stops being a victim and starts being a predator.
9.4
For three years Sarah Miller was the invisible wife of billionaire Jason Vanguard. She cooked his meals. She cleaned his home. She hid her identity as the heiress to the world's wealthiest empire just to prove her love. Jason rewarded her sacrifice with coldness and public humiliation. On their third anniversary he bought a diamond necklace for his childhood friend while Sarah waited home alone.
That was the final straw.
Sarah signed the divorce papers and walked away with nothing but her pride. When she returned to the Miller Group as its powerful new CEO. the world gasped. Jason assumed his "poor" ex-wife would beg to come back. Instead he found himself facing a cold queen in the boardroom who didn't even remember his name.
Now Jason is desperate to win back the woman he threw away. But Sarah is no longer the silent wife who waits for him. She is the rival who can destroy him.