Taming My Silent Billionaire Contract Husband

Cassie woke up at 7:00 AM sharp.

She stretched her arms over her head, feeling a deep ache in her muscles from the bike ride, but her mind was crystal clear. It was the best sleep she had gotten since waking up in this novel.

She threw off the covers and marched into her massive walk-in closet.

Today was about securing her own power. The trust fund was the safety net, but her career was her armor.

She bypassed the pastel country-club dresses the original Cassie favored. Instead, she pulled out a sharp, tailored black blazer and matching wide-leg trousers.

She applied a clean, minimal makeup look. She slipped her feet into a pair of black Jimmy Choo stilettos.

Cassie walked out of her bedroom, her heels clicking aggressively against the hardwood floor. She headed straight for the dining room, hoping to catch Garrison for a quick morning interaction.

The dining room was empty.

Marta was standing by the buffet table, quietly polishing a silver coffee pot.

"Good morning, Marta," Cassie said, glancing around the room. "Is Garrison still asleep?"

Marta stopped polishing and looked at Cassie with a respectful, apologetic smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harvey. Mr. Harvey left at six o'clock this morning. He took the private elevator down to his waiting car. He has an early board meeting at the Wall Street headquarters."

Cassie felt a tiny, sharp prick of disappointment in her chest.

She immediately crushed the feeling. She was being ridiculous. Garrison was a billionaire CEO; his schedule didn't revolve around her little exposure therapy sessions.

"Right. Of course," Cassie said smoothly.

She sat down at the table. Marta quickly served her a slice of avocado toast and a cup of black coffee. Cassie ate fast, keeping her eyes on her phone, reviewing her notes for the day.

Ten minutes later, Cassie grabbed her Hermes Birkin bag and walked out of the apartment.

Downstairs, Thomas the doorman had already hailed a black Uber SUV for her.

Cassie climbed into the back seat. She watched the chaotic, noisy morning traffic of Manhattan blur past the window. She felt a surge of adrenaline. She wasn't just a trophy wife waiting in a silent tower anymore.

Thirty minutes later, the Uber pulled up in front of the massive glass-and-steel building of the Broadcasting Network in Midtown.

Cassie swiped her employee badge at the security turnstiles.

She walked into the sprawling newsroom. The air was electric. Phones were ringing, producers were shouting across desks, and the smell of cheap printer ink and stale coffee filled the air.

It was loud. It was messy. It was perfect.

Jenna Fletcher, a senior producer and Cassie's closest work friend, walked over holding two iced coffees from Starbucks.

Jenna handed one to Cassie and raised an eyebrow.

"Look at you," Jenna teased, looking Cassie up and down. "You look like you just won the lottery. What happened to the miserable girl from yesterday?"

Cassie took a long sip of the iced coffee. The caffeine hit her bloodstream like a jolt of electricity.

"I didn't win the lottery," Cassie smiled, her eyes flashing. "I just finally figured out how to handle my very difficult roommate."

Jenna rolled her eyes sympathetically. She assumed Cassie was just coping with her terrible marriage.

"Well, whatever works," Jenna said, shifting instantly to business mode. "Come on. The pitch meeting for the new social experiment reality show starts in ten minutes. We need to finalize the angle."

They walked to a glass-walled conference room.

During the meeting, Cassie felt a strange sense of clarity. She remembered the vague plotlines of this world from the novel. She knew what the audience wanted.

When the executive producer asked for ideas, Cassie leaned forward.

She pitched a brutal, high-stakes elimination format that completely flipped the traditional dating show tropes. She spoke with absolute confidence, using sharp, precise language.

Jenna stared at her, her jaw slightly open.

"That is... brilliant," Jenna said, slamming her hand on the table. "That's the hook. That will double our ratings in the first week."

The executive producer nodded slowly, a greedy smile spreading across his face.

By the end of the hour, Cassie was officially named the lead segment director for the pilot episode.

Cassie walked back to her desk and sat down heavily in her ergonomic chair. She let out a long, shaky breath.

Her heart was pounding, but this time, it was from pride. She was building her own empire.

She reached into her Birkin bag and pulled out her phone.

She unlocked the screen.

No notifications. No text messages. Nothing from Garrison.

Cassie stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. She pressed her lips together.

Fine, she thought. Play hard to get. Two can play that game.

She tossed the phone back into her bag and turned her attention to her computer monitor. She was done chasing him for the day.

Five miles away, in the Financial District.

Garrison sat at the head of a massive mahogany table in the Harvey Group's top-floor boardroom.

The room was filled with twenty senior executives and lawyers. A terrified VP of Acquisitions was standing at the front, pointing a laser pointer at a complex slide deck detailing a ten-billion-dollar hostile takeover.

Garrison stared at the screen.

But he wasn't seeing the profit margins.

In his mind, he kept seeing Cassie standing in his study doorway, wearing that thin silk dress, laughing about counting rats in Brooklyn.

Garrison blinked hard, trying to clear the image from his brain.

He shifted his gaze down to the table. His personal cell phone sat next to his legal pad.

The screen was black. There was no little green light flashing to indicate a new message.

Garrison's jaw clenched. A strange, tight feeling twisted in his chest. It felt like anxiety, but that made no sense.

He stared at the phone. Why hadn't she texted him? She had been so aggressive last night. She had forced her way into his space. Why was she suddenly ignoring him today?

The silence in his pocket felt louder than the VP's presentation.

Garrison's brow pulled down into a dark, terrifying scowl. The temperature in the boardroom seemed to drop ten degrees.

The VP at the front of the room saw Garrison's expression. The man's voice cracked. He started sweating through his custom suit, convinced he had just ruined the entire merger.

Garrison didn't notice the terrified executive.

He reached out, grabbed his phone, and flipped it face down on the table with a sharp smack.

He forced his eyes back to the projector screen, his chest tight with an irrational, burning frustration.

Back in Midtown, Cassie was happily eating a salad at her desk. She took a bite of crisp lettuce, her mind already moving on to her evening plans, entirely focused on her own life and her own schedule.

She checked her watch. She decided she was going to treat herself to Korean BBQ tonight. She had successfully navigated a high-stakes pitch and a difficult billionaire; she absolutely deserved it.