Taming My Silent Billionaire Contract Husband

Cassie was sitting at her desk at the Broadcasting Network, packing her laptop into her Birkin bag. It was 5:30 PM. Her phone screen lit up on the desk. She glanced down and saw Adelaide's name flash across the screen. Cassie unlocked the phone and read the long text message. She stared at the words: ...he wasn't alone. There was a blonde woman with him... you need to come down here... Cassie let out a loud, genuine snort of laughter. The manipulation was so incredibly lazy. It was insulting to her intelligence. She remembered this exact plot point from the novel. The original Cassie had received this text, panicked, and taken a cab straight to Wall Street. She had screamed at Morgan, tried to kick down Garrison's door, and ended up being dragged out by security in front of the entire board of directors. It was the incident that sealed her fate as a hysterical liability. Cassie didn't feel a single ounce of jealousy or panic. She tapped the screen. She opened Adelaide's contact profile. She scrolled down to the bottom of the screen. Her thumb hovered over the red text that read: Block this Caller. Cassie pressed it hard. A confirmation box popped up. She hit Block again. Just like that, Adelaide Collier was erased from her digital existence. Cassie dropped the phone into her bag. A wave of immense satisfaction washed over her. It felt like she had just scraped a piece of dog crap off the bottom of her expensive shoe. Her stomach let out a loud rumble. Cassie smiled. She was starving, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She walked out of the office building and stepped onto the crowded Manhattan sidewalk. The evening air was cool. She pulled her phone back out. She opened her text thread with Garrison. She didn't overthink it. She didn't craft a careful, strategic message. She just typed: I'm heading to 32nd Street for K-BBQ. It's loud and messy and smells like garlic. Do you want to come? She hit send. She didn't stare at the screen waiting for the typing bubbles to appear. She shoved the phone in her pocket and walked down the stairs into the subway station. Meanwhile, back at the Harvey Group headquarters. Garrison was sitting in a claustrophobic, glass-walled conference room. He was surrounded by four aggressive corporate lawyers who were arguing loudly over the liability clauses of the merger. The noise was giving him a headache. Inside his suit jacket, his personal cell phone vibrated against his ribs. Garrison's posture stiffened. He kept his face completely blank. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out, keeping it hidden under the edge of the conference table. He tapped the screen. Cassie's message popped up.loud and messy and smells like garlic... Garrison stared at the words. His brain immediately rejected the idea. A crowded, noisy restaurant filled with smoke and unpredictable strangers was his literal definition of hell. It was a sensory nightmare. But as he read the words again, a strange, tight feeling gripped his chest. He pictured Cassie sitting in a loud restaurant, laughing, eating, completely unbothered by the chaos. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to be sitting across from her. Garrison stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds. The lead lawyer noticed Garrison's distraction and slowly stopped talking, looking nervous. Garrison closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Logic won. He couldn't do it. He couldn't handle the environment. He lifted the phone and handed it backward over his shoulder to Morgan, who was standing at attention behind his chair. Garrison tapped the screen twice with his index finger. Morgan took the phone. He read the text. He understood the silent command perfectly. Morgan pulled out his own encrypted work phone and typed a reply to Cassie. Mr. Harvey is in emergency negotiations regarding the Wall Street merger and will be unavailable for the remainder of the evening. Garrison watched Morgan send the text. As soon as the message went through, a dark, heavy wave of irritation crashed over Garrison. He felt angry. He wasn't angry at Cassie for asking. He was angry at himself for saying no. He hated the invisible cage his trauma kept him locked inside. Garrison turned his freezing glare back to the lawyers. He rapped his knuckles sharply against the glass table. The sharp sound made the lawyers jump. Garrison pointed a long finger at the contract, his eyes demanding they finish this immediately. Down in Koreatown, Cassie walked out of the 34th Street Herald Square subway station. Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and read Morgan's sterile, corporate reply. Cassie shrugged. She didn't feel a sting of rejection. Classic CEO behavior, she thought. More meat for me. She walked down 32nd Street, letting the neon lights and the incredible smell of roasting meat wash over her. She pushed open the door to a packed, incredibly loud Korean BBQ restaurant. K-pop music was blasting from the speakers. The air was thick with smoke and the sound of sizzling fat. It was the exact opposite of the penthouse. Cassie got a small table by the window. She took off her blazer, rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse, and ordered the premium Wagyu beef set and a bottle of ice-cold Jinro Soju. When the waiter brought the meat and started grilling it on the table, the sizzling sound filled Cassie's ears. She poured herself a shot of Soju. She raised the small glass toward the window, looking out at the busy New York street. "To survival," Cassie whispered to herself. She tossed the shot back. The alcohol burned a hot, clean path down her throat. She picked up her chopsticks, feeling more alive than she had in days.