The Billionaire's Contract: Protecting My Secret Son
I sat in a Louis XV-style chair that cost more than my entire education, picking at the peeling leather of my thrift-store handbag. Across the mahogany table, Council Bartlett didn't even look at me; he just checked his watch, treating our marriage like a corporate merger that needed to be finalized before the market closed.
To the world, I was a gold digger hitting the lottery, but I was actually a woman with a secret I guarded more fiercely than a state secret. I had one week to show a social worker a stable home with a husband, or they would take my four-year-old nephew, Leo, and put him back into the system forever.
The ink was barely dry on our marriage certificate when my world started to fracture. My aunt called, screaming for help as her drunk husband broke into her house, forcing me to leave my new "billionaire husband" in my cramped Queens apartment to handle a domestic nightmare with a baseball bat and pepper spray. When I returned, smelling of cheap whiskey and sweat, I found Council’s mother—the ice-cold Hortense—waiting on a video call. She didn't just want a business arrangement; she wanted an heir, and she’d already sent a box of fertility drugs to my kitchen counter to prove it.
I was living a lie in a tenement building, caught between a man who treated me like a line item and a social worker who viewed my life as a "phantom." Council was sleeping on my lumpy sofa, his expensive legs dangling off the end, while I locked the bedroom door every night. I didn't want his money; I just wanted my boy. But how could I survive a war where the enemy lived in a penthouse and the casualties were measured in custody hearings?
Just as Council saw me holding Leo and the "Ice King" finally began to thaw, his phone buzzed with an anonymous threat.
"I know you're faking it. Pay me 100k or the press gets the story."
The blackmailer was someone inside the Bartlett estate, and the "shield" I had built for Leo was about to become our cage.
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Chapter 6
Addie stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. She scrubbed her skin raw, trying to wash away the smell of Rick's whiskey and the fear that still clung to her.
When she stepped out, she was wearing her most conservative pajamas-cotton, buttoned to the neck, with little clouds printed on them.
She walked into the living room.
Council was standing by the window, looking out at the brick wall of the next building. He turned when he heard her.
He looked at the bedroom door. Then at her.
"Where do I sleep?" he asked.
Addie pointed to the sofa.
Council looked at it. Then he looked back at her. His expression was one of genuine disbelief.
"You expect Council Bartlett to sleep on... that?"
"The bedroom is for Leo and me," Addie said. She crossed her arms. "The contract didn't specify sleeping arrangements. It just said 'cohabitation'."
"This is ridiculous," Council said. "I'll take the bed. You take the sofa."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"Leo wakes up three times a night. Unless you want to change diapers and sing 'Baby Shark' at 2 AM, you sleep out here."
Council opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. The thought of a crying child was more terrifying than the lumpy sofa.
"Fine," he snapped. "Goodnight."
Addie handed him a thin blanket. "Goodnight, Mr. Bartlett."
She went into the bedroom and locked the door. Click.
Council heard the lock turn. It annoyed him. Did she think he was going to attack her? Him? He had models throwing themselves at him. While she was locked away, he took the opportunity for a quick, cursory search. He scanned the mail on the counter-bills, junk mail, a letter from Leo's preschool. He glanced at the titles of the few books on the shelf. Nothing. No hidden bank statements, no secret letters. For now, her story held up.
He sat on the sofa. Squeak.
He lay down. His feet hung off the end by a good six inches. He tried to curl up. A metal spring dug into his hip.
He groaned.
The apartment was noisy. A siren wailed outside. The couple upstairs was arguing about money. The refrigerator hummed like a dying engine.
Council stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain shaped like a map of Florida.
He closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep. His back was already aching.
Hours passed.
At 2:00 AM, the bedroom door creaked open.
Council feigned sleep. He watched through his eyelashes.
Addie tiptoed out. She was holding a glass. She went to the kitchen sink and filled it with tap water.
She turned around and saw him.
The moonlight filtered through the dirty window. It illuminated Council, curled into a ball, clutching the thin blanket, his expensive legs dangling in the air. He looked ridiculous. He looked... human.
Addie felt a twinge of guilt. Just a small one.
She took a step toward him.
Council's eyes snapped open.
"Enjoying the view?" he rasped.
Addie jumped. Water sloshed over the rim of her glass onto the floor.
"I... I was getting water," she stammered.
Council sat up. He rubbed his neck. He looked miserable.
"This is torture," he said. "This is a violation of the Geneva Convention."
"It's my life," Addie said softly. "If you don't like it, you can leave. You can go back to your penthouse and tell your mother you failed."
It was a challenge.
Council narrowed his eyes. The moonlight caught the sharp angle of his jaw.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You want me to breach the contract."
"I want to sleep," Addie said. "And I want you to stop complaining."
"I never complain," Council lied. "I negotiate."
"Not tonight, Council."
She used his first name. It hung in the air between them.
She turned and went back to the bedroom.
Council lay back down. He shifted, trying to find a spot that didn't hurt.
She's tough, he thought. I'll give her that.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he fell asleep without checking the stock market.
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