The Billionaire's Ruthless Contract Bride

The morning sun cut through the curtains like a blade, too bright for the secret I was holding inside me. "Why are you up so early?" his voice drifted from the bed, low and rough from sleep. I faked a smile over my shoulder. "Couldn't sleep." He reached for me but stopped halfway, the way he always did now, torn between warmth and ice. "Come back. It's Sunday." "I have things to do," I said quickly, pulling the robe tighter around me to hide the small paper bag tucked inside its pocket. "What things?" His eyes narrowed. "You don't usually leave without telling me." "I just...need fresh air." He swung his legs off the bed, the muscles in his shoulders tense. "You're hiding something." I cringed at how sharp his voice had become overnight. "No. I just need space." "Space from me?" He stood now, bare feet silent on the carpet. "One minute you're soft in my arms, the next you're a ghost." My throat closed. "Maybe you should ask yourself why." He stared at me, jaw tight. "Because I'm trying. That's why. But you" His voice cracked, then turned cold again. "You don't let me in." I couldn't answer. The pregnancy test from last night felt like a weight between us, heavier than all his lies. He reached for my wrist, gently this time. "Stay. Please." The plea almost undid me. Almost. "I have errands," I whispered, pulling free. "Errands?" His laugh was bitter. "What errands does my wife have that she can't share?" "I said it's nothing." He caught my eyes. "Nothing doesn't make your hands shake." I slipped past him and grabbed my bag. "I'll be back later." The elevator doors closed before he could follow. My chest hurt like I'd run a mile. The clinic's waiting room smelled of bleach and whispers. I sat in a corner chair, hands folded over my stomach as if I could already feel the two heartbeats inside. A nurse called my name. My legs felt heavy as I followed her, thinking about his eyes, the way they sometimes turned soft when he thought I wasn't looking. Would that softness survive this truth? Or would it harden forever? After the meeting, I stepped back into the cold air. My phone buzzed. A word from him: Where are you? Another: Come back. We need to talk. I didn't write. When I returned, he was waiting in the living room, jacket still on, phone clutched like a weapon. "You were at a clinic." My heart lurched. "You tracked me?" "You left me no choice." His voice was low but dangerous. "Are you sick?" "No." "Then what?" "Nothing." He stepped closer. "Don't lie to me." "I'm not lying." My hands shook. "I just needed to see a doctor." "For what?" His eyes searched mine. "Aria..." I turned away. "Drop it." His hand slammed against the wall beside my head, not touching me but caging me in. "I won't drop it. I can't protect you if I don't know what's happening." I spun to face him, tears stinging. "You don't want to protect me. You want to own me." For a heartbeat, pain flickered in his face. "Maybe I want both." "Then you're no better than the people who destroyed my family," I whispered. He froze. "Don't say that." "Why not? It's true." His voice turned hoarse. "You think I'm a monster because of what they printed about your father, but you don't know what it was like for me. My mother left me with a man who broke everything he touched. I swore I'd never be that weak again." I blinked. "Why are you telling me this now?" "Because you keep looking at me like I'm some stranger who dragged you into a cage. I'm not. I'm" He broke off, hands clenched. "Forget it." "Say it," I whispered. "What are you?" "I'm the man who will burn the world before he loses you." Silence filled the room. His statement was a promise and a threat all at once. My heart pounded with fear and a strange ache that felt like desire. "I don't want the world burned," I said softly. "I just want to breathe." He took a step back, eyes closed. "Then breathe. Just don't shut me out." I looked away. "Some secrets protect more than they destroy." His eyes snapped open. "What secret?" "I said nothing." He grabbed his phone and walked to the window, anxiety rolling off him like storm clouds. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But now someone is moving against us. I got a call this morning." My breath caught. "Who?" He didn't answer right away. "A friend who still owes me. He said someone close is giving information to the press. And if they know about your father, they know more." I tried to keep my voice steady. "More like what?" "Like you," he said quietly. "Like us." Cold crept up my spine. "What are you going to do?" "Find them. Crush them." His tone was flat, deadly. I wrapped my arms around myself. "That's not protection. That's war." "Sometimes they're the same." He turned back to me, eyes blazing. "I'll keep you safe. Even from yourself." My phone buzzed on the table, startling us both. A new message from Cassandra: He needs to know. Your father is back in town and with a rival firm. I felt the blood drain from my face. He saw it instantly. "Who is it?" "No one," I said too quickly. He crossed the room in two steps. "Show me." I held the phone behind me. "It's private." "Nothing about you is private anymore," he growled. "Maybe some things should be." "What's wrong?" His voice was low now, almost gentle. "Tell me." I shook my head. "I can't." His eyes darkened. "Can't, or won't?" My throat closed. "If I tell you, everything will explode." He stepped closer, so close I could feel his breath. "Then tell me and let it explode." The phone buzzed again in my hand, Cassandra's name flashing. He already suspects. Don't wait. I stared up at him, my heart beating with two rhythms, the one I'd always known and the new one growing inside me. "What if I told you my father isn't gone?" I whispered. His eyes sharpened. "What did you say?" I backed away, clutching the phone. "Nothing. Forget it." He caught my arm, not violently but with a grip that said he was done with lies. "Your father. What about him?" I swallowed hard. "He's back. And he's not alone." "Who is he with?" His voice was nice now. I looked at the phone again, Cassandra's last message burning my eyes. "A rival firm," I whispered. He stared at me, shock flashing into anger. "He's working with my enemies?" I couldn't move. The room spun. He released me slowly, stepping back as if the air between us had turned poisonous. "When were you going to tell me?" I hugged myself. "I don't know." His jaw worked as he fought for control. "Then I guess it's war." I stared at him, the weight of my secret pushing harder than ever. "What are you going to do?" He didn't answer. His phone lit up in his hand, a new call flashing. His eyes met a mindstorm, fire, and something like grief. He lifted the phone but didn't answer, his eyes still locked on me. "How long have you known?" I opened my mouth, but before I could speak the call connected on its own, and a voice I hadn't heard in years filled the room. "Hello, sweetheart," the voice said. "Did you miss me?" I dropped the phone. My father's voice rang in the apartment like a ghost returning from the dead.