The Contract Scheme
To inherit her late father's company, Rachel Hartley must get married. She proposes a contract to Damian Westwood-wealthy, devastatingly handsome, and dangerously persuasive. But Damian has secrets, an ambition of his own. Their marriage is not about love, definitely, but about wealth. To him, she's a pawn, a key to unlocking his own ambitions.
Yet the closer they become, the more blurred the lines get between lies and truth, desire and betrayal. Rachel must decide if she can love a man who might ruin her or save her.
In a marriage built on secrets, one truth could destroy everything.
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Chapter 2
I wake up with a start, and instantly as if the universe wants me unhappy, wants me to know that my life would soon be over, the same suffocating dread that had wrapped itself around me the night before comes crashing down on me again like a wave. I lay still for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling, hoping helplessly that I could shake it off. No such luck. Instead, I feel hollow.
I have a business meeting today. Another company looking to score a deal with us. Normally, I'd welcome this. Thrive on it, even. But this morning, with this gnawing hollowness in my chest? It feels like I'm dragging a dead weight.
Still, business is business. I'm going to do my best. I sigh heavily, rolling off the bed. I make my way to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is in disarray and there's dried drool on my cheek. A hot shower might melt this dread off my skin at least, I hope.
The bathroom is a sleek display of modern opulence marble floors, floor-length mirror, glass walk-in shower. I stand under the steaming water, letting it beat against my skin as if it could wash away my worries, warming me up to positive hope.
Once I step out, I choose my outfit with care. A custom-tailored cream pantsuit from Elie Saab, its fabric whisper-soft yet commanding in presence. The blazer cinches perfectly at my waist, paired with a matching tailored pencil skirt. A Cartier diamond necklace nestles elegantly against my collarbone, and pearl drop earrings added the right touch of understated class. I also chose a pair of Louboutin heels but decided I'd put on sandals first. I could put on my heels when I get to work.
Hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, lip stick with blush powder on, and I look gorgeous, even with the simplicity of my makeup. I look every inch the heiress and business mogul-in-the-making. The image is perfect. If only I felt half as strong as I looked. If only I were the heiress.
Breakfast's a quiet affair, a single croissant, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I don't trust my stomach for anything heavier.
By the time I step out to the driveway, my Bentley is waiting already, glistening under the morning sun. The keys dangling in my fingers. I open the driver's seat then pause. No. I'm not driving today. Not with the way I'm feeling.
"Jason," I called out.
Jason, one of our drivers ,a loyal, efficient man in his late thirties, appears almost instantly. He gives me a polite nod as I toss him the keys.
"You're up today."
"Of course, ma'am."
Sliding into the backseat, I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, letting the city's morning hum lull me into a state of distant observation as we drive past. People bustling, birds singing, walking children, honking cars, life happening all around me.
Then a sudden jolt.
My body lunges forward before the seatbelt yanks me back. My heart thuds.
I blink, straightening. "What the hell"
Jason mutters a curse, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of the car.
Confused, I peer through the windshield. Parked sideways right in front of us, a sleek black McLaren, dangerously angled as though its driver had just screeched into position.
A one-way street.
I shook my head with a sigh. Wonderful. Just wonderful. The exact kind of hassle I didn't need this dreadful, early morning.
Jason could handle this. That's what he was here for.
But as I leaned back, preparing to close my eyes, movement caught my attention.
Jason...is in the air.
My jaw drops.
I blink again. Am I hallucinating? Has Jason discovered a hidden talent for levitation? Is this some bizarre, stress-induced daydream?
No. it's not.
A man tall, broad-shouldered, practically radiating fury, had Jason by the collar, hoisting him off the ground. His other hand clenched into a fist, his eyes burning with a ferocity I'd never seen.
What in the hell?
I throw the door open and jump out, my sandals squeaking sharply on the pavement. A strange mix of anger and frustration flooded me.
"Hey! You put him down. At once."
The man didn't even flinch.
"Ma'am..." Jason croaked, dangling helplessly.
"I said, put him down," I repeat, my voice low and steely.
With a grunt, the man drops him and Jason stumbles backward, gasping, his hands clutching at his shirt.
I fold my arms, glaring. "What happened, Jason?"
Jason's voice shook.
"He appeared out of nowhere. He was driving against traffic, a one-way street. I saw him at the last second. If I hadn't hit the brakes, we'd all be in the hospital. And instead of apologizing... he decided to assault me."
"That's because you spoke to me disrespectfully," the man thundered, his voice booming.
Jason shook his head.
"I didn't! I only told him what he did was wrong." His words quivered.
I place a calming hand on Jason's shoulder.
"Go back in the car. I'll handle this."
He opens his mouth to protest, but I silence him with a look.
Jason turns, casting a wary glance at the man before retreating to the Bentley.
Now, it's just me and Mr. Anger Issues. Mr Anger Issues?. Where did that come from?.
He turns his gaze on me, folding his arms across his chest.
"What? Are you expecting an apology?"
I give a cool smile.
"Of course not. I know your type."
His brow quirks. "Oh really? And what type is that?"
I fold my arms too "The kind that thinks breaking the law and endangering lives is a casual pastime. And doesn't care who they hurt along the way."
He smirks, a slow, disdainful twist of his lips.
"I know it's illegal. I just don't care. About it..., about you or what you think. Nothing's going to happen. Now, if you'll excuse me, why don't you scurry off to whatever little errand it is you're running?"
I stare at him, eyes narrowed, pouring every ounce of fury into my glare. I could have sworn for a fraction of a second his stance shifted. But he quickly masked it with a raised brow.
"Run along now," he says with a mocking grin.
I exhale slowly, tamping down my temper. I could have caused a scene right here and now. But I'm sure people are watching, and I don't want to attract a bad tag, especially for the sake of the company
"Unbelievable." I spin around and march back to the car.
Jason didn't say a word as he drove and the city rolls by in a blur.
At the office, Courtney greets me with her usual bright smile.
"Good morning, Miss. Rachel."
"Good morning Courtney, how are you?"
"I'm fine thank you."
"What's my schedule today"
"You have a meeting with Arclight Corporation at 4:30 pm. Because of the distance, we'd have to leave by 3:30 maximum"
Arclight. One of the biggest players in the industry. Even bigger than us. Slightly. I nodded.
"Get the executive team ready. Make sure Desmond's on board."
"Yes, ma'am."
I immerse myself in back-to-back reports, calls, and project briefs. Anything to shake off the lingering encounter.
As soon as it's 3:30, I head to Arclight with Courtney, Desmond, and the rest of the team. Arclight's headquarters is a gleaming skyscraper all glass and steel, towering confidently over the city.
We were ushered inside by a polished receptionist.
"Mr. Westwood will be with you shortly," she says with a warm smile.
I smile back. For the first time today, I feel hopeful. This could actually be good for us. I'm going to push Dad's utter madness out of my head for this.
We were led into a stunning conference room, mahogany table, plush leather chairs, and a panoramic city view. I took the head seat, adjusting my blazer.
A soft knock.
The door opens...
And in walks Mr. Anger Issues himself.
My heart lurches.
Gone was the street brawler look. He now wore a sharp black tailored suit, dark hair styled with precision, confidence oozing from every pore.
"Good afternoon," he greets, scanning the room before his eyes land, unwavering, on me. "I'm Damian Westwood. CEO of Arclight."
I barely managed to keep my expression neutral.
Of course.
I force a professional smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Westwood."
His smirk deepens , like he knows exactly who I am.
"Likewise... Miss?"
"Hartley"
His eyes flicker, recognition flashing behind them.
"Right. Well, shall we begin?"
I nod, folding my hands together.
Oh, this is going to be so interesting.
I'm not sure whether I wanted to strangle him or laugh.
But one thing is certain.
This meeting is about to get very, very personal, interesting even. I'm going to make him so uncomfortable. Make him doubt himself. Pour out my despair into this meeting.
Okay Hartley Holdings, let's make a clown of Damian Westwood.
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7.9
Allyson was the most hated actress in Hollywood, forced to wear a cheap, tearing gown after America's sweetheart, Joanne, stole her S-tier role.
During a red carpet disaster, Allyson tripped and fell—straight into the arms of the untouchable megastar, Byron Estes.
The internet exploded, accusing Allyson of faking the fall to seduce him. Drowning in bad press and desperate to pay her agency's termination fee, she signed a reality TV contract. She was forced to play the desperate, clingy villain, acting as a pathetic stepping stone for Joanne and Byron's highly anticipated on-screen romance.
"You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed," Joanne mocked.
What Joanne and the furious public didn't know was that three years ago, when Byron was in a horrific crash, Joanne had abandoned him. It was Allyson who stayed.
Even more absurd? Allyson and Byron were actually secretly married, bound by a multi-million dollar NDA.
Determined to play her villainous role and get paid, Allyson memorized a book of cringe-inducing pickup lines, ready to disgust her secret husband on live television.
"The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."
She expected the ice-cold superstar to push her away in disgust. Instead, when another male guest got too close to her, Byron completely shattered his untouchable facade, his eyes burning with a lethal, undeniable possessiveness that sent the internet into absolute chaos.
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.
8.2
I went to a private clinic for a routine physical, only to find out I was pregnant.
It was impossible. I took my birth control every single day. But when the doctor tested my pills, they turned out to be high-purity vitamin placebos. My billionaire husband, Denton, had been systematically replacing my medication.
Yet, on our anniversary, he brought my sister Beverly home, demanding a divorce so he could marry her. When I refused to sign a settlement that left me with nothing, he froze my accounts and blacklisted me across New York.
My own father disowned me. When an old friend offered me a job just so I could afford prenatal care, Denton launched a ruthless financial attack to bankrupt his firm.
Then, Beverly got into a car crash. Denton's bodyguards dragged me off the street and forced me into a hospital trauma room. Beverly was hemorrhaging, and I was the only blood match.
I cried and begged Denton to stop, desperately trying to protect my fragile pregnancy without exposing my baby to the monster who controlled my life.
"Please, my body can't handle this. Don't do this to me!"
But he just looked at me with pure disgust and ordered his men to strap me to the chair, forcing the needle into my vein while threatening to kill me if his mistress died.
As I dragged my bleeding, cramping body out of the hospital into the freezing snow, my last shred of hope died.
I touched my stomach and made a vow: I would disappear, and I would make them all pay.
8.7
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.
Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.
When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.
"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"
But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.
Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.
But tonight, he returned.
When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:
"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."
Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.
I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.
I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
8.8
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
8.2
Trapped in a deadly fire at my own engagement party, my lungs burned as I reached a shaking hand out to my fiancé for help.
He stopped and looked right at me through the thick smoke. But instead of saving me, he wrapped his jacket tightly around my stepsister and ran, leaving me to burn.
I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, my father and stepmother didn't even ask about my injuries.
They threw a stack of legal documents right onto my bed.
"Sign the papers, Avah. Step aside. Jaclyn is far better suited to be Kain's wife."
My fiancé then stormed into the room, publicly humiliating me with false rumors of an illegitimate child and threatening to bankrupt my company.
Four years of swallowing my pride to be the perfect, obedient pawn for our family business, all for nothing.
They threw me to the wolves without a single second of hesitation, expecting me to just lower my head and cry like I always did.
But the fire had burned that pathetic version of me away.
I ripped out my IV, letting the blood drip onto the sheets, and tore their contracts straight down the middle.
"The engagement is over."
I threw my million-dollar ring right at my ex's chest, then picked up the phone to call my trust lawyer. They wanted to take everything from me, so I was going to make them bleed.