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 5
I decided I'd head to Damian's office first, before going to mine. It has to be discreet, so I'll drive there myself. The morning air feels tense, as though even the universe knew I was about to seal my fate.When I arrive at Damian's office building, a staff member greets me and ushers me into the reception. His staff, all neatly dressed in black and white corporate attire. One of the receptionists, a lady with sleek dark hair and red nails, stands and offers me a polite nod.
"I'll let Mr. Westwood know you're here," she says, her voice smooth like velvet.
"Thank you." I sit down in the reception area, deliberately taking in the sight. This definitely isn't your average reception. The walls are a deep grey, adorned with tasteful art that seemsboth expensive and oddly vague. The furniture is sleek, a mixture of polished chrome and soft leather. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. Classy. Expensive. Cold. Much like the man himself.After a short wait, the receptionist returns with a smile.
"You may go in now."
I rose, smoothed down my skirt, and walked towards the double oak doors. I knock once before pushing them open.There he was, Damian Westwood. Feet casually propped on his mahogany desk, his chair slightly reclined. The first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, revealing a peek of ink on his chest, the tattoo I had glimpsed the previous day but could now see more clearly. He held a sleek black mug in one hand, sipping...tea or coffee. I couldn't tell. He gestures lazily towards the seat opposite him. I sit down, maintaining a composed expression. I hold back the urge to scan his office, the modern bookshelves. I don't want him thinking I'm impressed...or intimidated. Instead, I crossed my legs, placed my bag on my lap, and tapped my fingers against it. Waiting.
"It's common courtesy to greet, you know,"
he says, his voice low, laced with a mocking edge.
"Then why didn't you?"
I snap, glaring at him.His eyes darkens as they locked onto mine. He rises slowly, rounds the desk, and sits on the edge, leaning in.
"This sort of behaviour could attract...punishment," he says, something flickering in his gaze. Anger? Amusement? I can't tell. I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze head-on. No way was I letting him shake me. God...am I seriously going to be married to this man?He holds my stare for a heartbeat longer before standing and returning to his chair.
"Let's get this over with."
"Right. We're going over the rules and agreements before we put pen to paper. If we're able to finalise this morning, I'll have the contract ready and sent to you by evening."
"You're really calling the shots, Rachel," he says with a smirk. I don't like the way my name sounds on his tongue, like he owns it.
"Forget the fact that our fathers were friends. I never even knew you existed," I shoot back.
"Aww, and I knew you did. I'm so hurt." His words were laced heavily with sarcasm, sharp enough to cut glass.I roll my eyes.
"So...what would you like to lay down?"He chuckles.
"Ladies first."
"Fine. First of all, no Intimacy, whatsoever. It's a contract marriage, not a real one. No expectations of a physical relationship. Second of all, a public appearance clause. We maintain a united front in public. Events, family gatherings, corporate functions.Third of all, separate living spaces. We will not share a bedroom. Boundaries must be respected. Fourth of all, no Interference in personal affairs. I handle my life; you handle yours. No meddling in each other's personal relationships outside the contract.Fifth of all, the duration of the marriage is just one year. After that, we part ways with no strings attached. Sixth of all, confidentiality agreement. Neither person speaks of this arrangement to the public. And lastly, mutual respect: no insults, no undermining. This is a business arrangement." I blabbed in one breath.
"Your turn," I said.He leans back, that devilish smirk still on his face.
"Okay. So, in as much as this is staging, we have to be honest with one another. As long as it concerns the marriage. Anything else is irrelevant. Also, there'd be an emergency clause; that is, in case of unforeseen circumstances, we back each other up.
Oh yeah. We'd have to show the public how 'deeply in love we are with each other'. I do expect you to play the perfect wife in public,hand-holding, small gestures when necessary. You're an actress. Act. Yeah, I think that's all. For now. Public Affection Clause? I'm supposed to display public affection? I'm not entirely the romantic type, but I find public affection worse. It cringes and creeps me out. I think mostly because I'm a little bit shy. I laughed to myself. Who'd believe that the only daughter of a business mogul was a shy girl? The only person who knows that side of me is Aiden, my ex.But then... public affection to a man I'd rather hit on the head with my heels? Oh good lord.
"Um, Damian," I started.
"Calling me by my first name. Getting comfortable already?" He raised an eyebrow and had that smirk on his face that I so much wanted to slap off.
"About the public affection...to what extent does it have to be?" I needed this cleared up before it became an issue.
"What extent can you take?""I could hold hands..."
"That's the bare minimum, Rachel. We'd hold hands, of course. Lock arms, even. You might have to sit on my lap. Give me a kiss on the cheek. That's vice versa."
I felt my whole body heat up. I couldn't do all that. My face was turning red; I was sure of it. I heard him chuckle."
"What's so funny?"
"Look at you. You're red as the color itself."
I wanted to stab him with the pen on his table. My eyes darted to it involuntarily, imagining myself lunging for his throat. He must have noticed because he casually picked up the pen and rolled it between his fingers.
.
"This is going to be interesting," he said, wearing that irritating smirk. I scoffed.
"That's what public affection entails, Rachel. And it's necessary if you want to keep up a believable front," he added, his tone growing serious.We both fell silent after listing our terms.
"So...it's settled then. I'll have the contract ready by evening," I said, gathering my bag.
"I'll send someone to pick it up."
Without waiting for any further exchange, I stood, gave him a curt nod, and left. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked out of his office.The moment I slid into my car, I gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"You've gone and done it this time, Rachel."
I drove to my office with a swirl of mixed emotions clawing at me. Was I making a mistake? Probably. But it was too late to back out now.By midday, I was sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop, replaying the conversation with Damian when the door slammed open.
"Rachel!!"I jumped.
"Layla, keep it down!"
Layla, my best friend and resident chaos-bringer, strolled in with a mischievous grin.
"Ooo... somebody's in a shitty mood. How's your mom?"
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "She's good. Except she now wants me to marry Dad's lawyer's son."
"Crazy." Layla plopped onto the couch, crossing her legs.
"Are you going to?"
"Of course not. He's practically a kid."
"I do have someone in mind," she said, eyes glinting.I shot her a suspicious look. "Who?"
"Aiden."I gaped. "No way, Layla. No way."
"Oh, come on. He's still in love with you."
"And I'm not," I deadpanned. Aiden was my ex. We'd dated for two years, until he turned into a sex-starved man-child. I wasn't ready, and instead of respecting that, he literally begged me. Begged. On his knees. The memory still made me cringe. That was the beginning of the end.
"Oh, Rachel, don't be like that." Layla pouted. "Anyways... too late. He's flying back to Los Angeles next week."I whipped my head around.
"Excuse you? What did you do?""I just told him you're still single and haven't found anyone since him...so maybe he still had a chance."
She gave a sweet, unapologetic smile. I wanted to scream.
"Why did you do that?! Gosh, Layla!" I slumped back into my chair."
"Well, you've got until next week to figure it out," she said, standing.
"Layla, I want to kill you."
"Awwn. Love you too" she said as she laughed. As soon as she left, I grabbed my phone and called Courtney.
"Get me pizza. Please."
Because if I was going to drown in this mess, I might as well do it with a slice of pepperoni in hand.
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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.