The Tycoon's Unwanted Contract Wife
I married billionaire Gregorio Harrison to pay off my father's massive debt and keep my dying mother on life support.
But his true love, Kiersten, drugged him with an aphrodisiac, and he used my body to survive the night.
The next day, Kiersten threatened my mother's life with loan sharks, forcing me to sign a surrogacy contract because she was completely infertile.
When Gregorio caught us together, he didn't care about the brutal bruises he had left on my skin.
He thought I was blackmailing his beloved.
He dragged me to his family estate, locking me in a room to be treated like a mindless breeding mare by his cruel mother.
Later, Kiersten tricked me into a humiliating, nude painting session to save my mother's medical funds, setting me up for a media scandal.
When Gregorio smelled her studio's incense on my clothes, he didn't ask for the truth.
"If you're that desperate to sell yourself, I'll show you what a real transaction looks like."
He violently assaulted me as punishment, shoved a digital money transfer in my face, and slammed the door behind him.
I lay on the cold leather sofa, my body broken and my heart completely dead.
Why did I have to suffer for their twisted love game?
Why was my mother's life just a bargaining chip to them?
The despair finally burned away, leaving only a cold, hard instinct for survival.
I picked up my phone and dialed his rival, Dr. Martin.
"I need you to secure my mother's hospital transfer right now."
Chapters
Share
Chapter 1
"Take it off."
Maura's voice held no room for negotiation. The senior housekeeper stood in the center of the sprawling, temperature-controlled dressing room of the Manhattan penthouse. Her eyes scanned Annabel's soft cashmere sweater, one of the few remaining pieces of her own clothing rather than the endless couture provided by the Harrison estate, with undisguised disgust.
Annabel kept her hands at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms.
Maura held up a hanger. Suspended from it was a crimson Oscar de la Renta haute couture gown. The fabric looked like liquid blood under the harsh recessed lighting.
"Mr. Harrison expects his wife to look the part tonight," Maura said. "Do not forget the public image confidentiality clause in your prenuptial agreement. You are a Harrison now. Act like it."
Annabel swallowed the thick lump in her throat. She reached out and took the heavy dress. The silk felt cold against her skin. She stripped off her sweater and stepped into the gown. It clung to every curve of her body, tight and restrictive.
Down on the street level, a car horn blared. Gus, the security driver, was waiting in the Maybach.
Annabel shoved her feet into a pair of stiff, red-soled heels. The leather pinched her toes immediately. She walked past Maura without a word and stepped into the private elevator.
The ride down to the garage was silent. Annabel slid into the back of the Maybach. The heavy scent of expensive leather and a faint, custom cedarwood fragrance hit her lungs. It was thick, aggressive, and suffocating, much like the man himself. It made her slightly nauseous.
Her phone buzzed in her clutch.
She pulled it out. The screen lit up with a message from Nord Medical Center. It was another billing notice for her mother's life support. The number at the bottom of the screen had six zeros.
Annabel's chest tightened. Her vision blurred for a fraction of a second. She blinked hard, forcing the tears back down. She locked the screen and shoved the phone away.
In the rearview mirror, Gus met her eyes. His expression was completely blank. He pressed a button, and the soundproof partition rolled up, sealing her in the back.
The Maybach pulled up to the curb outside the Wall Street Hotel.
The flashbulbs hit the tinted windows like lightning strikes. Annabel flinched. The sheer volume of reporters pressing against the barricades was suffocating.
"Use the side entrance," Gus's voice came through the intercom. "Go straight to the VIP holding room behind the stage."
Annabel nodded, even though he couldn't see her. She pushed the door open and slipped out, keeping her head down. She bypassed the red carpet entirely, navigating the narrow, dimly lit service corridor.
She reached the heavy oak door of the VIP room. She pushed it open.
Her breath hitched. Her heart missed a beat.
Gregorio was standing by the vanity mirror. He was leaning down. His large hand was gently tucking a stray blonde curl behind Kiersten Johnson's ear.
Kiersten looked up at him. Her eyes were soft, adoring.
The intimacy of the gesture felt like a physical punch to Annabel's stomach.
Gregorio turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto Annabel. The tenderness in his face vanished instantly, replaced by a layer of absolute frost. His jaw ticked.
"Take off your coat," Gregorio ordered. His voice was low, rough.
Annabel froze. "What?"
"The paparazzi are swarming the back exit," Gregorio said, stepping away from Kiersten. "Give Kiersten your coat. She needs to leave unseen."
Annabel's fingers gripped the lapels of her black wool coat. She looked at Kiersten.
Kiersten offered a small, fragile smile. "Thank you so much, Annabel. I'm so sorry for the trouble."
The sweetness in her voice made Annabel's stomach turn. She shrugged off the coat and handed it over.
Kiersten slipped it on. Two security guards appeared at the back door and ushered her out into the alley.
Gregorio pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his fingers slowly, deliberately, as if he had just touched something contaminated. He threw the fabric into the trash can.
He closed the distance between them. He stopped inches from Annabel. The heat radiating from his body was intense.
"Smile for the cameras," he whispered, his breath brushing her ear. "If you make me look like a fool tonight, you will regret it."
He didn't wait for her answer. He turned and walked out the main doors toward the red carpet.
Annabel forced her legs to move. She followed him out into the blinding light.
The noise was deafening. Reporters screamed their names.
"Mr. Harrison! Is it true the family trust is shorting the tech sector?" a reporter from the Washington Post shouted, shoving a microphone over the velvet rope.
"Annabel!" another reporter yelled. "Rumors are swirling that this is nothing but a loveless business arrangement! Is this marriage just a boardroom stunt?"
Annabel stepped back. The flashes blinded her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her throat was completely dry.
Suddenly, a heavy arm wrapped around her waist.
Gregorio pulled her hard against his side. His grip was bruising.
Before she could process the movement, his hand tangled in her hair. He tilted her head back. He crashed his lips onto hers.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a brutal, possessive claim. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip. The cameras went wild, the shutters clicking in a continuous roar.
Annabel gripped his lapels to keep from falling. Through the fabric of his suit, she felt his chest. His heart was hammering against her palms, erratic and violently fast. His skin was burning hot.
You may also like
8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
8.7
I woke up from a coma in the hospital, universally condemned as the vicious daughter who pushed the beloved fake heiress, Georgina, down the stairs.
My ruthless billionaire brother, Angelo, stood over my bed with cold eyes, ready to destroy me for hurting his precious sister.
But as I looked at him, a terrifying prophecy from my coma flooded my brain. Our entire family was doomed.
In the original timeline, Georgina would team up with corporate rivals to bankrupt the company, frame Angelo, and send him to federal prison, while our parents would abandon me to die miserably.
Lying there, I didn't dare speak. I just desperately cursed my idiot brother in my head.
"This stupid brother is still yelling at me for that fake heiress. He doesn't even know he's going to be framed and sent to prison next month!"
I just wanted to stay quiet, let them ruin themselves, and run away from this toxic family.
But strangely, Angelo didn't strangle me. Instead, his attitude took a shocking turn.
He abruptly fired the driver plotting to kill him, destroyed the abusive fiancé of a family ally, and publicly humiliated Georgina at a high-society gala.
He even shielded me from our abusive parents, declaring to the world that I was the only sister he would ever protect.
I was completely terrified and confused. Why was the tyrant brother suddenly acting like a protective beast?
It wasn't until he flawlessly crushed a massive corporate attack using the exact financial secrets I had just complained about in my mind that a horrifying realization hit me.
He could hear my inner thoughts!
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
9.0
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.