The Tycoon's Unwanted Contract Wife

The heavy door of the Maybach slammed shut. The chaotic flashing lights and screaming reporters were instantly cut off.

Gregorio shoved Annabel away.

She hit the opposite door, her shoulder colliding with the armrest. She gasped, grabbing her arm.

Gregorio didn't look at her. He reached into the center console, pulled out an antibacterial wipe, and scrubbed his mouth. He rubbed the skin until it turned red.

Annabel turned her face toward the tinted window. Her chest heaved. The taste of him still lingered on her bruised lip. She stared at the blurry streetlights of Manhattan, forcing herself to breathe slowly.

Up front, Gus pressed the button. The thick, soundproof partition slid up, locking them in complete isolation.

Gregorio ripped his bowtie loose. He tore the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt open. His breathing filled the quiet cabin. It was ragged. Heavy.

Annabel glanced at him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His face was flushed, the veins in his neck bulging. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were stark white.

"Are you sick?" Annabel asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Gregorio's head snapped toward her.

His eyes were bloodshot. The pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark irises. He looked like a wild animal cornered in a cage.

"Shut up," he growled. His voice was a harsh, guttural scrape.

The car descended into the underground parking garage of their building. The tires squealed as Gus brought the Maybach to an abrupt halt.

Gregorio threw the door open before the car fully stopped. He stumbled out. His legs seemed to give way.

Annabel scrambled out after him. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his bicep to steady him.

Gregorio reacted instantly. He twisted, his large hand clamping down on her wrist like a steel vise. The bones in her arm ground together.

"Let go," Annabel gasped, trying to pull back.

He didn't. He dragged her toward the private elevator. His grip was agonizing. He swiped his keycard, and the metal doors slid open. He pulled her inside and hit the button for the penthouse.

The doors closed.

The confined space trapped the heat rolling off his body. He smelled of expensive cologne, sweat, and something sharp and metallic.

Gregorio slammed her against the cold steel wall of the elevator.

The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. His chest pressed flush against hers.

His breath burned against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Gregorio," Annabel panicked. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Stop. The contract. You said we wouldn't-"

"You belong to me," he snarled against her collarbone. His teeth grazed her skin.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to the dark penthouse living room.

Gregorio didn't let her walk. He scooped her up, his arm tight under her knees, and carried her out. He threw her onto the massive leather sofa.

Annabel bounced against the cushions. She scrambled backward, but he was already over her.

He grabbed the neckline of the red Oscar de la Renta gown. He pulled.

The thick silk ripped. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the empty room. The cold air hit her bare skin.

Annabel raised her hand to slap him.

He caught her wrist mid-air. He pinned both her arms above her head, his weight settling over her hips, trapping her completely.

"You took the money," he sneered, his hot breath fanning her face. "You sold yourself to my family. This is what you're paid for."

The words hit her like a physical blow. The fifty million dollar debt her father left behind flashed in her mind. The hospital bills. The threats.

Her struggles ceased. Her body went entirely rigid.

She turned her head to the side. She squeezed her eyes shut. A single, hot tear leaked from her lashes and rolled into her hair.

Gregorio didn't hesitate. The drug in his system had eradicated every ounce of his control.

Pain ripped through her. Annabel bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She didn't make a sound.

The hours dragged on. The drug kept him relentless.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Manhattan skyline glittered, indifferent to the destruction happening on the leather sofa.

Eventually, the frantic pace slowed. Gregorio collapsed beside her. His chest heaved as his breathing evened out. Within minutes, he was dead asleep, his brow still deeply furrowed.

Annabel lay there. Her entire body throbbed. Her skin was covered in dark, angry bruises.

She slowly pushed herself up. Her muscles screamed in protest. She reached down with trembling fingers and picked up the torn, ruined pieces of the red dress. She pulled the fabric over her chest, shivering violently in the cold air.