Wrong contract marriage, right husband

The days leading up to Friday felt like walking a tightrope over a live volcano.

At 4 PM on Friday, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from Mia Thorne, Liam's equally vicious sister and Chloe's closest confidante.

Mia: Liam is done being petty. He has the encrypted hard drive with your architecture portfolio. Come to 'The Box' at 6 PM to get it. Come alone.

I stared at the glowing screen. The word "TRAP" was practically written across it in neon letters.

But that hard drive wasn't just files; it held three years of my blood, sweat, and tears. My original blueprints, my proprietary CAD designs, the foundational portfolio I desperately needed to launch Vance Architecture.

Liam was holding my intellectual property hostage.

I quickly texted Alexander.

Clara: Have an errand to run before the family dinner tonight. Meet you at Le Coucou?

At 6 PM, I stepped out of the cab into the biting Soho night wind. I was wearing a simple, elegant black silk cocktail dress, its thin straps resting gently on my shoulders.

The club was notorious. Even in the early hours, the heavy bass hammered against the brick walls, vibrating in my chest. The air inside was thick, smelling of expensive perfume, spilled vodka, and bad decisions.

I pushed my way through the bustling crowd and finally spotted Mia and Chloe in a plush velvet VIP booth in the back. They were surrounded by a gaggle of trust-fund socialites.

"Clara!" Mia shouted, waving a lit cigarette. "Over here!"

I walked over, my posture stiff, keeping my distance from the table. "Mia. Where is the drive?"

"Relax," Chloe smirked, sipping from a crystal martini glass. She was wearing a barely-legal dress, and malice danced in her eyes. "Sit down, have a drink. Liam will be here soon."

"I'm not drinking," I said coldly. "If he's not here, I'll wait outside."

I turned to leave.

"Oh, look!" Mia suddenly pointed at the edge of the VIP dance floor. "The show is starting."

A man stumbled toward their booth, unsteady on his feet, bumping into waiters along the way. He wore an expensive suit, but the lapels were stained with dried alcohol. His face was puffy, his skin sallow, and his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused.

He reeked of arrogance and the foul stench of deep addiction.

Chloe gasped, feigning exaggerated shock. "Oh my god. Is that him? Is that Julian Hayes?"

I froze.

The blood instantly drained from my face, turning me pale as a ghost. I whirled around, my heart hammering against my ribs in a frantic, terrifying rhythm.

The man—the real Julian Hayes—wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He leered at the table of women.

"Ladies," Julian slurred, a wet cough rattling in his throat. "Which one of you is the... birthday girl?"

I took a step back.

My mind was racing, trying to piece the fragments together.

If this was Julian Hayes... then who was the man sleeping in my guest room?

Who signed my marriage certificate?

A wave of panic washed over me.

I had married a complete stranger.

"Hey, handsome," Mia coaxed viciously, standing up to guide the stumbling man toward me. "Clara, I heard you hooked up with a Hayes boy. Is this your Prince Charming?"

Julian turned his bloodshot eyes to me. He blinked, trying to bring my face into focus. "Not bad," he grunted.

He reached out, his sweaty hand grabbing my bare upper arm.

"Wanna dance, baby?" Julian asked, leaning in so close I could smell the rot on his breath.

"Don't touch me!" I shouted. I yanked my arm away, a movement born purely of fear.

Julian stumbled, losing his balance. To steady himself, he blindly grabbed at my dress.

With a crisp sound, the delicate silk strap of my black dress snapped. The fabric slipped dangerously down my shoulder, exposing my collarbone.

I gasped, my gloved hands flying up to clutch the torn silk to my chest to cover my shame.

"Whoa, feisty," Julian laughed aggressively. "I like 'em with some fight."

"Get away from me!" I stepped back, my hip hitting the edge of a heavy wooden table.

Chloe and Mia were laughing. They were actually laughing at my terror.

"Clara, looks like you found a new boyfriend!" Chloe crowed over the deafening music. "He looks exactly your type. Thirsty and pathetic."

I grabbed a full glass of ice water from the table and threw it directly into Julian's face.

The freezing water hit him right in the eyes. He sputtered, shaking his head like a wet dog. The sudden shock instantly morphed his drunken smile into a vicious snarl.

"You little bitch," Julian roared, lunging for my throat.

I turned and ran. I shoved past a startled waiter, knocking over a tray of drinks, sending glass shattering everywhere.

"Security!" Mia pointed at me. "Stop her! She's assaulting a VIP!"

Two massive, intimidating bouncers stepped out of the shadows, blocking my only path to the exit. I skidded to a halt. I was trapped in the narrow VIP hallway. Behind me, Julian was wiping water from his face, his fists clenched as he advanced on me.

"Nowhere to go, baby," Julian taunted. "You owe me a drink, and an apology on your knees."

At the end of the hall, the elevator doors let out a crisp ding and slid open.

Liam Thorne stepped out. He looked handsome in a dark, tailored tuxedo, holding the small silver hard drive I had come for.

Liam looked up, instantly taking in the chaotic scene: me terrified, clutching my torn dress; the bouncers blocking my way; and a disheveled drunk backing me into a corner.

A flash of intense possessiveness and fury crossed Liam's face.

He hated me for leaving him, but in his twisted mind, I was still his property.

Seeing another man cornering me ignited a primal, lethal rage in him.

"Get your filthy hands off her!" Liam roared—not at the security, but at Julian.

Liam lunged forward, shoving Julian hard against the brick wall. "She's with me!"