His Contract Bride

Chapter 1 – When Pride Meets Trouble By Chizzy The rain was ruthless that morning—sharp, unrelenting, soaking through Zaya Evans’ coat as she sprinted down the cobbled streets of Camden. Her wet gown clung to her sexy curves, begging to be seen, while she clutched a damp file of documents to her chest. London was grey and impatient—horns blaring, umbrellas clashing—but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to. “Bloody hell,” she muttered as a passing bus splashed water across her dress. The cold bit through her stockings, but she gritted her teeth and ran faster. As she moved, her body swayed rhythmically, each motion betraying the grace she tried so hard to hide. Zaya’s figure was a temple worth worshipping. Her phone buzzed again—another call from the hospital. She didn’t answer. She already knew what they’d say. Her mother’s condition was worsening. More bills. Always more bills. And that alone was draining the daylight out of her. By the time Zaya reached La Rue Café, her hair clung to her cheeks like wet silk, her breath coming in sharp bursts. She was late again. Her manager gave her that look—the one that said “you’re lucky we need staff today.” Not without first letting his gaze linger a little too long, because damn, she was a carved statue of temptation. Zaya tied her apron with shaking hands and forced a bright smile. “I’m here. I’m sorry—Camden traffic is a nightmare.” The manager grunted. “Table seventeen. VIP.” VIP meant trouble. It always did. Zaya straightened, plastered on her best customer-service grin, and walked toward the corner booth. Then she stopped. He was there. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair. Dressed in a black suit so crisp it looked sculpted. His silver tie pin gleamed beneath the café lights, his wristwatch screamed money, and his expression—God help her—was pure arrogance. His eyes flicked up from his phone, cold and sharp as steel. But any woman would melt under that stare—it was enticing. “You’re late,” he said. Zaya blinked. “Excuse me?” “You’re late,” he repeated flatly. “And you’re dripping on the floor.” For a brief moment—just a brief one—he actually stared at her. Wow. The great arrogant CEO looking at a woman? Her lips parted, half in disbelief, half in irritation. “Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Sunshine.” He didn’t smile. Not even close. She rolled her eyes and reached for her notepad. “What’ll it be?” “Black coffee,” he said. “No sugar. And hurry—I don’t have all day.” Zaya jotted the order, biting back a retort. It wasn’t the first time she’d met a man who thought the world revolved around him—but something about this one felt different. The quiet command in his voice. The weight of his presence. He wasn’t just rich; he was used to being obeyed. When she returned with the coffee, he was still on his phone, speaking in a tone that could cut glass. “I said finalize the deal by noon, Daniel. If you can’t manage that, I’ll find someone who can.” He ended the call with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Zaya placed the cup down gently. “Your coffee, sir.” He looked up—and that’s when it happened. Her hand slipped. “Damn it,” she gasped, watching the steaming liquid splash across the table, staining his white shirt and suit jacket. “Oh my God! I’m so, so sorry!” she blurted, reaching for napkins. He stood abruptly, towering over her. “Do you have any idea—” “It was an accident!” she snapped before he could finish. “You moved too suddenly—” “I moved?” His voice dropped, dangerously calm. “You’re the one flailing around like you’ve never held a cup before.” Zaya froze, then tilted her chin. “Maybe if you smiled once in a while, your coffee would stay in the cup.” For the first time, his lips twitched—just barely. “Are you always this insolent, Miss…?” “Evans,” she said, crossing her arms. “Zaya Evans. And yes—when provoked.” Their eyes locked. The air between them thickened—hostile, charged. He leaned forward slightly, voice low. “You’ve ruined a suit worth more than your monthly salary.” She smirked. “Then I suppose you can afford the dry-cleaning bill.” For a long moment, neither of them moved. The tension was electric. Then he turned, tossed a few hundred-pound notes onto the table, and said quietly, “Keep the change. You’ll need it.” She watched him leave, jaw tight. Something about him—his confidence, his quiet superiority—set every nerve on edge. But as she wiped the table, she couldn’t shake the image of those grey eyes. They lingered. Later That Night Zaya sat by her mother’s hospital bed, exhaustion carving shadows beneath her beautiful, golden eyes. Machines beeped softly around them. Her mother’s hand, frail and pale, rested in hers. “Ma,” she whispered, “I’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll get the money. Just hold on.” Her mother smiled faintly. “You’ve always been strong, Zaya. But you can’t fight the world alone.” “I can try,” she said softly, blinking back tears. A soft cough interrupted them. Zaya looked up—and froze. Standing in the doorway, immaculate in another tailored suit… was him. The arrogant devil himself. Alexander Bright. Her heart lurched. “What the hell are you doing here?” He stepped in calmly, his presence filling the room. “I came to apologize.” The word seemed foreign on his tongue, but he forced it out. Her eyebrows shot up. “You? Apologize? Did lightning strike your office?” He ignored the jab, eyes scanning the room—the machines, the peeling paint, the quiet desperation. “Your mother’s hospital is under the Brightwell Health Group. I fund it.” Zaya stiffened. “Congratulations. Want a medal?” “No,” he said smoothly. “I want your time.” She frowned. “Excuse me?” He pulled a card from his jacket and placed it on the table. “Tomorrow. 10 a.m. My office. It’s a business proposal.” She narrowed her eyes, suspicion sharpening her voice. “What kind of business?” “The kind that could solve your financial problems,” he said, his gaze softening—just barely. “Six months, Miss Evans. That’s all I’m asking.” And with that, he turned and left, leaving her staring at the door, heart pounding. Her mother looked at her weakly. “Who was that, darling?” Zaya whispered, “Trouble, Ma. The kind that wears an expensive suit.” Zaya’s Apartment – Later That Evening A few minutes later, Zaya was home, freshly showered and lost in thought. She hated to admit it, but his offer replayed in her head over and over. It was a perfect chance to clear her debts, pay her mother’s bills, and maybe restart her life. After a few silent minutes, she came to a decision. Let’s do this. The Next Morning The Bright Group headquarters loomed like a glass fortress. Zaya stood in the lobby, her reflection mirrored in the marble floor. She was breathtaking—an unintentional showstopper with a body that demanded attention. Yet inside, she felt small—but determined. When the elevator doors opened, Alexander Bright was already inside, hands in pockets, gaze unreadable. But beneath that cold façade, he was amused. He noticed everything—the way her white shirt hugged her figure, the way one button was left undone, the way her skirt clung to her hips. “You came,” he said evenly. “Curiosity’s my weakness,” she replied, her soft voice smooth as honey. His lips curved faintly. “Good. You’ll need that.” He led her into his office—a breathtaking space overlooking London. The skyline stretched endlessly, the Thames glinting below. He gestured to a chair. “Sit.” She crossed her legs deliberately, meeting his gaze head-on. “Start talking, Mr. Bright.” He leaned against the desk, studying her. “I’ll be direct. My grandfather wants me married within a month, or I lose my inheritance and company control. I need a wife.” Zaya blinked. “You’re joking.” “I never joke.” “So what—you want me to audition?” He smirked. “No. I want you to accept my offer.” She laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough,” he said quietly. “You need money. I need a wife. I’ll pay you one million pounds to be Mrs. Bright—for six months.” Her laughter died. She stared at him, searching his face for any hint of amusement—but found none. “You’re serious.” “Completely.” Zaya’s mind raced. One million pounds. Enough to save her mother, pay off her debts, rebuild her life. But at what cost? She stood slowly. “And what happens after six months?” “You walk away. No strings. No attachments.” Her pulse quickened. “And if I refuse?” He shrugged lightly. “Then I’ll find someone else. But something tells me, Miss Evans—you don’t like losing opportunities.” Zaya met his gaze, fire in her eyes. “You think I can be bought?” “I think,” he murmured, stepping closer, “you’re too smart to let pride cost you everything.” The silence stretched—thick with unspoken challenge. Finally, she said quietly, “You’re insufferable.” “And you’re intrigued.” Her lips curved. “We’ll see about that.” “You’ll be my wife for six months, Zaya. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her voice trembled—but her eyes didn’t. “Then you’d better pray you don’t fall in love with me, Mr. Bright.” To be continued...