Unmasking His Contract Wife

The bass of the music didn't just vibrate the floor. It rattled Valorie’s teeth. She adjusted the silver filigree mask covering the upper half of her face. She checked her reflection in the smudged dressing room mirror one last time. The woman staring back wasn't Valorie Cross. She wasn't the exhausted aunt drowning in legal fees and eviction notices. She was Vixen. She was the untouchable star of The Velvet Room. "Five minutes, Vixen," the floor manager shouted through the door. "The VIP section is full. Try to smile tonight. We have big spenders." Valorie didn't smile. She didn't get paid to smile. She got paid to make men wish they could afford her smile. "I’m coming," she muttered. She smoothed the silk of her costume. It covered just enough to be legal but left enough exposed to fuel the desperate fantasies of the city's elite. She stepped out of the dressing room. The wall of noise hit her immediately. The scent of expensive cologne, stale alcohol, and desperation filled the air. She walked toward the main stage with her chin high. Her rule was simple. Look, but don't touch. The moment a hand landed on her skin, the fantasy ended. The bouncers would handle the rest. It was the only shred of dignity she had left. As she climbed the pole, the spotlight hit her skin. For the next three songs, she wasn't a person. She was a commodity. She spun and defied gravity. Her muscles screamed from fatigue, but she never let it show. From the corner of her eye, she scanned the VIP balcony. usually, the men up there were loud. They tossed cash like confetti and laughed with their ties undone. But tonight, the central booth was silent. A man sat there alone. He wasn't watching the other dancers. He was watching her. He sat in the shadows and wore a suit that probably cost more than her entire life's earnings. He didn't have a drink. He didn't have a cigar. He just had a gaze that felt like it was peeling the silver mask right off her face. Valorie faltered for a fraction of a second. It was a tiny slip in her perfect routine, but she caught herself. A cold shiver ran down her spine. It had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Dangerous. That was the word that flashed in her mind. That man was a predator. She finished her set. The applause thundered through the club. She didn't bow. She just walked off stage and grabbed her robe immediately. She needed to get out. She needed to get home to Leo and Mia. "Vixen." Marco, the manager, intercepted her near the bar. His face was flushed red. "Don't change yet. The gentleman in Booth One wants a private conversation." Valorie tightened the sash of her robe. "I don't do privates. You know the rules, Marco." "He’s not asking for a dance," Marco hissed. He leaned in close so only she could hear. "He’s offering ten thousand just to talk to you for ten minutes." Valorie froze. Ten thousand. That was three months of rent. That was the lawyer’s retainer to fight the custody case against the state. That was Leo’s asthma medication for the rest of the year. She looked up at the balcony. The man was still there. He was a dark silhouette against the purple lights. He hadn't moved. "Ten minutes?" she asked. Her voice was dry. "Ten minutes," Marco confirmed. "Hands on the table. Door open. I'll be right outside." Valorie swallowed her pride. It tasted like ash. "Fine. Send him the bill." She walked up the velvet stairs. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She wasn't scared of men. She knew how to handle them. But this man was different. The air around him felt colder than the rest of the club. She stepped into the booth. "You're the one throwing money around?" she asked. She kept her voice bored and professional. The man leaned forward into the light. He was devastatingly handsome. He had sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of steel. But there was no warmth in them. He looked at her not with lust, but with calculation. It was like he was inspecting a car he was about to buy. "You have good balance," he said. His voice was deep and smooth. It terrified her more than a shout would have. "But you look tired, Ms. Cross." Valorie stiffened. Her blood ran cold. "The name is Vixen." "I don't deal in stage names," he said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a file. It was a thin, manila folder. He slid it across the marble table toward her. "And I don't pay for dances." Valorie looked down at the folder. It wasn't cash. It was a photo. It was a photo of her entering her apartment building in her street clothes. The next photo was worse. It was a picture of Leo and Mia playing in the park. "Who are you?" she whispered. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "If you go near them..." "I am Cassian Drax," he interrupted calmly. "And I am the only reason you aren't going to lose them to the state next week." He stood up. He towered over her in the small booth. The space suddenly felt very small. "Clean the paint off your face. Be at my office at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Do not be late." He dropped a business card on top of the photos. He turned and walked out without looking back. He left her trembling in the purple light. Author's Note🖤: Welcome to Unmasking His Contract Wife! I am so excited to start this journey with you all. ❤️ That ending gave me chills! Cassian Drax certainly knows how to make an entrance, but stalking her and taking photos of the kids? That is a bold move. 😱 Question of the day: What is your first impression of Cassian? Is he a desperate man trying to help, or is he a total red flag? Let me know in the comments! 👇 See you in Chapter 2 for the showdown at Drax Enterprises!