The CEO’s Contract Wife

I stared at the half-empty glass in front of me. The ice had melted, watering down the drink, but I kept sipping anyway. “This is stupid,” I muttered under my breath. “I shouldn’t even be here.” But I couldn’t go home. Not after what I saw this morning. Not after walking into her room and finding them like that, my fiancé and sister together. I let out a shaky laugh. “One week before the wedding. One damn week.” The bartender glanced at me but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t talking to him anyway. I was talking to myself. I always did that when the house got too loud, my stepmother’s voice was in my ear, my stepsister’s smirk was on her face, and my father stood there saying nothing. “They’ll say I deserved it,” I whispered. “That I should’ve seen it coming. As they said about my mother, I’m her daughter, so I’ll end up the same.” My chest felt tight, and I swallowed more of the bitter drink, wishing it could burn the ache out of me. That’s when I noticed him. Tall, broad-shouldered, walking toward the bar like he owned the space. His suit was sharp but it didn’t look like he came here for business. He looked… tired. Like someone who’d fought too many battles in one day. I quickly turned back to my glass. The last thing I needed was some stranger watching me unravel. The stool beside me scraped, and then he was sitting down. I could feel his presence without looking–steady, quiet, heavy somehow. I pushed my glass away and started to stand. “You’re leaving already?” His voice was deep, calm, with a hint of something I couldn’t place. I froze. “Sit,” he said, not unkindly. “At least finish your drink. Or have another. My treat.” For a second, I almost said no. But my legs felt too heavy to carry me, and the thought of going back home made my stomach twist. So I sat. And when the bartender slid another glass toward me, I didn’t push it away. One drink became two. My words slipped out more easily, my laughter looser, his gaze heavier. I didn’t even remember agreeing to follow him upstairs. But somehow, we were in the elevator. And then his hands were on me, and I wasn’t thinking anymore. *************** The light through the curtains woke me before anything else did. My head pounded, my mouth dry. I groaned and shifted, only to freeze when I realized two things: One—I was naked. Two—there was a man in the bed beside me. The stranger. Panic clawed at me. I scrambled off the bed, grabbing my dress from the floor and pulling it over my head. My shoes were nowhere to be found, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out. I was halfway to the door when his voice stopped me. “You don’t want the money?” I froze. Slowly, I turned. He was leaning back against the headboard, the sheets low on his hips, his expression unreadable. “The money?” I repeated, my voice sharp. He shrugged, as if it was obvious. “Most women who sneak out in the morning want something for their time.” Heat rushed to my face, not from shame but from fury. “I’m not one of your women,” I spat. “And I’m definitely not for sale.” I pulled the door open, my chest heaving. “Next time, keep your money. And your arrogance.” Then I slammed the door behind me.