The CEO’s Contract Wife

Chapter Seven

Tessa was the kind of friend who thrived on chaos. Which explained why she was currently sprawled across my bed, half-buried in my closet, tossing clothes onto the floor with reckless abandon.

“This won’t do. Too plain. Too stiff. God, when did you turn into a nun?” she muttered, holding up one of my old dresses like it had personally offended her.

“I don’t own anything fancy,” I said, sitting at the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow. “It’s not like I get invited to galas every weekend.”

“Well, you’re lucky I came prepared.” With a triumphant grin, she pulled a garment bag from her tote.

I eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Your salvation.” She unzipped it, revealing a sleek black dress, simple but elegant, the kind that whispered money without shouting it.

I blinked. “Tessa…. this looks expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just wear it. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

I sighed, but I let her push me into it, her excitement infectious. She even fussed with my hair and makeup, refusing to let me do it myself.

By the time she stepped back to admire her work, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

“Wow,” I whispered.

“Told you,” Tessa smirked. Then her expression softened. “Listen… you’ve got this. They don’t get to break you tonight. Not when you’ve got backup.”

I swallowed hard. “Backup meaning Daniel.”

“Exactly. And speak of the devil….” She glanced at her phone. “He’s downstairs.”

My pulse jumped.

Daniel Cole was waiting by a sleek black car that looked more expensive than my entire apartment building. He straightened as I walked out, his gaze sweeping over me slowly, deliberately.

“Miss Bennett,” he said with a small, knowing smile.

“You clean up well.”

Heat rushed to my face. “You’re early.”

“Or maybe you’re late.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he opened the car door for me.

I slid inside, trying to calm the storm in my chest. He joined me a moment later, the car gliding smoothly into the night.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. I stared out the window, rehearsing all the possible disasters waiting for me at the house.

“You’re nervous,” he said finally, not a question but a statement.

“Of course I’m nervous,” I muttered. “I’m walking straight into a circus where I’m the main act.”

His gaze lingered on me, steady and unreadable.

“Then let me make this clear: as long as I’m by your side tonight, no one touches you. Not with their words, not with their looks. Understood?”

Something in his tone, firm, protective sent a strange warmth through me.

I nodded. “Understood.”

We pulled up in front of the house, lights blazing, cars parked along the driveway. Laughter and chatter spilled out into the night.

My chest tightened.

Daniel stepped out first, then extended his hand to me. I hesitated, then placed mine in his. His grip was warm, steady, grounding.

The moment we walked through the doors, the room fell into silence. Every pair of eyes turned toward us.

And for the first time in years, it wasn’t shame that burned in my veins. It was power.

*******

The dining room looked like a stage, everyone already in their roles. My stepmother with her polished smile, my stepsister, Venessa, with her smug little tilt of the chin, and my father trying too hard to look cheerful. And then I walked in with Daniel Cole at my side.

Conversation dipped as we entered, forks paused mid-air. My stepmother’s eyes flicked over him, assessing, weighing. My stepsister’s lips curled, already preparing a jab.

“Ah,” my father boomed, relief thick in his voice.

“You came.”

I managed a smile, though my chest felt tight. Daniel’s hand rested lightly on mine, steadying me.

We took our seats, the clinking of glasses and plates resuming though quieter, as though the entire table leaned in, waiting.

It didn’t take long.

“So,” my stepmother said, eyes sliding to Daniel.

“Who do we have here?”

Before I could even open my mouth, Daniel spoke smoothly, his voice calm and sure.

“Her fiancé.”

My fork nearly slipped from my hand. My stepsister’s gasp was loud enough to draw chuckles from the other end of the table.

“Fiancé?” she repeated, wide-eyed. “Oh, how… surprising.”

Heat crawled up my neck, but Daniel didn’t flinch. His arm rested casually on the back of my chair, the picture of confidence.

“That’s right,” he said with a faint smile. “We prefer to keep things private.”

There was a ripple of whispers, followed by polite claps and forced congratulations. I forced a smile, playing along because I had no choice.

But then….

“No ring?” My stepsister’s eyes darted to my bare hand, her smirk sharp.

My stomach rumbled.

Daniel didn’t miss a beat. “The jeweler made a mistake with the size,” he said smoothly. “I had to return it. The replacement will be ready soon.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, dragging out the words like honey. Then she leaned against her husband with exaggerated affection, flashing her diamond ring.

“My man would never make that mistake. He knows every detail about me even my ring size.”

Her laugh was light, but her eyes burned with triumph.

I looked down at my plate, shame threatening to swallow me whole.

But then, under the table, Daniel’s hand found mine. He gave it a light squeeze, firm and reassuring. When I glanced up, his expression was calm, almost amused, as if none of this touched him.

Something in my chest shifted.

The conversation moved on, small talk, business chatter, subtle digs disguised as politeness. My stepmother made sure to comment on how “thin” I looked, her voice dripping with fake concern. My stepsister bragged about her husband’s recent deal, nudging him every few minutes like he was a trophy.

I barely spoke, but I didn’t need to. Daniel did the work, charming, collected, untouchable.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like the weakest person at the table.