The Wolfe's Contract Bride

ChapterThree

Lina's Point Of View

"I'll clear your debt. In exchange, you'll be my wife for one year."

I thought he was joking. Or insane. Or some drunk hallucination my starved brain conjured. But the gun’s click still rang in my ears, and the man before me— all sharp suits and sharper eyes —didn’t smell of alcohol. He smelled like money and winter.

The loan shark groaned at my feet, his blood pooling near my ruined sneakers. He’d kill me for this. The other two would hold me down while he did it.

I didn’t blink. “Deal.”

The stranger’s mouth quirked. Not a smile. A predator’s reflex. “No questions?”

My ribs ached with every breath. “Will asking change the terms?”

“No.”

“Then we’re done.” I wiped my split lip with the back of my hand. Stupid. Brave. Dead either way.

He turned to leave, his shoes crunching over broken glass. Something reckless uncoiled in my chest.

“Why are you helping me?"

He stilled. Slowly, so slowly, he glanced back. “Helping you?” His laugh was a blade drawn across silk. “Darling, I’m collecting a debt. You just don’t know what you owe yet.”

I watched his retreating figure as he walked off. "You are expected at his penthouse tomorrow, miss Lina,"

I looked up at the man stretching a card to me. His long silky hair was packed in a ponytail with a pair of glasses resting on his sharp nose. His fingers were slender and delicate that one would mistake them for a woman's. He was beautiful.

With every strength remaining in me, I collected the card from him. I glanced at the card. "Wolfe Enterprise" I read out.

I’d heard that name before —whispered in the bakery when the TV played business news, spat by loan sharks when they threatened debtors who "crossed the Wolf."

And I’d just promised to marry him.

My legs buckled. I caught myself on the dumpster, the metal biting into my palm. The card trembled in my grip.

The beautiful man — Miguel, his companion had called him — watched me with detached curiosity. For a second, his polished mask slipped. "You’re bleeding," he said, softer.

I swiped my sleeve across my lip. "I’ll live."

His lips thinned. "Tomorrow. Ten AM. Don’t be late." Then he was gone, his polished shoes avoiding the bloodstains as he left.

Alone in the alley, I stared at the card. What the hell had I just done?

It was quite late when I eventually got home. Thankfully, Uriel wasn't around to add to my misery. I struggled to my room, letting out a breath as I rested my back on the door. A message came.in from the landlady reminding me of the rent. I switched off my phone, looking up at the ceiling in deep thoughts. I felt something trail down my cheek and I wiped it off. Tears. I chuckled bitterly. It can't get any worse.

I grabbed one of the bottled water I kept under my bed and limped to the bathroom to wash my face, arms and legs. I went back to my room and laid on the bed. Wolfe Enterprise... I twirled the card between my fingers in deep thoughts until I slept off.

---

I woke up the next day very early. I brushed my teeth and washed my arms and legs. I had no makeup to cover the bruise on the sides of my face so I had to let my hair down. It looked so greasy but I didn't have a choice. I wore the most presentable shirt and a pair of jeans I could find and I stepped out. I boarded a cab and told the driver the address.

The elevator doors slid open with a hushed *ping*, revealing a penthouse that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off surfaces so polished I could see my bruised reflection in them. My sneakers, worn at the soles, still flecked with alley grime, squeaked against the marble.

Out of place. Just like me.

“H-hello?” My voice echoed. No answer.

I stepped forward, my fingers leaving sweaty smudges on the business card. *Ten AM sharp,* Miguel had said. Had they changed their minds? Left me to the sharks after all?

Then I heard it... water running.

Following the sound, I passed a kitchen bigger than my entire apartment, a living room with a piano I’d never dare touch, and finally, an open doorway. Steam curled out, carrying the scent of sandalwood and something darker, sharper. Him

My knuckles hovered over the doorframe. “Mr. Wolfe?”

The water shut off. A beat of silence. Then—

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open and froze.

Kieran stood with his back to me, a towel slung low on his hips, water sluicing down the ridges of his spine. His shoulders were a map of old scars—thin, white lines that contrasted violently with his golden skin.

*Dangerous.* The word hummed in my veins.

He turned, and I forgot to breathe.

“You’re late,” he said, though the clock on the wall read 9:58.

My mouth went dry. “The elevator took—”

“I don’t care.” He grabbed a shirt from the counter but didn’t put it on. Just held it, his eyes raking over me—the bruise on my cheek, the grease in my hair, the way my too-big shirt swallowed my frame.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Miguel.”

The beautiful man appeared soundlessly in the doorway, a tablet in hand. “Sir?”

“Take her to the guest suite. Get her cleaned up. Then bring her to my office.” His gaze flicked back to me. “We have a contract to discuss.”

As he strode past, the scent of him—soap and something unforgiving, like bourbon—wrapped around me.

Then the door snapped shut, and I realized I’d been clutching the business card so tight, the edges had drawn blood.

Miguel led me to a bathroom larger than Uriel’s entire bedroom. A black marble tub steamed with water so clear I could see rose petals dissolving at the bottom.

"Clothes will be provided," Miguel said, setting down a tray. "For your...injuries."

I eyed the silver tubes—foreign ointments with French labels. "I don’t need—"

"Kieran prefers his investments undamaged." He adjusted his glasses. "Twenty minutes."

The door clicked shut. I dipped a finger in the water—scalding, almost painful.

As I sank in, my bruises screamed. The soap smelled of winter pines and something ruthlessly expensive. I scrubbed until my skin burned. After bathing, I returned to the huge bedroom and truthfully, new clothes were provided.

I wore the simple gown and I was escorted back to Mr. Wolfe's room.

He had finally put on a shirt - black, rolled at the sleeves to reveal those scars again.

"Sit," he ordered and I say opposite him. He pushed a document before me and I picked it up. It was a contract agreement. I read every sentence thoroughly, making sure I was satisfied with the terms - not that I had a choice at this point.

"Section 4.3 says I have to live with you here and I can’t leave the penthouse without your permission."

He nodded, "correct"

"And I can't continue whatever job I was doing?"

His jaw ticked in irritation, "as you can see there."

I slid the paper back, "Then I can't sign this."

A beat. His pen froze mid-signature.

"You’d rather die in that alley?"

My fingers dug into the paper in my hand. Bastard.

His lips twitched. Not a smile. A challenge.

"You're going to be married to Kieran Wolfe. You might just be a wife on paper but it would be a slap to my reputation if you are seen earning scraps at a low rated restaurant,"

"What am I going to be doing then?"

"I will have that arranged."

"I can't stay in this penthouse everyday,"

He pulled out a new page, "Amended. You get Sundays. From noon to...four."

"Eight." I argued.

"Five."

"Seven."

He leaned forward, "Six. Final offer."

I picked up the pen and signed my life away to the man before me.

"Now that we're on the same page, the wedding is this evening,"

"What?!"

***

He wasn't bluffing. We really had the wedding.

The "wedding" was colder than the penthouse marble.

No guests. No vows. Just a judge, a pen, and Kieran’s smirk as he slid

a ring onto my finger, too tight, like a collar. We signed the wedding certificate and just like that, I was worried.

"Congratulations Mr and Mrs Wolfe,"