HIS DEFIANT CONTRACT WIFE

Thirty-five thousand feet above the Atlantic, a quiet calm settled over the first-class cabin of British Airways. Under the soft blue ambient lights, the only sound was the occasional clink of champagne glasses and the low, steady hum of the jet engines. Aria Sinclair took a deep breath, trying to push through her exhaustion. She was flying back to New York on an emergency call, leaving a major landscape architecture project in Paris completely midway. The text she had received late last night from her grandmother, Lady Eleanor, was short but alarming: "Take the first flight back immediately. The Sinclair Empire is in danger." She let out a soft sigh, gathering her golden-brown hair into a claw clip. Wearing a comfortable beige trench coat over a crisp white silk shirt, she usually preferred to manage her own luggage. But today, her leather carry-on was unusually heavy, packed with project blueprints and thick botany reference books. Standing on her tiptoes, Aria used both hands to lift the heavy bag into the overhead locker. It wouldn't go in; one corner was firmly stuck against the frame. With no flight attendant in sight, she turned to the man sitting in the adjacent first-class pod. He seemed completely detached from his surroundings. Dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal-gray Tom Ford suit, he looked straight off the cover of a business magazine. The subtle glint of his Rolex and the clean scent of expensive wood-toned cologne gave off an unmistakable air of authority. He was so deeply focused on the financial reports on his MacBook screen that a faint crease had formed between his brows. "Excuse me," Aria said, keeping her tone pleasant despite her frustration. "My bag is stuck. Could you give it a quick push?" The man’s hands paused over the keyboard. A beat passed... then two... before he slowly turned his head to look at her. The moment his eyes met hers, the atmosphere in the pod turned noticeably tense. His dark eyes were cold, unblinking, and entirely devoid of politeness. "Do I look like cabin crew to you?" His voice was low, raspy, and sharp with quiet arrogance. Aria blinked in disbelief. Most people would have backed down or apologized out of embarrassment, but Aria had never been one to sit quietly through unprovoked rudeness. A dry smile touched her lips. Looking him dead in the eye, she matched his coldness. "No... you don't look like crew at all. You look like someone who left his manners back at the airport terminal. Sorry to trouble you." Without waiting for a response, she turned back to her bag. Slipping her coat off her shoulders to free up her arms, she took a firm breath and pushed the bag straight into the compartment with a hard shove. The locker door shut with a solid click. Setting her coat back on, she sat down, pulled out her iPad, and immediately opened her design files, acting as if he didn't exist. In the neighboring seat, Harrison Cross remained motionless. A sharp flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. The youngest billionaire in New York, the CEO of Cross Corporation—a man whose decisions influenced entire markets—had just been put in his place by a complete stranger. Yet, Harrison felt no anger. Instead, a faint, cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her reflection on his laptop screen. *Aria Sinclair...* He let the name sit in his mind. This was the girl whose grandmother had destroyed his Aunt Clara’s life years ago. Harrison had dedicated the last decade to planning the total collapse of the Sinclair family. He had always assumed the sole Sinclair heiress would be some sheltered, timid girl he could easily push around. But that sharp edge in her tone? That quiet defiance? *I actually prefer this pride of yours, Miss Aria,* Harrison thought, calmly taking a sip of his champagne. *Because breaking it will be far more satisfying than I thought.* She had walked straight into his path without knowing it. And Aria had no idea that the arrogant man sitting next to her was about to turn her entire world upside down. The moment Aria stepped out of the VIP terminal at JFK Airport, a sleek black Range Rover from the Sinclair estate was waiting for her. The heavy rain had stopped, but Manhattan’s skyline still reflected off the wet pavement like spilled ink. New York had always felt like home, but tonight, a strange, suffocating pressure hung over the cold air. As the SUV pulled through the high iron gates of the Sinclair estate on the Upper East Side, Aria took a slow breath to steady herself. But as soon as she opened the main entrance doors, she felt the shift in the house immediately. The usually active household was dead quiet, cold and drained of its usual life. The family's longtime butler took her coat in silence, his eyes fixed on the floor with visible strain. He quietly gestured toward her grandmother's main office. Aria pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stopped instantly. Lady Eleanor was an unyielding woman who had spent decades holding her ground in boardrooms. Yet today, sitting back in her dark leather armchair, the head of the Sinclair family looked visibly shaken and exhausted, as if the past twenty-four hours had taken years off her life. Financial sheets and paper files were strewn across her large desk. Her senior attorney, David, stood off to the side, rubbing his temples with an expression of sheer defeat. "You're back, Aria," Lady Eleanor said, lifting her head. The natural authority that usually carried her voice was gone. She just sounded tired. "Grandma, what's going on? Why did you need me back from Paris so fast?" Aria asked directly. She wasn't one to panic; her focus was already on figuring out how to handle the situation. Without saying a word, Lady Eleanor slid an iPad across the wooden desk toward her. Aria picked it up and looked at the screen. It was a live tracking chart of the Sinclair Group's stock. The red line had dropped sharply from its peak all the way down into the red zone—a complete collapse. "We're facing bankruptcy, Aria," Lady Eleanor said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our major financial backers pulled out overnight. Over the last forty-eight hours, an unknown entity bought up sixty-five percent of our public shares." She paused, taking a shaken breath. "It's a hostile takeover. Everything this family built over generations... gone before the market opens tomorrow." Aria stared at the numbers in disbelief. "How is that possible? What was the board doing while this happened? How did no one catch this earlier? Who is behind it?" David cleared his throat nervously before speaking, his tone heavy with apprehension. "Cross Corporation... Harrison Cross."