My Contractual husband is a Callboy

Sinister Voice

A few hours later, Leila and Jeremy strutted out of the marriage registry, their hands were intertwined. Their faces adorned with triumphant smiles.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Leila turned to face Jeremy, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. "Okay, husband," she said, emphasizing the word with a hint of playfulness, "from now on, I'll pay you $10,000 per month as long as we're married. It was a pleasure doing business with you." She extended her hand, maintaining a professional facade.

Jeremy grasped her hand, giving it a firm shake. His golden eyes danced with amusement as he replied, "You got it, boss. Or should I say... wife?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Leila's laughter rang out, "Boss wife," she corrected, and they both dissolved into laughter, drawing curious glances from passersby.

As their mirth subsided, Leila's expression became more businesslike. "Whenever I need your services, I'll let you know. Until then, you can chill." She reached into her designer handbag, pulling out a sleek wallet. "Here," she said, handing Jeremy enough money for a luxurious ride home. "Get yourself home safely."

Jeremy accepted the money, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. "Thank you... boss wife,"

With a final nod and a small wave, Leila turned and strode towards her waiting car, the marriage certificate safely tucked away in her handbag. As she settled into the plush leather seat, she allowed herself a moment of quiet celebration before steeling herself for the confrontation to come.

The drive to her mother's house felt far too short. As the car pulled up to the grand mansion, Leila took a deep breath, smoothing her features into a mask of cool indifference. She made her way through the foyer, her heels clicking against the marble floors, echoing through the hall.

Leila walked purposefully towards the dining room, already knowing what she would find. As expected, they were all there, lounging around the massive table as if it were their personal haven. The room reeked of expensive perfume and even more expensive wine. Her mother's house had devolved into a den for hungry opportunists, each vying for a piece of the family fortune.

"Finally, you came home," her father said, his voice dripping with barely concealed impatience. He swirled his wine glass, the deep red liquid catching the light.

Edith, Zara's mother, leaned forward, her heavily jeweled fingers wrapped around her own glass. "If I were you, I'd be begging Toni to take me back," she advised, her voice syrupy sweet but laced with venom.

Leila couldn't help but roll her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn't get stuck to the back of her skull. The sheer audacity of these people never ceased to amaze her.

Zara, not to be outdone by her mother, chimed in. "Toni doesn't want her anymore. That's why she came crawling back here." She took a self-satisfied sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving Leila's face.

Leila felt a surge of anger rise within her, but she kept her voice level as she countered, "That's funny coming from two home wreckers."

The room erupted into chaos. Edith's shrill voice cut through the air, "Brown! Did you hear your daughter? Rude brat!"

Mr. Brown's fist came down on the table with a resounding thud, causing the crystal glasses to rattle precariously. "Enough, Leila!" he bellowed. "I won't sit here and have you insult my wife. Focus on what we're here for. If you're not marrying Toni, then forfeit the company."

Zara drew in a ragged breath, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She leaned forward, ready to savor what she assumed would be Leila's defeat.

But Leila merely shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Forfeiture? No, quite the opposite. I've come to show you something." With deliberate slowness, she reached into her handbag and pulled out the file containing the marriage certificate. She handed it to her father, her movements calm and assured. "Here."

Her father's eyes widened as he glanced through the document, disbelief etched across his features. "A marriage certificate?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zara and Edith scrambled around the table, jostling each other to get a better look at the document. The taste of bitter fury coated Zara's tongue as the realization dawned on her. Their carefully laid plans were crumbling before their eyes.

"Who the f**k is Jeremy Clarkson?" Zara spat out, her face contorted with rage and confusion

“Who the f**k is Jeremy Clarkson?” Zara barked, her voice echoing off the walls of the spacious room.

Mr. Brown's eyes held a mix of confusion and concern. "Jeremy Clarkson," he mused, his voice low and thoughtful. "That name sounds familiar. I'm sure I have heard it somewhere before." He tapped his fingers on the armrest of his leather chair, trying to place the name.

Zara's eyes widened as a sudden realization hit her. "Wait, is it the guy from yesterday? You married some random call boy?"

Mr. Brown's contemplative expression morphed into one of anger and disbelief. He turned to Leila, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "What? Tell me what she is saying is not true, Leila."

Edith, Zara's mother, who had been silently observing the drama, finally spoke up. Her voice was laced with disgust and disappointment. "That's appalling," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Leila's eyes narrowed and she lashed out. "Not as appalling as you," she spat. "At least I didn't sleep with a married man."

Zara sprang to her feet, her hands balled into fists at her sides as she faced Leila. "Don't you dare talk to my mother that way."

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension crackling in the air like electricity before a storm. Mr. Brown, his face a mask of barely contained fury, broke the silence. His voice was cold as he addressed Leila. "Leila, you need to file for a divorce right now or never step foot in this house again."

Leila's defiant stance didn't waver. If anything, she seemed almost relieved at the ultimatum. "I'm okay with the latter," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just here to show you my certificate." With swift, deliberate movements, she collected the marriage certificate from her father's hands and strode towards the door. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor punctuated her exit, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

As the front door slammed shut, the remaining family members exchanged bewildered looks. Mr. Brown slumped in his chair, suddenly looking older and more tired than ever before. Zara and Edith stood close together, united in their shock and anger.

~

The trendy café buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the rhythmic clinking of cups against saucers. Leila sat across from her best friend, Betty, her hands wrapped around a tall glass of flavored yogurt. The cool drink provided a much-needed respite from the turmoil of the past few hours.

"Holy f**k, Leila! You married a total stranger." Betty exclaimed, her eyes wide behind her oversized glasses as she examined the marriage certificate for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Leila sighed, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. "Yes, Betty, you've already asked me that three times." She took a long sip of her yogurt, letting the chilled liquid soothe her frayed nerves. "And like I told you, it's a fake marriage so I can inherit my mother's company."

Betty adjusted her glasses, a habit she had when she was processing shocking information. Despite being Leila's best friend and sharing similar features – they were both brunettes with sharp, intelligent eyes.

"Even if it's fake, it's not something to be taken lightly."

Leila rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of affection in the gesture. "What was I supposed to do? Marry Toni?" she asked.

Betty's expression hardened at the mention of Toni. "You have a point. Anyone is better than Toni. Have no mercy on cheaters." Her face softened, and she leaned forward, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "Tell me how you met this Jeremy."

Leila hesitated for a moment, her mind flashing back to her meeting with Jeremy. "I'd rather not say," she replied after a pause.

Betty's lips formed a thin line, a mix of disappointment and understanding crossing her face. "Okay, I get it. What does he do for a living?"

"I'd rather not say that either," Leila said with a small smile, knowing she was testing her friend's patience.

"You gotta give me something!" Betty exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. They both burst into laughter.

Leila leaned in conspiratorially, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Okay, he is super hot, like pant-dropping hot!"

Betty let out a squeal of excitement. "Can I see a picture of him? Show me something!"

Leila's laughter intensified. "Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of him. You'll have to see him yourself."

"Ass! I can't wait to see him." Betty's excitement was palpable, her reputation as the official man-eater of their social circle coming to the fore. "Is there anything else you want to tell me about him?"

Leila took another sip of her yogurt, "That's just about it, except that I'm paying him $10k a month to be my husband."

The statement hung in the air for a moment before Betty's brain fully processed it. Her eyes widened comically, and she leaned back in her chair as if physically struck by the revelation. "What the...? You're paying him $10k a month to be your husband?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and something akin to jealousy.

"Yes, and we get divorced..." Leila trailed off, noticing the strange look on Betty's face. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Betty squinted at her friend, a hint of playful indignation in her voice. "I'm your assistant, your best friend, you're currently staying at my place. Why is his salary higher than mine? I want a raise."

"A raise? Okay," Leila laughed, and Betty mimicked her laughter.

"I want a raise. That's the first subject you will discuss with the board first thing tomorrow morning."

As they continued to joke and laugh, neither of them was aware of the machinations happening elsewhere. In a dimly lit office across town, a phone conversation was taking place.

"Am I speaking with Henry?" a gruff voice asked over the phone.

"Yes, sir," came the crisp reply.

"Good. I want you to look into someone for me."

"Name?"

"Jeremy Clarkson."