Bound by the billionaire’s contract

Boardroom

The boardroom went silent. Faces watched her from both sides of the long table. Jordan’s eyes were on her like a test. Which university? he had asked, the smile on his mouth not reaching his eyes.

Then a memory flashed, a glossy magazine cover from years ago. Grayson in a dark coat, young and sharp, a caption under his photo: Bridgerton University, England—Top of His Class.

Arianna lifted her chin. “Bridgerton University,” she said, steady now. “England. We met in 2006. We both studied” she glanced at Grayson, “business economics and English literature .”

Jordan leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest. “How romantic,” he said lightly. “And the timing? A marriage just before the review. Convenient, isn’t it?”

Grayson’s jaw tightened, but his smile stayed smooth. “When you know, you know,” he said to the room. “Shall we proceed?” The meeting moved on.

When it ended, Grayson placed a gentle pressure at the small of her back and guided her out. Cameras flashed in the lobby. Someone said “Congratulations,” and another said “So sudden,” and then they were in the car with the doors shut and only their breathing between them.

For two blocks, silence.

Then Grayson spoke, calm but sharp. “You answered well.”

“You said you’d introduce me,” Arianna said, heat rushing up her neck. “You didn’t say I’d be interviewed.”

“It wasn’t an interview.”

“It was.” She turned to him. “I could have slipped. You should have prepared me.”

He took his eyes off the road for a heartbeat. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

“I’m not your employee.”

“I am protecting both of us.”

Her pulse spiked. “By throwing me in front of them?”

The light turned red; the car slowed. Behind them, a horn blared, angry and long. Grayson’s hands tightened on the wheel. “This is the last time,” he said, low. “Do not raise your voice at me. Not in public, not in private. My world is made of eyes and ears. One mistake, and all of this burns.”

The light flipped green. He pressed the gas too hard. A delivery truck cut into their lane without warning. Arianna gasped. Tires squealed. The car jerked; her shoulder slammed into the door. Their car nearly crashed into the truck.

At the mansion, maids lined the hall and bowed. Arianna felt their eyes count every step she took. Grayson’s voice was smooth again. “We sleep in the same room,” he said, climbing the stairs. “Everyone here watches. If the staff suspect, it reaches my parents.”

She stopped on the landing. “We agreed to sleep in separate rooms,” Arianna said. “We agreed to survive,” he said. There was a spare bed on the far side of his room. A quiet mercy. He said nothing about it. She said nothing, either.

The lamp by the bed gave off a low gold light. Arianna lay quiet when sleep finally came, it came thin. She woke before dawn, throat tight, heart unsettled. She wrote a note down telling Grayson she was leaving for the hospital and left.

Her father’s room was cool and pale. He lay still, machines ticking softly and regularly. Arianna touched his hand. “I’m here,” she whispered.

Samantha came in with paper cups of tea and hugged her from the side. “How did it go yesterday?”

“We survived,” Arianna said. “For now.” They sat together until the room brightened, Arianna went back to the mansion to keep the script turning.

By noon, she was at her old job for the last time, tying on her apron. A prickling moved along her spine. She turned. A man in a cap sat alone near the window, pretending to read a menu, eyes flicking to her reflection in the glass.

She walked to the back door, paused, and looked again. The man’s head dipped; his hand moved to an earpiece near his collar.

Her phone buzzed. Grayson.

She answered in a whisper. “Someone is following me.”

“My man,” he said. “To keep you safe.”

“You put someone on me without telling me?”

“I put several on you. Jordan is digging. You won’t go back to work. I’ll pay you triple what you make. Come home.”

“Triple?”

“Today.”

She looked at the clock on the wall, at the two tables she was meant to serve, at the manager’s door. “I can’t just..”

“Today,” he said. “Now.”

He cut the call.

Arianna took off the apron and folded it neatly on the counter. She told her manager she had resigned and left quickly.

Jordan watched from his office, screens glowing. He scrolled through Arianna’s social pages, one by one. Clean images, neat dates. Family photos with warm smiles. A school gala with a gold ribbon. Charity posts. Perfect.

He smirked. “Too perfect.”

“Convenient,” he murmured, and leaned back, thinking.

He called his mother. She answered on the second ring, her voice soft and bright. “Jordan?”

“Are Father and Grayson coming to dinner?”

“Yes. And Arianna. She has kind eyes.” A smile was in her voice. “Your father is happy. He says the house needs a baby again.”

Jordan’s hand tightened. “Of course he is.”

“Don’t be cruel,” she said gently. “Grayson works hard. You know this.”

“I know,” he said, and hung up without telling her he would come too.

The Hawthorne parents’ house smelled like cedar and orange peel. Arianna held a bouquet and a box of tea from a local shop. Grayson’s father greeted them with a deep laugh that shook the air. “My son,” he said, pulling Grayson into a quick, proud hug, then turning to Arianna. “And my daughter now.”

Arianna bowed her head. “Thank you for welcoming me.”

Grayson’s stepmother, Jordan’s mother, took Arianna’s hands with real warmth. “You are beautiful,” she said. “Grayson always forgets to eat. Please make him eat.”

Arianna smiled. “I’ll try.”

They ate under soft lights. The conversation turned, as all family conversations do, toward future holidays, birthdays, names that had been saved since childhood. “Grandchildren,” Grayson’s father said, eyes shining. “We are not young forever.”

Arianna’s smile held, polite and small. Next to her, Grayson reached for his glass, knuckles pale.

Jordan arrived late, shoulders stiff, a smile too thin. He congratulated them both with a kiss on his stepmother’s cheek and a firm, formal handshake for Arianna. He did not meet Grayson’s eyes.

He stayed long enough to hear his father say “grandchild” again in a voice that broke a little on the word. Then Jordan stood, chair scraping. “I have calls,” he said. He left without dessert.

At sunrise, he was at Grayson’s gates, sober and angry. The guards crossed their arms. “Mr. Hawthorne is not in,” one said.

“Get out of my way,” Jordan said and moved forward.

“Sir, you can't enter,” the guard said.

He pushed between them. One tried to block his arm; Jordan shrugged him off, jaw hard. He walked straight into the house and climbed up the stairs.

The hall was quiet. He opened the door to Grayson’s room without knocking.

“Grayson!” Jordan said, but it wasn’t a question

Without a knock, he pushed the door out of anger.

The door opened, and Arianna stepped out. Her skin still glistened with water, droplets sliding down her shoulders, her damp hair clinging to her face. A short towel hugged her body, stopping mid-thigh. She froze.

Jordan stopped too, his hand still on the knob. For a second, shock flashed across his face. Then his eyes narrowed, flicking over her, sharp and unreadable.

“I came for my brother,” he said slowly. His mouth curved into a smile that wasn’t really a smile. “But I didn’t expect… this.”

Arianna gripped the towel tighter, her pulse hammering. “Get out.”

Jordan didn’t move. His gaze lingered, heavy, unsettling, and dangerous. Then, slowly, he pushed the door shut behind him.