Wolf CEO: The Contract Bride

The sound of rain hammering against the car window was like a rapid volley of drumbeats. Su Nian clutched the paper in her hand until her fingertips went white. The ink had blurred in places where the rain had seeped in, but she could still make out the number—four hundred thousand. That was the shortfall for her mother's surgery, the number that had become the final straw. The hospital had already issued an ultimatum: if the money wasn't raised within three days, the operating theatre would go to the next patient. She had run to every source she could think of. Relatives either didn't pick up, or gave her the same excuse: "We're struggling too." Su Nian had scrolled through her entire phonebook, but every call she made felt like tossing a pebble into an abyss—no echo came back. The taxi meter kept ticking. The driver glanced at her in the rear‑view mirror. Perhaps it was because she was soaked through and looked too wretched; he didn't rush her. Su Nian gave him the address of the Blue Night Club—a place she had never been to, though the name was not unfamiliar. People online called it a playground for the rich, where more shadowy deals took place behind closed doors. She had heard about it from another patient's family member. That woman had pulled her aside at the end of a hospital corridor and whispered, "If you're truly at the end of your rope, try your luck at the Blue Night Club. I hear they 'buy' people there—a special kind of contract, and the money comes fast." At the time, Su Nian had sworn she would never go that far. Yet only forty‑eight hours later, she found herself standing at the club's entrance. The club's exterior was not as ostentatious as she had imagined—almost understated. Black glass curtain walls reflected the rainy night lights. Two men in black suits stood at the door, their bodies massive as walls. Su Nian took a deep breath. Rainwater dripped from her hair. She wiped her face, steeled herself, and walked forward. The doormen's gazes were undisguisedly dismissive. A drenched girl in cheap clothes was clearly out of place here. Before Su Nian could even speak, one of them spoke into a walkie‑talkie. Moments later, a woman in a cheongsam emerged from inside. She looked to be in her early thirties, her makeup immaculate, a professional smile on her lips—but her eyes were cold as ice. "Su Nian?" the woman asked. Su Nian flinched, then nodded. "Follow me." The woman turned and walked away, her high heels clicking sharply on the marble floor—a rhythm as urgent as a death knell. Su Nian followed her down a corridor carpeted in dark tones. Paintings she couldn't understand hung on the walls. The air held a crisp, cold fragrance—an expensive perfume, perhaps, or something else entirely. They stopped before a heavy wooden door. The woman swiped a card, pushed it open, and revealed a spacious office. The lighting was dim. Behind an enormous desk sat a middle‑aged man wearing glasses. He gestured for Su Nian to sit and slid a document across the desk. Su Nian looked down at it. The cover was dense with tiny print. She forced herself to stay calm and flipped through page after page. The contract was more complicated than she had imagined—full of convoluted legal jargon—but the gist was clear: she would "sell" herself under a contractual arrangement to a mysterious organisation. The counterparty was a "special client." The term was one year. The compensation was five hundred thousand. At the end of the contract, there was a handwritten note in red—the characters so scrawled they were nearly illegible, but she made them out: *This contract, once signed, cannot be unilaterally terminated. Violators shall bear the consequences.* The phrase "bear the consequences" had been circled, and next to it was a tiny skull. Su Nian's hands trembled. She looked up at the middle‑aged man, wanting to ask for details, but he didn't even glance at her. He simply said icily, "Sign or don't sign. You have three minutes to decide." Three minutes. One hundred and eighty seconds. Every second was another moment her mother lay on a hospital bed, waiting for rescue. Su Nian closed her eyes. In her mind appeared her mother's pallid face and those eyes that had lost their light. Her father had died when she was twelve; her mother had raised her alone. Now her mother was lying there, and Su Nian could not just watch her die. She opened her eyes, picked up the pen, turned to the last page of the contract, and wrote her name on the signature line. The bespectacled man glanced at the signature, nodded in satisfaction, and took a black velvet box from his drawer. "Put on what's inside. Then go to the presidential suite on the top floor. The person you are to serve is waiting for you there. And remember: no matter what happens, do not resist." Su Nian took the box. Her fingers touched the velvet surface, and a chill ran through her. In a changing room next door, she opened the box. Inside was a black slip dress—fabric thin as a veil—and a pair of matching high heels. The dress was nearly transparent on her body. Su Nian stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like a commodity waiting to be sold. No—she *was* a commodity priced for sale. Five hundred thousand. One year. Price tag plainly marked. She bit her lip hard, her fingernails digging into her palms. The pain kept her from crying. She stepped into those ill‑fitting heels and walked, step by step, toward the elevator. She was alone inside. The reflection in the mirrored walls was eerily unfamiliar. Was that hollow‑eyed, underdressed woman really her? The elevator stopped at the top floor. As the doors opened, a stronger wave of that cold fragrance rushed at her. The corridor was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. She walked down the velvet‑carpeted hallway to the very end, where a pair of gilded double doors stood. The doors were not locked; a gentle push opened them. The room was absurdly large—many times bigger than the basement apartment she rented. Floor‑to‑ceiling windows displayed a panoramic night view of the city; the rain‑drenched sea of lights looked like an unreal painting. But Su Nian had no mood for such sights. Her eyes swept over the furnishings—an enormous round waterbed with silvery‑grey sheets as sleek as silk, a nightstand holding several bottles of liquor and two crystal glasses. The air smelled of alcohol and something else she couldn't identify. The room was empty. No one was there. Her heart pounded even faster. She hesitated at the threshold for a few seconds. A fear unlike anything she had ever known crept up from the soles of her feet, like an invisible hand squeezing her throat. She didn't know who was about to walk in. She didn't know who that "special client" on the contract really was. She didn't know what awaited her. All she knew was that she had signed, and there was no turning back. But fear is not something reason can suppress. Su Nian's legs went weak. A voice in her head screamed: *Run. Run now, before that person comes. Run as far as you can.* Her body reacted faster than her mind. She turned and bolted for the door, her high heels making a muffled, frantic clatter on the carpet. She ran into the corridor, dashed toward the elevator, and jabbed the down button. The elevator was coming up from the first floor, the numbers ticking over one by one—agonisingly slow. She glanced back at the dark, long hallway. She could have sworn something was moving quickly through the shadows. She couldn't wait any longer. She turned and ran toward the stairwell, pushed open the heavy fire door, and hurtled down the stairs. The heels were too cumbersome; she kicked them off and ran barefoot on the cold cement steps, not caring if shards cut her feet. Only one thought possessed her: get out of this place, get away from this place that made her skin crawl. She ran down three floors, but something felt increasingly wrong. From the outside, the building hadn't looked that tall, but now the stairwell seemed endless. Every floor marker was identical. She couldn't even tell if she was going in circles. Su Nian stopped to catch her breath, leaning against the wall. Her heart hammered so hard it might leap out of her throat. A sign on the wall read: *Seventh Floor*. She had run down from the top floor—how could she still be on the seventh floor? A chill slithered up her spine. She didn't dare think further. She pushed open the fire door on the seventh floor and decided to try a different route. The corridor here was far dimmer than upstairs. The wallpaper was peeling in places, and a damp, musty smell hung in the air—a world away from the luxurious decor above. Walking barefoot on the cold floor, she hurriedly searched for an elevator or another exit. At the end of the hall, a door marked "Staff Only" appeared. Su Nian's heart jumped, and she sped toward it. Her hand had just touched the door handle when a very soft sound came from behind her. It was not footsteps. It sounded more like something being dragged across the floor—a dry, slithering rasp, like a snake crawling. Su Nian froze. Slowly, she turned her head. The corridor was empty—nothing there. She thought she had imagined it and started to turn back when the light above her flickered. Once. Twice. Between the flickers, she saw a shadow at the far end of the hall. It wasn't her own shadow. That shadow was much taller and much broader than she was. Su Nian forgot about the staff door. She screamed and ran in the opposite direction. She didn't know where she was going—left, then right, through several corridors. The scene around her grew stranger and stranger. The wallpaper became more faded, the lights dimmer. In some places, only a single yellowed wall lamp barely held the darkness at bay. She passed a half‑open door; through the gap came a strong smell of rust—like the smell of blood. Finally, Su Nian broke down. She crouched in a corner, hugging her knees, her whole body trembling violently. Tears finally came, sliding silently down her cheeks. She regretted it. She regretted coming here, regretted signing that contract, regretted overestimating her own courage. She was just an ordinary girl. She had never been brave. She should never have come. But regret came too late. In the darkness, something was moving. Su Nian felt the shift in the air, felt an invisible pressure closing in on her—like a mountain slowly tipping over. She looked up through her tear‑blurred eyes. At the end of the corridor, standing in the shadows, was a man. No—not an ordinary man. He was immensely tall, a full head taller than a normal person. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs. A perfectly tailored black suit wrapped around a powerfully built body. But the most terrifying thing was not his size. It was his eyes. Even in the dim light, Su Nian could clearly see them: two eyes glowing with a ghostly green light, like twin will‑o'‑the‑wisps kindled in the dark. Those were not human eyes. Su Nian's mind went blank. Fear had completely overwhelmed reason. She tried to stand and run, but her legs gave out, as if nailed to the floor. The man walked toward her, step by step. The sound of his leather shoes on the floor seemed to land directly on her heart. Each step was heavy and slow, with the casual deliberateness of a predator approaching its prey. He stopped in front of her and looked down. Up close, she could see his face clearly. Sharp features—like they had been carved by a knife. Deep, cold contours. Thin lips pressed into a hard line. He radiated an icy aloofness that kept the world at a distance. But his eyes still glowed that eerie green, blazing in the murk—as if they could pierce through any facade and see straight into one's soul. Su Nian shrank back involuntarily, her back against the cold wall. There was no retreat left. The man's lips curled at the corner—a faint, unreadable tilt. It wasn't a smile. It was more like the satisfaction a hunter felt after catching its prey, something cruel and amused. He slowly crouched down to her eye level, those green eyes fixed on her, looking at her as if she were something already belonging to him. Su Nian opened her mouth, wanting to say something—beg for mercy, explain—but her throat seemed to be clamped shut. No sound came out. Then the man raised his right hand. His long, powerful fingers gripped her chin and jerked her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her chin ached under his grip. She could feel the heat radiating from that hand—not a normal temperature, but scalding hot, like a high fever. His fingertips were rough and strong, his knuckles prominent. That hand could easily envelop her entire chin. "Run," the man said, his voice a low rumble from deep in his chest—raspy, with an indescribable magnetism, but every word a blade edged with ice. "Why aren't you running anymore?" Su Nian's tears fell harder, blurring her vision. Finally, she choked out a few words: "Please… let me go… I don't want to sign anymore…" "Don't want to sign anymore?" The man repeated her words, as if tasting them. Then he laughed. It was a light laugh, very brief, with almost no warmth. But somehow, Su Nian sensed a cruel pleasure in it. "It's written in black and white on the contract. Once signed, no backing out. Didn't you read it?" "I… I read it," Su Nian stammered, her voice shaking. "You read it and still dared to back out?" The man's thumb slowly rubbed against her chin—an ambiguous gesture, impossible to tell if it was a caress or a threat. "Are you too brave, or not brave enough?" Su Nian didn't know how to answer. She just kept crying, kept trembling, like a small animal cornered by a beast. The man looked at her for a moment, then let go of her chin and stood up, gazing down at her huddled in the corner. "Stand up." His voice brooked no argument. Su Nian shook her head. She couldn't stand. Her legs had no strength. The man's brow creased slightly—impatient with her disobedience. He bent down, grabbed her arm with one hand, and the force was astonishing. It was like an iron clamp around her bicep. He lifted her straight off the ground. Su Nian was hoisted into the air, her feet barely touching the floor. She realised with horror that this man's strength was completely beyond normal human limits. He picked her up as easily as a rag doll. He set her down, but her legs still wouldn't hold her. She swayed, leaning crookedly against the wall. The man stood before her, those green eyes never leaving her, as if savouring her fear. Su Nian kept her head down, unable to look at him. Her gaze fell on his suit—the fabric gave off a dull luster in the dim light, clearly worth a fortune. His tie was impeccable, his shirt buttoned all the way to the top. He exuded an aura that was both celibate and dangerous. "Look up," the man said again. Su Nian didn't move. The air went still for a few seconds. Then she felt a hot palm press against the back of her neck. The pressure was light, but it was enough for her to feel the power in that hand—if he wanted, he could snap her neck at any moment. The hand moved slowly up her nape, his fingertips brushing the shell of her ear, finally stopping under her jaw to lift her face again. Forced to meet those green eyes once more, she saw them even more clearly now. The green glow was not a reflection, not a trick of the light—it genuinely emanated from the depths of his pupils, like flames burning in the back of his eyes. And his pupils were not round—they were vertical slits, like a snake's or a cat's. "What's your name?" the man asked. "Su… Su Nian." "Su Nian." The man rolled the name on his tongue slowly, as if tasting something, then his lips curled a little more. "A pretty name. Su Nian, do you know what kind of contract you signed?" Su Nian bit her lip and nodded. "Say it." "It's… a contract to sell myself to you for one year." Her voice was as thin as a mosquito's buzz. "Sell yourself to me, huh?" The man released her chin, tilted his head slightly, and studied her. "And now you want to run. Doesn't that count as breach of contract?" Su Nian opened her mouth, but no words came. Of course she knew it was a breach. The contract spelled it out clearly: the violator bears the consequences. But what "bear the consequences" actually meant, she had no idea—and didn't want to know. "Do you know why I stressed 'bear the consequences'?" The man's voice suddenly dropped very low, so low that only the two of them could hear it. It seemed to come from deep underground, carrying an indefinable oppressive weight. "Because before you, there were others who signed the contract, took the money, and then tried to run. Guess what happened to them?" Su Nian cried even harder. She wanted to cover her ears, not hear the answer. But the man clearly had no intention of letting her off. He leaned in slightly, his lips almost brushing her ear, his warm breath on her skin, his voice as low as a devil's whisper: "Not a single one got away." Su Nian's body jerked. A chill shot from her scalp to her soles. "This building," the man said, straightening up. His fingertip traced from her ear then pointed up at the ceiling, then down at the floor. "Thirty floors above ground. Five floors below ground. Every exit is guarded. The elevators require a special card to operate. The signs in the stairwells are all wrong. You thought you were running down, but you were just going in circles. Do you really think—little girl on your own—that you could run out?" So that was it. Su Nian finally understood why the stairs seemed endless, why all the floor markers were the same. This club was a meticulously designed cage. From the very beginning, there had been no escape route left for her. She was finished. Su Nian slid down the wall. She couldn't stand any longer. She squatted on the floor, buried her face in her knees, and wept silently. At this point, she no longer knew whether she was more frightened or more despairing—maybe both. Her mother's illness. The four hundred thousand. The damned contract. And this man, dangerous beyond measure. Everything pressed down on her like a mountain, crushing the breath out of her. The man did not urge her nor comfort her. He simply stood before her, hands in his trouser pockets, posture relaxed as if admiring a painting. His eyes still flickered with that green light, but now the glow seemed a shade gentler, as if he were thinking something over. After an unknown length of time, the man spoke again, his voice calm, as if he were not speaking to a girl who had cried herself to pieces: "The money has already been transferred to the account you designated." Su Nian's head shot up, her tear‑blurred eyes staring at him. "Five hundred thousand, not a cent less," the man added. "You can call to confirm it. But not right now." Su Nian was stunned. She had known that the money would arrive when she signed, but she hadn't expected it to happen so fast, nor that this man would be the one to tell her. She instinctively reached for her phone in her pocket, but her hands were shaking too badly to find it. "Do you think five hundred thousand is a lot?" the man asked an unrelated question. Su Nian didn't know how to answer. For the old Su Nian, five hundred thousand was an astronomical sum—more than she could save in ten years of work, even if she never spent a cent. But in front of this man, five hundred thousand sounded as trivial as five cents. "To me," the man said, without any hint of showing off in his tone—merely stating a cold, cruel fact, "five hundred thousand won't even buy a set of tyres for my car. But for you, that five hundred thousand is your mother's life. So you signed. You weren't selling yourself—you were buying your mother's life." Su Nian's tears burst forth again. He knew everything. He knew why she had come, why she had signed the contract, even that her mother was ill. He had investigated everything, like a hunter who had already set the trap and waited only for the prey to walk in. "So," the man crouched down again, long fingers lifting her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Those green eyes reflected her pale, tear‑ravaged face. "Do you still think you have a way out? The money is spent. The contract is signed. Your mother's life is bought. Now you want to run? Do you want your mother to die on the operating table?" That last sentence stabbed into Su Nian's heart like a knife. Her mother. Her mother was still in the hospital, waiting for that money to save her life. If she ran now, the contract would be voided, the money would be taken back, and her mother's life would be forfeit because of her cowardice. She couldn't run. She couldn't let her mother die. Wasn't that why she had come here in the first place? Su Nian closed her eyes. Tears squeezed through her shut lids, rolling down her cheeks onto the man's fingers. She realised with despair that every word he said was true. Her escape routes had been sealed the moment she signed her name on that contract. There was no going back. "I won't run." Su Nian's voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, but it carried something different from before—not resignation, but the desperate resolve of someone who had burned her bridges. The man's thumb patted her chin lightly, like praising a child who had finally learned to obey. Then he stood up and extended his right hand to her. Su Nian stared at that large, knuckled hand. She hesitated for a moment, then placed her own hand in his. That hot palm instantly closed around hers, completely enveloping it. A gentle tug, and she was pulled up from the floor, staggering a couple of steps before regaining her balance. "Good." The man's voice finally carried a trace of satisfaction, though his green eyes remained as cold and unfathomable as before, revealing no emotion. "Since you're not running, come with me." Su Nian looked up at him, her voice quivering: "Where to?" "Back where you belong." The man turned, his leather shoes striking the floor with a steady sound. His voice came from ahead—not loud, but clear in her ears. "Remember one thing." "What?" The man paused and turned his head slightly. Half his face was illuminated by light filtering in from the end of the corridor. His profile was as sharply defined as a sculpture, and those green‑glowing eyes blazed in the shadows. "From today on, everything about you belongs to me."