The CEO’s contract wife

It was already midnight, and Mr. Tom still wasn’t back from his gambling spot. Mrs. Anna and her daughter, Elena, were used to his late-night returns by now. Life with Tom meant waiting, worrying, and eventually pretending not to care. Anna sat by her old Rosin sewing machine, stitching together pieces of fabric under the soft glow of a flickering candlelight. It was the same sewing machine she had used for years, the only thing that kept food on the table since her husband lost his job a decade ago and decided to gamble away his life instead of fighting for survival. Elena sat beside her, holding the candlelight steady for her mother. Sewing with Anna at night had become their little ritual, a way to talk, laugh, and keep their bond alive despite the struggles of the day. Anna chuckled at a joke Elena cracked just moments ago. But before the laughter could settle, the door burst open with its usual loud slam. They didn’t panic — Tom always came back this way. But this time, something was different. He stumbled into the room with bruises across his face and arms. Anna rushed forward. “Tom! What happened?” “Leave me!” he snapped, shoving her aside. His words slurred as he muttered about debts, dangerous men, and how he had gambled everything away again. His voice trembled with the weight of despair. Anna’s heart sank. For years she had feared this day — the day his mess would swallow them whole. And now it was here. Her biggest fear wasn’t for herself, but for her daughter, Elena, who had just turned twenty-one three months ago. That night, Anna barely slept. She tossed and turned, haunted by nightmares of faceless men chasing them with guns and snarling dogs. She woke screaming, and Elena had to soothe her, whispering comfort as though she were the mother instead of the daughter. By morning, the air in their tiny house was heavy with silence. Tom sat slumped in his chair, his face pale with shame, while Anna and Elena quietly prepared breakfast in the kitchen. The knock on the door came suddenly, sharp and heavy. Tom dragged himself up and opened it. Standing outside was Mr. Ray — the man Tom owed a fortune to. He stepped into the house, his presence filling the little room with quiet menace. Mr. Tom’s house was ancient, a relic from better days that no longer existed. The sitting room carried the weight of poverty in every corner. The armchairs were sunken and torn, their stuffing peeking out like old wounds. Against one wall sat a box television, the kind most people had long thrown away, its screen cloudy and useless, showing only static when switched on. Above it hung an old wooden wall clock, ticking away with a stubborn tick-tock, tick-tock that reminded them how slowly time passed in misery. The walls had once been a bright yellow, but the paint had long since faded into a dull, dirty hue, chipped at the edges yet still clinging faintly to life. At the side stood a crooked bookshelf covered in dust, stacked with books that once belonged to Tom. No one remembered the last time he opened them. Their pages had grown yellow and brittle, just like the man who once loved them. Ray looked around the room with cold eyes, taking in every detail. His lips curled into a mocking smirk as he leaned back in his chair. The poverty-stricken environment didn’t stir pity in him — only contempt. Anna set a simple meal on their little dining table, a table worn from years of use, and forced a polite smile. “Please, Mr. Ray, join us.” Ray only waved her off. “I didn’t come here to eat your poor food,” he sneered. “I came for what’s mine.” The silence deepened. Just then, Elena walked in with a tray of herbal tea. Her quiet beauty glowed even in the dim room, her dark hair framing her face, her eyes shining with innocence. Ray’s gaze lingered on her. For a brief moment, he was dumbfounded. He hadn’t expected to find such breathtaking beauty in this fading house. His eyes traveled slowly, deliberately, and when they locked with Elena’s, the look sent shivers down her spine. Not the kind of shivers that come with admiration, but a sharp, unsettling fear of the unknown — as though she had just been marked by danger. Elena’s throat tightened. She forced herself to brush the feeling off, steadying the tray in her hands. Without a word, she set the tea on the dining table and quickly excused herself from the sitting room, her heart hammering as she slipped out of Ray’s line of sight. Anna saw it all. The way Ray looked at Elena. The way her daughter flinched. And that was when her heart truly froze. “Please, Mr. Ray,” Anna dropped to her knees suddenly, desperation in her voice. “We just need more time. I’ll sew day and night, my daughter will help me. We’ll pay, I promise.” Tom nodded weakly. “Yes… just a little more time.” Ray leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his tone mocking. “Time? You don’t have time. And you don’t have money either.” His eyes drifted deliberately toward Elena’s retreating figure. His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Maybe…” he said slowly, “…you have something more valuable than money.” Anna gasped and fell to the floor, crawling toward the doorway as if to shield Elena even when she was no longer in the room. “No! Not my daughter. Take the sewing machine, take the furniture, take anything else — but not her. She’s all I have.” Elena, standing just out of sight in the corridor, heard every word. Her heart pounded in her chest, terror rising like a tide. Never had she been pulled so directly into her father’s mess. Now she realized just how deep the danger went. Tom sat silently, shame heavy in his eyes. He couldn’t look at his daughter. He couldn’t protect her. Ray stood tall, his voice final. “You have one week. One week to pay me in cash. Or…” His gaze flicked to Elena’s shadow by the doorway, making her shiver. “…I’ll take what’s worth more than the debt.” He walked out, leaving the old clock ticking louder in the silence he left behind. Anna clutched her chest, sobbing as though her heart had been ripped apart. Elena stepped back into the room, her eyes filled with questions, with fear, with anger. She stared at her father, waiting for him to deny Ray’s words, to rise up and protect her. But Tom just sat there, hollow and broken, drowning in guilt. And in that moment, Elena knew: the storm had only just begun.