The Contract Bride

I was late. Again. The morning sun beat down on the cracked pavement as I rushed out of the tiny café, clutching two paper cups of coffee like they were gold. My manager had warned me—“One more late delivery, Elena, and you’re out.” And I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not with the hospital calling about my mother’s bills, not with debt collectors threatening to take the house. “Excuse me—” I gasped, dodging through the crowd. And then it happened. One wrong step, one careless turn, and I collided with a wall. Except this wall was wearing a $5,000 suit. The coffee splashed, dark liquid staining crisp white silk. “Oh my God—” My voice trembled. “I—I’m so sorry—” I looked up. And froze. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes so cold they seemed to strip me bare. Sharp jaw, perfectly styled black hair, and an expression that could kill. A man who didn’t need to speak to command silence. The kind of man you read about in newspapers, but never expected to meet in real life. “Do you know,” he said slowly, his deep voice slicing through the air, “how much this suit costs?” My heart hammered. People around us stopped to stare. I swallowed hard. “I’ll—I’ll pay for the cleaning—” His lips curved into a cruel smile, like I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Pay? With what?” His gaze flicked to my cheap shoes, the secondhand uniform, the sweat on my brow. “You can’t even afford to breathe in my world.” Anger burned hot in my chest, cutting through the shame. “I said I’m sorry. It was an accident.” He stepped closer, towering over me, his cologne sharp and intoxicating. “I don’t believe in accidents.” For a moment, the city noise faded. It was just him and me—his icy gaze pinning me in place, his power pressing down on me like gravity itself. And then, with terrifying calm, he said: “You’ll repay me. One way or another.”