The Contract Bride

Six – The Explosion

Elena POV

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Three days in his penthouse, three days of silence, three days of him acting like I was nothing but an object he’d bought and placed on display.

Alexander Steele moved around me with calculated calm—taking phone calls, sipping whiskey, working late nights. And not once, not once, did he look at me like I was his wife.

Until tonight.

I stormed into his office, slamming the door behind me. He didn’t flinch. He just looked up from his laptop, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“What now, sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, bored, like I was nothing but another interruption.

My fists clenched. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You are my sweetheart. On paper, at least.”

Anger boiled in my chest. “On paper? Is that all I am to you—a signature? A body to parade when it’s convenient?”

His silence was infuriating.

“You think because you’re rich, because you’re powerful, you can control me?!” My voice cracked. “Well, you can’t. You may have forced me into this marriage, but you will never have my heart.”

I spun on my heel, ready to leave, when his voice cut through the air.

“Don’t be so sure.”

I froze. Slowly, I turned back.

He was standing now, towering over me, his expression unreadable. But his eyes… oh, his eyes burned.

In two strides, he was in front of me. His hand brushed my jaw, tilting my face up. My breath caught as his lips hovered just a breath away from mine.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

And then—he pulled back.

His gaze darkened, his jaw clenched. “Not yet,” he muttered, stepping away. “You’re not ready.”

I stood there, shaking, furious at him, furious at myself—because part of me wanted him to finish what he’d started.

Alexander POV

Control.

That was what Alexander Steele was known for. Control of the market. Control of the boardroom. Control of his empire.

And yet, the one thing he couldn’t control was the slip of a woman down the hall. Elena Carter.

She infuriated him. She challenged him. She made his carefully built walls c***k with every glare, every sharp word, every fire-filled look in her eyes.

And it was dangerous.

That’s why, when Isabella Rothschild walked into his office—the perfect heiress, flawless in her designer dress and painted smile—he should’ve felt relief.

“Alex,” she purred, settling into the chair across from him. “Congratulations on the marriage. Though I admit, I didn’t expect you to settle for… someone like her.”

Someone like her.

The words made his jaw tighten.

“You didn’t come here to congratulate me,” he said coldly.

Isabella leaned forward, her perfume too sweet, too heavy. “I came here to remind you that you don’t have to pretend. You and I—we make sense. Power marries power.” Her smile was calculated, sharp. “This little contract bride of yours won’t last.”

Alexander’s fingers drummed on the desk. His empire was built on logic, not emotion. Isabella did make sense. But the thought of her name replacing Elena’s in his home, his bed—

Unacceptable.

“She lasts as long as I say she does,” he replied flatly.

Isabella’s smile faltered, just for a second. But she recovered quickly, standing with grace. “We’ll see, Alex. We’ll see.”

When the door shut behind her, he let out a slow breath, his control slipping.

Because the truth gnawed at him like fire in his veins:

Elena wasn’t supposed to matter.

But she did.

And that made her the most dangerous woman in his world.