The Billionaire's Contract Wife

Chapter 4

Michael’s POV

The alarm dragged me out of sleep at 4:30. My body moved on autopilot—gym downstairs, weights, treadmill, sweat. A quick shower, breakfast. Routine. But as soon as I stepped into the company lobby, routine ended.

Alicia was there. Sitting in the waiting area outside my office, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her face unreadable. I slowed. She is not supposed to be here this early. I hadn’t expected her decision this fast. Still, I could not deny the flicker of relief in my chest. “Miss Alicia,” I said, striding forward, reaching for her hand. My tone was polite, controlled. “What a pleasant surprise.” Her hand was small in mine, hesitant. “This way, please.” I opened the office door and held it for her. She stepped inside, the faintest scent of vanilla following her. Pulling out a chair, I gestured. She sat, back straight, guarded.

“Mr. Brune—” “Michael,” I interrupted smoothly. “No formalities. Please.” “Okay then. Michael.” She hesitated on the name, as if it didn’t quite belong in her mouth yet. “I gave it a very long thought. It’s unbelievable, but… worth a try. But before I commit, I need to know some things. Is it okay if I ask?”

“Sure.”

We sat in silence. Five long, dragging minutes. She fiddled with her fingers, her lips parting then closing again. I leaned back, waiting, fighting irritation. “Alicia?” She jumped. “Huh? Yes, the questions. I had them all in mind but now I can’t seem to recall.”

Her voice was soft, embarrassed. I could almost see the heat rising in her cheeks. “It’s fine,” I said evenly. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes. If it’s important, draft them out.” Her fingers clenched into her lap. “It’s just… about your past relationship. I—” “Stop.” My voice cut the air like glass. Her eyes widened. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said flatly. “It’s important that I know—” “And I said no!” The words slammed out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t pull them back. “If you can’t do this without digging into my past, then leave.”

Silence. Heavy, burning. When I lifted my head, she was gone. “Damn it.” My hand hit the desk with a dull thud. I had just thrown away my one chance to keep my mother from shackling me to someone else’s idea of a wife. A knock broke through my thoughts. “Yes?” “The meeting is about to start.” “Right,” I muttered. “Let’s go.”

---

Alicia’s POV

How dare he raise his voice at me?

I stumbled into my car, anger mixing with the sting in my eyes. Tears slid down before I could stop them. I hated myself for crying, hated that his words cut so deeply. Just because I needed the money didn’t mean he could talk to me like that—like I was some desperate beggar poking at wounds I didn’t understand. But I was desperate, wasn’t I? And that desperation hurt more than his tone.

I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, willing the tears to stop. They didn’t. Minutes passed before I managed to clean up my face. I wasn’t ready to go home, so I headed to the café, hoping the smell of coffee might ground me.

---

Michael’s POV

The meeting dragged on, voices droning in the background. I was present in body only. My mind was stuck on her—the look on her face when she left, the way her voice cracked.

“Mr. Brune?” I blinked. “Yes?” “What do you think about the laptop design?” “Great,” I muttered. “Great.” I didn’t hear a thing. The meeting lasted four hours, but I couldn’t have repeated a single sentence.

By evening, I went to the café, hoping to see her. She was gone. A staff member gave me her address only after I answered too many questions. But it didn’t matter. I had what I needed. Her building was quiet when I arrived. I knocked twice. The door opened, and there she was—eyes wary, shoulders tense. “How did you get my address?” she asked. “Isabelle,” I answered simply. “Oh.” “Can I come in?” “Okay.” She stepped aside. I entered and sat, the silence between us heavy.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. The words tasted foreign, but necessary. “I know how it looked. My past relationship is… a topic I don’t like discussing.” “I’m sorry too,” she said softly. “I thought it was a harmless question. I was curious.” “Well, it would be better not to talk about it.” “Sure.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll sign the contract.” Fortunately for me I had it here with me. I reached into my bag and pulled the file free, sliding it across. She skimmed through quickly, every line reflected in her serious eyes.

“Why me?” she whispered. I leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest, fighting the urge to smile. She didn’t see it. She didn’t see how perfect this was for me. A way to silence my mother, to finally take control. “Because I need a wife, and you need the money. It’s simple.” Her hand trembled as she picked up the pen. She hesitated, only for a second, then signed.

The sound of the pen against paper echoed louder than it should have.