Contracted Bride

Chapter 10

The activity in the Don mansion was a constant reminder of Ella’s new life—a world of polished servants, and schedules dictated by Charles Don’s precision. Every hour since moving in had been accounted for: etiquette lessons, wardrobe fittings, public events preparation.

Yet amidst all the grandeur, her heart remained elsewhere—at the hospital room where her mother lay hooked to machines, suspended between life and death.

Each time Ella stole a moment to check her phone, she dreaded seeing a missed call from the hospital. What if something happened? What if she woke up and I wasn’t there?

The thought gnawed at her relentlessly, even as she stood beside Charles during dinners, smiled for photographs, and played the perfect bride.

That evening, after yet another exhausting session, Ella sat curled on the balcony of her assigned wing, her phone pressed to her ear.

“Any change?” she whispered into the receiver.

“No, Miss Ella,” the nurse replied. “Vitals remain stable. But… the doctors say continued stress and long periods without family presence aren’t ideal.”

Ella closed her eyes, fighting tears. “Thank you for calling. Please… stay with her until I can visit.”

She ended the call, gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles whitened.

The guilt was unbearable, her mother had spent years sacrificing everything to raise her. And now, when her mother needed her most, Ella was pretending to be someone else’s wife in a mansion that didn’t feel like home.

Determined, Ella rose from the balcony and made her way through the winding hallways to Charles’s private study—a place she was technically forbidden to enter. But tonight, she didn’t care about rules.

She knocked once, then pushed the door open without waiting for permission.

Charles looked up from his laptop, brows furrowing. “You’re supposed to knock and wait.”

“This can’t wait,” Ella blurted, stepping inside. Her voice trembled, but her resolve held firm.

Charles leaned back in his chair, regarding her with cold curiosity. “Go on.”

“I want to bring my mother here,” she said in a rush. “To the mansion. I can’t keep splitting myself between here and the hospital. I—she needs me.”

The room fell silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Charles’s expression hardened. “Absolutely not.”

Ella blinked. “What do you mean ‘absolutely not’? She’s my mother!”

“And this is my house,” he said closing his laptop with a decisive snap. “Your contract is with me, Ella. You agreed to live here and fulfill your role. That doesn’t include turning my home into a hospital ward.”

Her chest tightened with anger. “She wouldn’t take up space—just one room! I’d care for her myself. You wouldn’t even notice she’s here.”

“That’s not the point,” Charles countered, rising from his chair. His tall frame towered over her, his presence suffocating. “I don’t allow outsiders here. Especially not liabilities.”

“She’s not a liability!” Ella’s voice cracked. “She’s my mother. The only family I have left. I can’t keep doing this—pretending to be your wife, smiling for your grandfather, and then rushing to the hospital every spare moment. It’s tearing me apart!”

Charles’s jaw tightened. He hated vulnerability. Hated the way her words made something stir in his chest.

“Please,” she whispered, tears brimming. “I’m not asking for much. Just let me bring her here. At least I’ll know she’s safe… that I can see her every day without running across the city.”

Her desperation was raw in a way that made Charles uncomfortable.

“You think you can just walk into my life and rearrange everything to suit you?” Charles snapped, pacing away from her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How many enemies this family has? Bringing her here puts her at risk—and me.”

“She’s already at risk!” Ella shouted back, surprising even herself. “Every day she stays in that hospital, she’s at risk. You have security, Charles. You have resources I can’t even imagine. If you wanted to, you could protect her better than anyone!”

“Protection isn’t the issue,” Charles shot back. “Control is. This house runs on order. No exceptions.”

“Then make one!” she cried. “Just this once. For me.”

Her words hung heavy, the air charged with much emotions neither wanted to acknowledge.

Charles turned, his eyes blazing. “Don’t forget why you’re here, Ella. This isn’t about love. This isn’t about family. It’s a contract. You needed money; I needed a wife. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Ella flinched, his words cutting deeper than she expected.

“So my mother doesn’t matter?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Everything I’m doing—everything I’ve sacrificed—it means nothing to you?”

Charles hesitated, for a fleeting second, something softened in his gaze. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Your sacrifices are yours to bear,” he said. “Not mine.”

Ella’s tears finally spilled over. She hated crying in front of him—hated giving him the satisfaction—but the dam had broken.

“If she can’t come here,” Ella said through clenched teeth, “then I can’t stay.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed. “You’re threatening me?”

“I’m begging you,” she corrected, voice cracking. “I can’t do this without her. I won’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Charles exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But under conditions.”

Ella’s breath hitched. “Conditions?”

“She gets the guest wing closest to your quarters. Full medical staff—my staff—will handle her care. And no one outside this house knows she’s here. Not your friends. Not the media. No one.”

Ella nodded frantically, relief flooding her chest. “Yes. Anything. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Charles warned, his tone icy. “If this arrangement jeopardizes my plans in any way—if she becomes a distraction—you both leave. Understood?”

Ella swallowed hard. “Understood.”

That night, Ella lay in bed, emotions swirling in chaos. She should be relieved—her mother would finally be close, safe under one roof. But the tension between her and Charles lingered like a storm cloud, ready to erupt again at any moment.

She hated how much his approval mattered. Hated that beneath his cold exterior, she sensed something vulnerable—a man who pushed everyone away before they could hurt him.

And worst of all, she hated how that vulnerability made her want to understand him.

In his study, Charles poured himself a glass of whiskey, staring at the city.

Ella’s words still echoeing in his mind: For me.

He clenched his jaw. Emotions were dangerous. Attachments were dangerous. He had vowed never to let anyone close enough to wound him again—not after what happened years ago.

Yet here she was, breaking through his defenses with every plea, every tear, every stubborn refusal to back down.

And that terrified him more than any corporate rival ever could.

Two days later, Ella’s mother arrived at the mansion under strict security protocols. Nurses moved her into the guest wing, setting up equipment and monitoring her vitals.

Ella stayed by her side, holding her hand and whispering promises of better days to come.

But as she looked out the window and saw Charles watching from the courtyard below—expression unreadable—Ella couldn’t shake the feeling that their fragile arrangement was teetering on the edge of something far more complicated than either of them had bargained for.

Because in this house of contracts and cold hearts, love was never part of the deal.