Contracted Bride

Chapter 6

Ella woke earlier than usual the next morning, though she barely slept. Her nerves kept her tossing in bed, her heart pounding at the thought of what today would bring. A contract marriage. A billionaire husband she barely knew. Three years of pretending.

She sat on the edge of Annabelle’s couch, still hugging the blanket to her chest when Benita breezed into the living room with a coffee in hand.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Benita teased, flopping beside her. “Don’t tell me you’re regretting it already.”

Ella shook her head. “Not regretting. Just… scared. What if there’s something in the contract I can’t agree to?”

“Then don’t sign,” Annabelle said from the kitchen where she was packing Ella’s few belongings into a suitcase. “You still have a choice, Ella. Promise me you won’t just… give up your life because you feel desperate.”

“I’m already desperate,” Ella whispered, her voice trembling. “If I don’t do this, they’ll come for me. And Mom—she won’t survive without that machine.”

The room fell silent. Even Benita didn’t have a snarky remark this time.

By noon, a black luxury sedan waited outside Annabelle’s apartment. Leonardo stepped out first, immaculate as always.

“Miss Vasilious,” he greeted with a polite nod. “The boss is expecting you. Shall we?”

Ella hesitated at the curb, suitcase in hand. “Is… he going to be there?”

Leonardo’s lips twitched—half pity. “Of course. It’s his contract.”

The drive to the Don headquarters felt a life time. Ella sat in the backseat, her thoughts ran wild.

What if the contract has hidden clauses?

What if he demands intimacy?

What if I can’t survive three years living under his roof?

Her mother’s face floated in her mind. That alone anchored her resolve.

When they arrived, Leonardo led her not to the office building she’d seen yesterday, but to a high-rise adjacent to it—the private annex where Charles Don conducted personal affairs away from corporate eyes.

The security was tighter here. Ella caught glimpses of biometric scanners and guards in suits as they walked through pristine halls.

Finally, they entered a conference room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. Charles was sitting at the head, legs crossed, pen in his hand. Beside him, a man in a navy suit stood—clearly the lawyer.

Charles didn’t look up as they approached, still scribbling something in the folder before him. Only when Leonardo cleared his throat did he lift his gaze—those onyx eyes pinning Ella in place.

“You’re some minutes late,” though she was right on time.

“I—sorry, I—”

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ella slid into the seat, palms clammy. The lawyer handed her a thick document—at least thirty pages—and a gold-plated pen.

“This,” Charles began, “is our marriage contract. Everything you need to know is written there. Read carefully before you sign. If there’s anything you don’t understand, speak now.”

His tone was professional—like this was just another business deal. And maybe for him, it was.

Ella skimmed the first page, her eyes widening.

Main Clauses:

Duration: Three years.

Financial Terms: All of Ella’s debts and her mother’s hospital expenses would be cleared immediately. A monthly allowance would be provided for personal use.

Living Arrangements: Ella would move into Charles’s residence immediately and attend all public events as his wife.

Behavioral Clause: No romantic involvement with anyone else during the contract. Public image must remain flawless.

Confidentiality: Strict NDA—no media leaks, no revealing personal details. Breach equals lawsuit.

Separation Terms: At the end of three years, the marriage would be dissolved with a generous settlement—sum undisclosed but specified in the final page.

And there, in bold near the end:

Rule #1: Neither party shall develop or pursue romantic feelings toward the other.

Ella’s head snapped up. “You… actually put that in writing?”

Charles arched an eyebrow. “I told you last night. No love. This isn’t a fairy tale.”

“I wasn’t planning to—”

“Good,” he cut in. “It’ll save us both the trouble.”

The lawyer cleared his throat and continued explaining the terms in legal jargon. Ella forced herself to listen, though half of it sounded foreign. Every so often, Charles interjected—precise and impatient.

Half an hour later, she reached the final page. Her hand hovered over the signature line.

“This is… a lot,” she murmured. “I can’t even tell anyone? Not Annabelle, not Benita—”

“You can tell them you’re married,” you just can’t tell them why. Or what we agree to privately.”

“And… about intimacy?” she blurted, then flushed.

There's something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he answered. “Not required. Unless you want to, which I doubt. We’re not here for pleasure, Miss Vasilious. We’re here for convenience.”

Convenience? The word stung, though she didn’t know why.

Ella stared at the page one last time. Her signature would change everything—her name, her life, her future.

She thought of her mother, the beeping machines and the suffocating debt in her neck.

Her hand trembled as she signed.

Charles watched silently. When she finished, he pulled the document toward him and signed with bold strokes.

“Effective immediately,” the lawyer declared. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Don.”

The words hung in the air, surreal. Ella’s chest tightened. Mrs. Don.

Charles stood, already moving toward the door. “Leonardo, have her things moved into the mansion by tonight. We’ll register at the civil office tomorrow morning.”

“Wait—that’s it? Just… like that?” Ella asked.

Charles glanced back, smirk on his lips. “Did you expect a proposal on one knee?”

“No, I—”

“Good. Because I don’t do theatrics.”

The Don estate loomed like something out of a magazine—modern glass walls framed by lush gardens and private gates. Ella’s throat tightened as the car pulled up the long driveway.

Leonardo carried her suitcase inside, explaining security protocols as they passed the halls and staircases.

“The master suite is upstairs. Guest rooms are down this hall. You’ll share a wing with Mr. Don for appearances, but your personal space will be respected.”

“Appearances?” Ella echoed.

“You’re the billionaire’s wife now, everyone will be watching.” He said.

The living room opened into a panoramic view of the city. Charles stood by the window, his jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked every bit the ruthless CEO the tabloids painted him to be—cold.

He turned as Ella entered. “You’re late again.”

Again? She glanced at the clock—she was early. “I—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He crossed the room and handed her a black card. “Your allowance. Use it for whatever you need. Clothes, school, whatever. Just don’t embarrass me in public.”

Her fingers curled around the card. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing. Actions speak louder.”

A silence stretched between them, “Why… me? Out of everyone, why pick me?” Ella asked.

“Because you’re desperate enough to agree. And smart enough not to fall in love.”

That night, Ella stared at her reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back looked the same— tired face, secondhand dress. But everything had changed in just a matter of few days.

Mrs. Don.

The title felt foreign on her tongue.

Tomorrow, they’d sign the legal papers. Tomorrow, she’d officially become the wife of the coldest man in the country.

And though she’d promised not to fall in love… part of her feared what three years under the same roof might do to her heart.

Charles sat staring at the signed contract. Leonardo stood.

“Sir… why her? There are easier options. Women lined up to marry you for free.”

“Because she doesn’t want me. And that makes her safe.”

“Safe sir?” He asked.

Charles downed the whiskey in one gulp. “Safe from me. And safe from what’s coming.”

He’d keep her safe for three years. After that, she’d walk away free.

Or so he hoped.