His Contract Bride

Chapter 8 Shadows of Truth

Amara had barely closed her eyes when her phone vibrated violently on the bedside table. She groaned, fumbling in the dark until she grabbed it.

Unknown Number: "You think you're safe now, Mrs. Blake? Think again."

She jolted upright, heart hammering. Who would send something like that? She glanced toward the bathroom where Ethan had just gone in minutes earlier. Should she show him? Would he even care?

Instead, she saved the number, took a screenshot, and quickly deleted the message.

Minutes later, Ethan walked out of the bathroom in his robe, toweling his hair. He stopped when he saw her pale face.

"Something wrong?"

"No," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing more.

The next morning, a high-end stylist and two assistants arrived. Before Amara could protest, she was being fitted into designer gowns, her hair curled and pinned, makeup expertly done.

The dinner was at a rooftop restaurant owned by Blake Corp, overlooking the sparkling skyline. It felt like a dream—until she realized it was just a stage.

Ethan’s board members stared at her with veiled interest. Some were polite, some condescending. One man in particular, Richard Forde, a middle-aged investor with wandering eyes, kept smiling too long.

"So this is the new Mrs. Blake," he said with a smirk. "You’re even prettier than the rumors."

Amara smiled tightly. "Rumors rarely get things right."

The man laughed, but Ethan placed a hand on her back. "She’s more than just pretty, Richard. She’s sharp. And loyal."

That word. Loyal. It felt heavy, like a leash.

After the dinner, Ethan and Amara sat quietly in the car. The tension was thicker than the leather seats.

"What was that back there?" she finally asked.

"Business."

"Using me as your... what? Trophy wife?"

He turned to her, eyes colder than steel. "You wanted the contract, Amara. You signed up for this. Don’t act surprised."

She looked away, fists clenched.

When they arrived home, she retreated to the garden, needing air. But someone was already there—Vanessa.

"Amara," Vanessa said, too sweetly. "You’re fitting in well."

"Trying."

Vanessa’s smile faltered. "Don’t get comfortable. Ethan doesn’t let people close for long. Especially not girls from... your world."

Amara’s spine stiffened. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"It’s supposed to warn you."

Vanessa walked off, heels clicking like a countdown.

Later that night, Amara lay in bed beside Ethan, staring at the ceiling.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked softly.

"Doing what?"

"This whole marriage. It’s not just for the company. There’s something more. What is it you’re hiding, Ethan?"

He didn’t answer. Just turned off the lamp.

But in the dark, Amara’s heart told her—she had just touched a nerve.