His Discarded Wife Returns: A Billionaire's Regret

THE CONTRACT

ISLA

I didn't sleep that night.

How could I? In three weeks, I'd be married to a man who looked at me like I was property he'd purchased at a discount.

My phone buzzed at exactly 7 AM. Unknown number.

"Miss Chen, this is Victoria Ashford, Mr. Blackwood's personal assistant. A car will arrive at your residence at 9 AM to bring you to his office. Please be ready."

She hung up before I could respond.

I stared at my ceiling, still wearing yesterday's dress. My room was the only space in our apartment the loan sharks hadn't destroyed. Everything else...Mom's china, our furniture, our life—lay in pieces in the living room.

Just like me.

"Isla?" Dad knocked softly on my door. "Can we talk?"

"No."

"Please, baby. I need to explain..."

"There's nothing to explain. You gambled away our lives. I'm paying for it. End of story."

Silence. Then footsteps retreating.

Good. I had nothing to say to him.

At 8:45, I showered and dressed in the only professional outfit I owned...a black pencil skirt and white blouse I'd bought for job interviews. Interviews I'd never get to attend now.

My phone buzzed again. Maya.

"WHERE ARE YOU?? You didn't text last night! I'm freaking out!!"

I couldn't tell her. Not yet. She'd try to stop me, and I couldn't let that happen.

"Sorry, phone died. I'm fine. Talk later?"

"ISLA CHEN you better call me TODAY or I'm coming to your apartment!"

I put my phone on silent.

A black Mercedes waited downstairs at exactly 9 AM. The driver...older man, professional...opened the door without speaking.

We drove through Manhattan in silence. I watched the city pass by, wondering if this was what prisoners felt like on their way to sentencing.

The car pulled up to a skyscraper in Midtown. Blackwood Tower. Sixty-five stories of steel and glass, his name blazing across the top.

Of course he owned the entire building.

Victoria met me in the lobby. She was stunning...tall, blonde, immaculate in a designer suit. Everything about her screamed money and class.

Everything I wasn't.

"Miss Chen." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Follow me."

We took a private elevator to the sixty-fifth floor. The penthouse level. Victoria's heels clicked against marble floors as she led me through hallways lined with modern art that probably cost more than my education.

She stopped at massive double doors. "Mr. Blackwood is waiting. Don't waste his time. He has a board meeting at ten."

She opened the doors and left me there.

I stepped inside.

Damien's office was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked all of Manhattan. The furniture was sleek, modern, expensive. Everything was black, white, and chrome. Cold. Like him.

He sat behind a massive desk, typing on his computer. He didn't look up.

"You're early," he said.

"Your assistant said nine."

"I said nine. That means you should arrive at eight-forty-five."

"I wasn't told..."

"Now you are." He finally looked up. Those gray eyes swept over me, assessing. "Sit."

I sat in the leather chair across from his desk, feeling like a child called to the principal's office.

He slid a stack of papers across the desk. "The contract. Read it. Sign it."

"I'd like to have a lawyer review..."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't get a lawyer. You read it here, sign it here, or the deal is off." He leaned back in his chair. "Your choice."

My hands shook as I picked up the contract. Forty-seven pages of legal jargon.

"I need time..."

"You have thirty minutes. Starting now."

"That's not enough time to..."

"Twenty-nine minutes, fifty seconds."

I wanted to throw the papers at his perfect face.

Instead, I started reading.

The contract was worse than I'd imagined.

MARRIAGE AGREEMENT BETWEEN DAMIEN BLACKWOOD AND ISLA CHEN

TERM: Two years from date of marriage.

COMPENSATION: $200,000 paid upon completion of term. Payment of Richard Chen's debt ($5,000,000) considered advance compensation.

RESIDENCE: Wife will reside in Husband's primary residence. Separate bedroom provided but not guaranteed.

I looked up. "Not guaranteed?"

"Keep reading."

CONDUCT: Wife will attend all social functions as required. Wife will dress appropriately as determined by Husband. Wife will not embarrass Husband in public or private.

FIDELITY: Wife will maintain complete fidelity. Any breach results in immediate contract termination with no compensation.

INTIMACY: Physical relations at Husband's discretion. Wife's consent assumed upon signing.

"No." I dropped the papers. "Absolutely not. You said..."

"I said I don't need your body. I didn't say I might not want it eventually." His expression remained neutral. "That clause protects my option."

"This says my consent is assumed..."

"Upon signing the contract. Yes. You agree to be available if I choose." He tilted his head. "Problem?"

"YES! That's basically legal r**e!"

"It's a marriage contract. Married people have s*x, Isla."

"Not if one of them doesn't want to!"

"Then don't sign." He glanced at his watch. "Twenty-five minutes left."

I wanted to walk out. Should walk out.

But my father's face flashed through my mind. The blood. The fear.

"I want that clause removed," I said.

"No."

"Then I'm not signing."

"Then your father dies." He said it so casually. "Your choice."

"You're a monster."

"I'm a businessman. There's a difference." He stood, walked around his desk, and leaned against it in front of me. "Let me be clear, Isla. I don't force women. If I want you, you'll come to me willingly."

"That's never happening."

"We'll see." His smile was predatory. "Keep reading. You have twenty-three minutes."

I forced myself to continue.

ASSETS: Wife has no claim to Husband's assets, property, or business interests. Wife waives all rights to alimony, support, or division of property.

TERMINATION: Contract terminates after two years or upon breach by Wife. Early termination by Husband requires payment of $50,000 to Wife.

CONFIDENTIALITY: Wife will not disclose details of this agreement or marriage to press, public, or any third parties. Breach results in immediate termination and legal action.

So I'd be isolated, owned, and silenced.

Perfect.

The final page was signature lines.

I looked up at Damien. He watched me with those cold gray eyes, completely unmoved by my obvious distress.

"Questions?" he asked.

"Yes. What happens if you breach the contract?"

"I won't."

"But if you do?"

"Then you get $200,000 and your freedom immediately." He crossed his arms. "But I don't break contracts, Isla. I honor my agreements. I expect the same from you."

"What about abuse? If you hurt me..."

"There's a clause for that. Page thirty-two."

I flipped to it.

HARM: Physical abuse by either party results in immediate contract termination. Emotional or psychological harm is subjective and not grounds for termination.

"Emotional abuse is subjective?" My voice rose. "So you can destroy me mentally and I have no recourse?"

"Define emotional abuse. Is it abuse if I'm disappointed in your behavior? If I criticize your choices? Where's the line?" He shrugged. "That clause protects both of us from frivolous claims."

"It protects YOU. Not me."

"Then don't sign."

I stared at the papers. Two years of my life, spelled out in legal terms. Two years of being owned, controlled, silenced.

But my father would live.

And I'd get $200,000. Enough to start over after this nightmare ended.

"I need a pen," I heard myself say.

Damien's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Satisfaction? Victory?

He handed me a pen. Heavy, expensive, probably cost more than my monthly rent.

I signed my name on the final page.

Isla Chen.

The last time I'd write that name.

Damien took the contract, signed his own name with a flourish, and set it aside.

"Done. You're mine now."

"For two years."

"Two years can feel like forever." He moved closer, invading my space. "Stand up."

"Why?"

"Because I want to look at what I bought."

The words sent ice through my veins, but I stood.

He circled me slowly. I felt his gaze on every part of me...my face, my body, my clothes. Being examined. Evaluated.

"You'll need a complete wardrobe overhaul," he said. "Victoria will take you shopping this afternoon. Charge everything to my account."

"I don't need..."

"Yes, you do. You can't be seen in department store clothes." He stopped in front of me. "You're about to become Mrs. Damien Blackwood. You need to look the part."

"I don't want your money for clothes."

"Too bad. You signed the contract. I determine what's appropriate." His hand came up, fingers gripping my chin. "And this hair. It needs to be styled properly. Victoria will book you with my stylist."

I jerked away from his touch. "Don't."

"I can touch you whenever I want now, Isla. You signed that right away."

"The contract said..."

"The contract said intimacy at my discretion. Touching is intimate." He smiled at my horror. "Did you not understand what you were signing?"

"You're twisting..."

"I'm clarifying." He moved to his desk, pressed a button. "Victoria, come in."

She appeared instantly, like she'd been waiting outside the door.

"Take Isla shopping. Complete wardrobe. Hair and makeup. I want her ready for the engagement party Saturday night." He didn't even look at me. "And Victoria? Make sure she understands how to behave in public."

"Of course, Mr. Blackwood."

"Wait, what engagement party?" I demanded.

"The one announcing our engagement. Saturday night at my penthouse. Three hundred guests." He finally looked at me. "You'll smile, you'll be gracious, and you'll act like a woman in love. Can you manage that?"

"In three days? I can't..."

"You can and you will." His tone left no room for argument. "We're announcing this marriage immediately. The sooner it's done, the sooner my grandfather's estate settles."

"I need more time..."

"You have three days. Use them wisely." He turned back to his computer, dismissing me. "Victoria will take care of everything. Be ready Saturday at six PM. Don't be late."

I stood there, trembling with anger and fear and helplessness.

"Miss Chen." Victoria touched my elbow. "We should go. We have a full day."

I let her guide me out, too shocked to resist.

In the elevator, Victoria turned to me. "Some advice? Don't fight him. It only makes things harder."

"How long have you worked for him?"

"Five years."

"And you think this is okay? Him buying a wife?"

Her expression remained neutral. "Mr. Blackwood always gets what he wants. Always. Women who resist end up broken. Women who cooperate survive." She looked at me directly. "Which do you want to be?"

The elevator doors opened before I could answer.

We spent six hours shopping. Victoria dragged me through every high-end boutique in Manhattan. Dresses, shoes, lingerie, jewelry...thousands of dollars charged to Damien's account without him even blinking.

"He won't even notice," Victoria said when I protested the cost of a $3,000 dress. "His monthly clothing budget is $50,000. For himself."

The number made me dizzy.

At a salon in SoHo, they cut eight inches off my hair, dyed it a richer brown, styled it in perfect waves. My nails were shaped and painted. My eyebrows were shaped. They even waxed places I didn't know you could wax.

When they finished, I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself.

"Perfect," Victoria declared. "Mr. Blackwood will be pleased."

"I don't care if he's pleased."

"Yes, you do. Trust me. Life is much easier when Mr. Blackwood is pleased."

She dropped me at my apartment at 7 PM. I climbed the stairs carrying shopping bags worth more than our annual rent, feeling like a stranger in my own skin.

Dad was waiting. "Isla, sweetie, you look..."

"Don't." I pushed past him. "Just don't."

I locked myself in my room and finally called Maya.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" she screamed. "I was about to call the police!"

"I'm sorry. Something came up."

"What something? Isla, you're scaring me."

I wanted to tell her. Wanted to sob out the whole horrible story.

But the contract said I couldn't tell anyone.

"I can't explain right now. But I'm okay. I promise."

"You don't sound okay."

"Maya, I..." My voice broke. "I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Silence. Then: "What's going on?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet. But I need you to trust that I'm doing what I have to do."

"This is about your dad, isn't it? The trouble he's in?"

"Yes."

"Isla, whatever it is, there's another way. There's always another way."

"Not this time." Tears streamed down my face. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

I hung up before she could argue.

My phone buzzed immediately. A text from an unknown number.

"Tomorrow, 8 AM. My office. Etiquette training. Don't be late. -D"

Etiquette training. Like I was a dog being taught tricks.

I threw my phone across the room.

Then I curled up on my bed, still wearing my new expensive clothes, and cried until I had nothing left.

Saturday. Three days away.

Three days until I stood in front of three hundred people and pretended to be in love with a man who'd bought me.

Three days until I became Mrs. Damien Blackwood.

Three days until my life ended.

But I'd survive.

I had to survive.

Because two years from now, I'd be free.

And Damien Blackwood would be nothing but a bad memory.

At least, that's what I told myself.

I had no idea that in two years, everything would be so much worse.

That I'd be trapped in ways I couldn't imagine.

That freedom would require me to die.

But I didn't know that yet.

Right now, I just cried and wished I'd never graduated.

Wished I'd never won that award.

Wished my father had never gambled.

Wished I'd been brave enough to say no.

But wishes didn't matter.

The contract was signed.

I belonged to him now.