His Contract Wife, His Secret Heirs

Chapter 2

Evelyn's Pov

Rhysander hadn't been angry when he told me that the company had gone under. He had been mostly indifferent. He simply absorbed the remaining assets, merging the remains of my family's legacy into his empire.

My grandfather had worked hard in order to create that company, and yet, my father squandered all of the resources on gambling. Years ago, his gambling addiction led my mother to her death, and it almost destroyed my life. Now, everything my grandfather worked for was six feet under.

The moment my father saw what happened, he ran away and I never saw him again.

"Are you ready?"

A deep, smooth voice vibrated through the room. I didn't need to turn around to know the scent: Bergamot and Lavender. It still had the power to make my knees weak.

Rhysander stood in the doorway of my suite, looking devastatingly handsome in a bespoke tuxedo. Over the last three years, the "predator" I had met in the estate had become the sun my entire world revolved around. I had watched him work, watched him command rooms, and on rare, quiet nights, I had seen the exhaustion he hid from everyone else. I had fallen in love with him in the silences between our small conversations.

"I'm ready," I said, offering him the practiced, warm smile I wore for the public.

He walked toward me, his gaze lingering on the line of my throat. He reached out, his thumb grazing the edge of my jaw, a touch that felt dangerously close to real. "You look... exceptional tonight, Evelyn."

"It’s your birthday," I replied, my heart hammering. "The 'dutiful wife' has to look the part one last time, doesn't she?"

His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through the grey. "One last time," he echoed. “It seems so.”

The club was a private, high-end place for the city's elite. Music hummed in the background, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive champagne. Rhysander’s inner circle, men and women as ruthless as him surrounded us. I stood by his side, my hand tucked into the crook of his arm, playing my part. I laughed at the right moments, I leaned into him when the cameras flashed, and I let him keep his hand on my waist. It was the most exquisite torture and I didn't want it to end.

Every time he pulled me closer, I had to remind myself: He is not yours to love or to dream about. He never was.

"A toast!" one of his business partners shouted. "To Rhysander, the man who has everything! Success, power, and the most loyal wife in the city!"

Rhysander raised his glass, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, the noise of the party faded. I saw the bright coloured flecks in his eyes, and I wondered, just for a second, if he felt the same hollow ache I did. I didn't even know when I started falling in love with him, but when I realised it, I didn't act on it. I didn't want him to hate me, and I didn't want to leave bad blood between us. But deep inside me, I hoped, I hoped so badly that he held some sort of feelings towards me.

“Evelyn?” Rhysander murmured my name. I shook my head to dispel the thoughts I had in my head but as I turned to look at him, wanting to say something to him, a bell-like voice echoed from the doorway.

“Rhysander, happy birthday.”

The room didn't just go quiet; it seemed to lose oxygen as everyone stopped breathing, myself included. A woman stepped in, wearing a long red dress which shimmered under the dim light. She had long, dark hair and an effortless, fiery grace that made every other woman in the room look like a blurred background. I recognized her instantly. She was the woman from the photo. The woman from the messages three years ago. She had been etched into my brain.

Three years ago, on the day we had signed the papers to get married, Rhysander left for a business meeting in another country so I had to go back home alone. While we were in the car, thinking about how my life was going to be from then onwards, I got a message from an unknown number.

At first, I didn't even answer it because due to the gambling addiction my father had, he normally gave out my private number to a lot of people to ask me for money so over time, I learned to ignore messages or calls from unknown numbers. But somehow, I read the message and what I saw filled me with dread.

***

“You look so small in that suit, Evelyn. Like a little bird that doesn’t realize it’s walked into a vulture’s nest. Do you really think a piece of paper makes you his?”

Underneath the text, an image downloaded. It was a picture of Rhysander. He was leaning in close to a woman I didn’t recognize, a stunning brunette with a diamond necklace that cost more than what I could ever imagine. Rhysander’s hand was possessively on the small of her back, his expression relaxed in a way I would probably never see.

“He doesn’t like quiet, modest girls, Evelyn. He likes fire. He likes her. He’ll spend his nights remembering what it feels like to touch someone he actually wants. Don’t get comfortable in his house. I’m watching you.”

***

It was her. That woman in the picture, the woman he held and smiled at. She was here. She was really back.

I turned my head to Rhysander, his eyes were wide with shock, his lips pursed. I couldn't tell what he was thinking about, but I could tell that he was shocked at her appearance. Had he not expected her here?

"Rhysander," she said, her voice a sultry purr that carried across the room.

Rhysander’s hand, which had been resting firmly on my waist, went slack. He didn't pull away, but the tension in his body shifted entirely. His focus was no longer on me, or the party, or the toast.

"Amanda," he breathed.

Amanda White walked toward us, ignoring everyone else. She stopped directly in front of Rhysander, a triumphant, knowing smirk on her lips. She didn't even look at me; to her, I was just a piece of furniture he was standing next to.

"I heard the contract was up, Rhys, after all, it's been three years." she whispered, loud enough for me and for everyone to hear. She reached out and traced the lapel of his tuxedo. "I thought I’d come back to see if you were finally tired of playing house."

The silence was deafening. I felt the blood drain from my face, the "Mrs. Bert" mask finally cracking. I looked at Rhysander, desperate for him to say something, to dismiss her, to hold me tighter. But he just stared at her, his expression a mix of shock and a deep recognition.

I realized then that the message from three years ago had been right. He didn't like quiet, modest girls. He liked fire. And the fire had just walked back into the room to reclaim what was hers.

“Contract?”

“What do you mean by contract?”

“What are you talking about?”

Amanda smirked. “Oh, didn't you know? Rhys and this woman were married under a contract. She begged him to save her company and in return, offered to be his wife for three years. Don't tell me…” she gasped, her eyes wide, “Rhys, you kept it from your friends too?”