The Billionaire's Contract Wife

Gold Digger

For a few seconds, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. Every headline seemed worse than the last. Gold Digger. Opportunist. Secret Lover. Homewrecker. Each article painted me as a desperate woman who had seduced Ethan Vance for his fortune, some claiming I'd deliberately climbed the corporate ladder to get close to him, others suggesting I'd planned the entire thing from the moment I joined Vance Holdings. The comments underneath were even crueler, strangers who didn't know me deciding, with total confidence, exactly who I was.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said quietly.

I looked up. "For what?"

"For dragging you into this." His voice carried a sincerity I hadn't expected, none of the cold businessman who had negotiated a marriage contract as though it were another corporate acquisition. Instead, I saw a man who genuinely regretted the consequences of his own decision, and something about that steadied me even as the headlines kept scrolling past.

"It's not your fault," I said. "Whoever leaked my information wanted this to happen."

His expression hardened. "I'll find out who did it."

The confidence in his voice should have reassured me. Instead, it reminded me that whoever had done this wasn't afraid of him, and that thought was far more frightening than anything printed on the screen in front of me.

Lauren knocked softly before stepping back inside, visibly unsettled in a way that told me the day wasn't finished delivering bad news. "Sir, security says reporters are already gathering outside the building. The number keeps increasing."

Ethan barely reacted. "They're faster than I expected."

"They're also asking for Miss Thompson," Lauren said, hesitating before she continued.

A knot formed in my stomach. "They know who I am?"

"They know everything," Lauren answered gently. "Someone released your employee file to the media."

I closed my eyes. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. My address was probably online by now, along with every other private detail of a life I'd spent years quietly, carefully holding together on my own.

"So what happens?" I asked.

Ethan didn't answer right away. He walked back toward the windows overlooking the city, his reflection staring back at us, calm on the outside despite the storm clearly building underneath. "You can't go home."

I frowned. "What?"

"If the reporters know where you live, they'll be waiting outside your apartment before sunset."

"They can't stay there forever."

"They don't have to." He turned to face me. "They only need one photograph."

I knew he was right. One picture of me struggling through a crowd of reporters would be enough to dominate every entertainment website in the country by morning.

"I'll be fine," I said.

"You won't." His answer came so quickly it caught me off guard. "I've dealt with the media for years, Maya. They don't stop because you ask politely. They stop when they lose interest, and right now, you're the biggest story in the city."

I hated how reasonable he sounded. "So what exactly are you suggesting?"

His eyes met mine. "You'll move into my house tonight."

The words hung between us. I blinked. "Tonight?"

"The sooner people see us together, the sooner they'll believe the engagement."

"Isn't that moving a little fast?"

A small smile appeared on his face, brief but genuine. "I asked you to marry me less than forty-eight hours after we met."

I couldn't argue with that. "Good point."

Lauren cleared her throat politely. "I've already asked your department manager to approve an extended leave of absence, Miss Thompson. Officially, you're taking time away to prepare for the wedding."

I stared at her. "You've planned all of this already?"

She offered an apologetic smile. "I've worked for Mr. Vance for eight years. I've learned to prepare for every possibility."

I couldn't decide whether that was impressive or faintly terrifying. Probably both.

An hour later, a black luxury SUV pulled into the parking garage beneath the building. Ethan opened the passenger door for me himself, which wasn't something I'd expected from a man with his reputation, and I thanked him quietly before he walked around to the driver's side.

The city disappeared behind us as we drove through the afternoon traffic, neither of us speaking much. I watched the buildings pass outside my window and tried to convince myself that none of this was really happening, that I hadn't just agreed to move into a billionaire's mansion with a man I'd known for barely two days. My life had officially stopped making sense somewhere around the executive restroom, and I wasn't sure it was coming back anytime soon.

After nearly forty minutes, the SUV turned through a pair of enormous wrought iron gates that opened automatically, revealing a driveway lined with towering palm trees and gardens trimmed to an almost unnatural precision. My mouth fell open. "This is your house?"

Ethan glanced at me. "You sound disappointed."

"I sound broke."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, and I found, somewhat unwillingly, that it was becoming my favorite sound. The mansion came into view moments later, and it wasn't a house so much as an estate, cream colored stone walls glowing beneath the afternoon sun, massive glass windows overlooking fountains and flower gardens, a circular driveway wrapped around an entrance lined with marble columns.

"This place is bigger than my entire neighborhood."

"It's just a house."

I turned to stare at him. "Only a billionaire would call this 'just a house.'"

For the first time that day, Ethan laughed openly, the sound warm and genuine, making him look years younger and, unfortunately, far too handsome for my own good. The front doors opened before we even reached them, and a silver haired gentleman in an immaculate suit stepped forward with a welcoming smile.

"Welcome home, Mr. Vance." His attention shifted toward me. "And this must be Miss Thompson."

There was no judgment in his eyes, only kindness. "I'm James," he said. "I've been looking after Mr. Vance since he was a boy."

"It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." He smiled warmly and stepped aside. "The staff has prepared your room."

My room. The words sounded strange. Temporary, I reminded myself. This wasn't my home. It was simply where I'd be staying until the contract ended, whatever "ending" would eventually come to mean for either of us.

As I crossed the threshold, before I'd even had the chance to admire the grand staircase or the crystal chandelier hanging above the entrance hall, my phone vibrated. One message. Unknown number. I frowned before opening it.

"You should have walked away when you had the chance. Marrying Ethan Vance will be the biggest regret of your life."

I stopped walking, my heartbeat quickening. "Ethan," I whispered.

He turned immediately. "What is it?"

Without saying a word, I handed him my phone. As he read the message, every trace of warmth disappeared from his face, replaced by something colder, sharper, entirely without patience.

Whoever had sent it had just crossed a line, and judging by the look in Ethan's eyes, they had made a very serious mistake.