The Billionaires Bridal Contract

CHAPTER 2

It had been a week since Dorothy left the Whitmore Firm twenty million dollars richer, and Mrs. Whitmore had made it a point to call her nearly every day, a gesture that had truly warmed Dorothy's heart. She would be forever grateful to the old woman.

Dorothy had gone straight to the hospital after receiving the money to speak with the doctor overseeing her mother's case. They immediately began an intensive treatment plan, paired with chemotherapy, to stop the tumor from spreading. Dorothy could already see small but hopeful changes in her mother's condition. That was the power of money.

She had also gone ahead and secured a well-furnished apartment for her family and settled all her siblings' outstanding school fees. As she sat in the back of the limo driving her to the courthouse, a brief sense of fulfillment washed over her.

Today, she would be legally married to her billionaire husband.

She had expected at least a call or a message from him during the week, some form of acknowledgment. After all, Mrs. Whitmore had assured her that he'd been informed once the contract was finalized. But there had been nothing. No call. No text. No curiosity.

Rich, spoiled brat, she thought with a small huff.

Well, she could handle it. Ten years. That's what the contract stipulated. Ten years of marriage to satisfy the firm's partners and quiet the whispers about his personal life. She could endure that for her family.

The car rolled to a stop outside the courthouse. Dorothy laced her fingers together and whispered a quick prayer before the driver opened the door.

She stepped out and looked up at the courthouse steps, and her breath caught in her throat.

Standing at the top of the stairs was none other than her husband-to-be.

Chandler Whitmore.

She had expected, based on Mrs. Whitmore's constant complaints, a man who was average at best. Maybe a little rough around the edges, entitled, out of shape from too much wealth and too little purpose.

But the man staring daggers at her from the top of the courthouse steps was anything but average.

He looked like he'd stepped straight off the cover of one of those Harlequin novels she secretly loved to read, broad-shouldered, sculpted jawline, and dressed in an impeccably tailored navy suit that screamed old money. And His eyes. Emerald green. Sharp, piercing, and glowing under the hot afternoon sun like gemstones. They were impossible to look away from.

As she climbed the stairs in her beautifully tailored white corporate gown, trying not to wobble on the heels she wasn't used to, she glanced up at him again—and saw something else: irritation.

"You'll have all the time in the world to stare at me later," he said, voice clipped and impatient. "Right now, we have a wedding to finalize. And you're ten minutes late."

He extended his hand toward her, and as Dorothy took it, a spark, undeniable and electric, passed between them. Their eyes met and held for a moment longer than necessary. Chandler cleared his throat and looked away.

"Let's go in," he said briskly. "We have people waiting."

As they stepped into the courtroom, Dorothy's gaze swept the room. Mrs. Whitmore sat on one of the front pews, regal and composed. Seated beside her were three young women, all variations of striking beauty, who looked to be between eighteen and twenty-five. Chandler's sisters, she guessed.

At the opposite end of the room sat several stiff-looking men in dark suits, most likely senior partners from the law firm. Watching. Judging.

Dorothy took a deep breath.

This was it. This was really happening.

A pang of sadness bloomed in her chest. She'd never get to experience what it was like to fall in love and choose who she would spend the rest of her life with, to marry someone who made her heart race for all the right reasons. She had never even been in a relationship, not once in her twenty-three years. She'd always had her head in books in Highschool and didn't give boys the time of day. Still a virgin. And now, she was married to a man who looked like he broke hearts as a hobby.

But the papers were signed. The promises were made. And the sooner this was done, the sooner she could focus on what really mattered, her family.

The ceremony passed in a blur. In just under thirty minutes, the judge declared them legally married.

Dorothy Hale was now Mrs. Chandler Whitmore. Funny.

Chandler's sisters approached her with wide smiles, wrapping her in warm hugs and welcoming her into the family. Their kindness took her by surprise, it felt genuine, sincere. For the first time that day, she smiled.

"Welcome to the family, Dorothy. I expect you to call me Grandma from now on," Mrs. Whitmore said warmly, pulling her into a tight embrace.

They exchanged brief pleasantries with the men in suits, mostly firm handshakes, polite nods, and stiff congratulations, before stepping outside and into the waiting limo.

Dorothy had brought a single suitcase, packed and ready for the move into her husband's house. Now, seated beside him in the back of the luxurious car, nerves fluttered in her chest.

She tried not to let the emptiness sink in too deep, her mother and siblings hadn't been there. But that was her decision. She didn't want them witnessing the formal signing of a marriage that wasn't built on love. It was a transaction, nothing more.

Chandler sat beside her, scrolling aggressively on his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen without so much as a glance in her direction.

Well, at least he wasn't pretending.

It was clear he didn't think much of this sham of a marriage. He'd done it for the same reason she had, self-preservation. He got to keep his empire, and she got the chance to save her mother's life and give her siblings a future.

That was enough for her.

She turned to the window, resting her chin in her palm, and let the silence wrap around her like armor. She had made her choice, and she would live with it, quietly, with her head held high.

"I'll be getting off at the hotel. I've got work stuff to handle. The driver will take you home. Feel free to make yourself comfortable," Chandler said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence and jolting Dorothy out of her thoughts.

She gave a small nod and turned her gaze back to the window.

Who worked on the day they got married?

He couldn't even pretend to be interested in getting to know who he married. His disinterest in her was obvious, bordering on contempt. But then again, she wasn't expecting anything different. She wasn't exactly looking forward to spending time with him either.

The limo came to a stop in front of a sleek hotel. Without another word or even a glance in her direction, Chandler stepped out and disappeared through the revolving doors.

The driver pulled away again, and Dorothy was left with the quiet hum of the engine and the growing anxiety in her chest.

Soon, they were driving through the iron gates of the Whitmore Estate.

She'd never seen a house so massive. It loomed like a castle, grand, intimidating, and almost suffocating. Did he live here alone? Or with his sisters?

As the driver opened her door, she stepped out slowly, dragging her suitcase behind her.

The moment she stepped inside, she had her answer.

He lived alone.

The house was stunning in size but completely lifeless. Cold. Sterile. The walls were painted in dull shades of gray, and the silence that hung in the air was thick and uninviting.

Dorothy's chest tightened. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a shell.

She made a mental note to ask for permission to redecorate, maybe add some warmth, a splash of color, something human.

She took a breath and headed up the grand staircase, dragging her suitcase behind her, determined to find the room that would be hers.

For now.