A Contract Marriage For The CEO’s Daughter

Chapter 2

Emily went through her after work routine, on autopilot. She undressed, showered and prepared , but her mind was far away. Looking back on her relationship with Jack and their subsequent four years of marriage, she tried to put her hand on just when they started to fall apart.

Jack was a sweetheart up until a year and half through their marriage. He’s currently a senior manager at some financial firm, and they met on one of his breaks back when he was an ordinary desk worker, and they just clicked. It took Jack six months to ask her to be his girlfriend, and then a year later, to propose. They got married the summer of that year and they were living their best lives.

Then a year and a half into their marriage, Jack suddenly changed. Actually, looking back, the signs were always there. It seemed like Emily was always some sort of tool for him. Whenever she’d accompany him to any of his companies dinners or events, he’d just want her to hang on his arm, smile and act in a certain way. He was always travelling and staying out late, even when they were just dating. And then when he got promoted to manager, and then to senior manager, he just kept getting worse.

Then the abuse started. Verbal at first. Yelling whenever she refused to do something for him, or when she would complain about something he was doing, or when she would have arguments with him. Then slowly, the gaslighting and guilt tripping, turned into physical abuse. Slaps at first, then mild shoves, pushes here and there, that one time he broke her wrist from how hard he twisted it, and then that slowly evolved to beatings.

Those were rare though— the beatings. Only if he was drunk, or very angry at something that happened at work. Emily knew that whatever she felt towards Jack right now was not love. She was only hanging on to the fact that they had committed to each other. She knew she didn’t deserve what she was experiencing, but she still clung desperately to some hope that he would change.

Now, sitting at the kitchen island, she knew what had to be done. She had once again made stir-fry pasta, and microbes chicken nuggets for herself. It’s been months since she’s had a meal with the man she married, and she couldn’t even bring herself to care about it.

The house was dark and still when Jack came in, just past midnight. He dropped his keys on the console and kicked off his shoes lazily, humming under his breath. Like he did not just come in from his mistress’s.

Emily sat alone at the kitchen island, her back straight, her plate of stir-fry pasta and chicken nuggets in front of her — untouched and cold. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on nothing.

Jack frowned slightly, but forced his usual casual grin. “You’re up late,” he said, his voice light, as if nothing was unusual.

Emily didn’t answer.

Jack opened the fridge, peering inside. “So… you didn’t make anything for me tonight?” he asked after a beat, a hint of irritation creeping in. Emily didn’t even turn her head. Jack slammed the fridge door shut. “Seriously? Emily?”

Still nothing.

Jack’s jaw tightened as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “You sit here at my kitchen island all night long and don’t even bother making dinner for me? After I’ve been working my ass off all day? What the hell is this?”

Finally, Emily moved. She reached for the fork beside her plate but only to push the cold pasta around. Her voice was calm, almost detached.

“We haven’t had a meal together in months,” she said softly. “I didn’t expect it to start happening now.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

She finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were steady, though they no longer held the warmth they used to.

“I said,” she repeated, “we haven’t had a meal together in months. I didn’t expect it to start happening now.”

Jack laughed bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. “You’ve got some nerve, Emily. You sit here with your little attitude and act like you’re the victim? You think this marriage is easy for me? You think it’s easy putting up with your moods, your silence—?”

Emily stood. The scrape of her chair against the tiles made him pause. She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t flinch. She just looked at him and spoke clearly.

“I want a divorce.”

The words hung in the air like broken glass. Jack stared at her, stunned, before his face twisted in anger.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said,” she replied steadily, “I want a divorce.”

He stepped closer, his voice rising now. “Don’t you dare say that to me. You don’t get to just throw years away because you’re in one of your moods. You think you can just walk out? Huh? You think you can—”

“Yes,” Emily interrupted, her voice firm.

“Yes?” he echoed.

“Yes,” she said again, quieter now but no less sure. “I think I can. And I will.”

Jack’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’ve lost your damn mind,” he growled. “You think you’re gonna find better than me? You think you’re gonna—”

Emily shook her head slowly, cutting him off. “This isn’t about better, Jack. It’s about enough. And I’ve had enough.”

He glared at her, breathing hard.

She picked up the plate of cold pasta and carried it to the sink, dumping it in with a soft clatter before moving towards the bedroom. Her movements were calm, deliberate.

Jack’s silence didn’t last long.

As Emily reached the bedroom doorway, she heard the first crash — a plate shattering against the kitchen wall.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” he roared.

Emily froze. Her stomach knotted as his heavy footsteps pounded the floor, coming closer.

“You think you can just sit there, say whatever the hell you want, and walk away?!”

She turned to see him standing in the hallway, his chest heaving, his face twisted with rage.

“I’m done, Jack,” she said, her voice tight but steady. “This is over. Please… just let me go.”

Her words seemed to ignite something in him.

He kicked the wall so hard a picture frame fell, glass splintering on the floor. Then he swept his arm across the hallway table, sending books and a vase crashing.

“You’re not leaving me,” he snarled. “Not after everything. Not after all I’ve done for you!”

“Jack—” she tried, her voice trembling now.

“Shut up!” he bellowed, grabbing a lamp and hurling it against the wall.

Emily flinched and backed up, bumping into the bedroom doorframe. She turned and ran into the bedroom, fumbling for her phone, her purse — anything — but before she could even think, he was on her.

Jack grabbed her arm and yanked her around so hard she cried out in pain.

“Jack! Stop!” she gasped, struggling to pull away.

“You think you can just leave me?!” he yelled in her face, his grip tightening on her wrist.

“Please, Jack!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes as he shoved her against the wall. “You’re hurting me! Let me go!”

But her pleas only seemed to fuel him more.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his fingers digging into her shoulders as he slammed her back against the wall again. “Do you hear me?! You belong to me!”

Emily’s head hit the plaster, and she cried out. “Stop! Please—”

He struck her then — a backhand across her cheek that sent her sprawling to the floor. Her ears rang, her vision blurred as she scrambled backward on her hands and knees.

“Don’t you dare run from me!” he shouted, grabbing her by the hair and hauling her up.

She screamed. “Jack! Please—please don’t do this—”

But he shoved her down again, his fists coming down hard against her ribs, her arms, her back. She curled into herself, sobbing, trying to shield her face.

“Say it!” he yelled, his voice hoarse now. “Say you’re not leaving me! Say it!”

But Emily couldn’t speak — couldn’t breathe through the pain.

She tried to crawl toward the door, her heart hammering, every inch of her screaming to get away. But Jack was faster.

He slammed the door shut and stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild.

“You think anyone else would put up with you?!” he barked, grabbing her by the arm again and dragging her back toward the bed. “You think anyone else would even want you?!”

Emily sobbed, clawing at his hand. “Please… please… you’re hurting me… just let me go…”

But his only response was another vicious shove, sending her tumbling onto the bed.

“You’re not leaving me,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous now. “Do you hear me? You Are Mine.”

Emily lay there, trembling, her cheek swollen, blood on her lip, her arms wrapped around herself as though she could somehow disappear.

Jack stood over her, chest heaving, his hands shaking as he stared down at her — but there was no apology in his eyes.

Only rage. Possession.

Emily closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. In her mind, she whispered to herself;

‘I’m leaving. One way or another. I’m leaving.’

Even as the darkness closed in, she clung to that thought like a lifeline.