The Billionaire's Contract Bride

Chapter 12

Sarah's POV

The formal dining room glowed under the crystal chandelier, its light fracturing across silverware and fine bone china like scattered diamonds. The long mahogany table was set with precision, fresh lilies in a low centerpiece, wine breathing in decanters, and courses arranged by the housekeeper with silent efficiency.

Roast quail, herb-infused vegetables, and delicate sauces filled the air with savory warmth, but the atmosphere felt anything but comforting.

I sat on one side of the table in a soft lavender dress, my hands folded in my lap to hide their slight tremble. Adrian occupied the head, looking polished in his open-collar shirt after a long day at the office. Eleanor reigned at the opposite end, pearls luminous against her navy blouse, her posture impeccable as always.

As the main course was served, I took a steadying breath and spoke.

“I’ll be meeting with Carla Ruiz in three days,” I said quietly, keeping my tone measured and soft. “We scheduled it this afternoon after she reached out to me. She wants me to partner with her in an upcoming business.”

The silence that followed immediately was heavy.

Eleanor’s fork paused mid-air, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “Three days? You’re announcing this as if it’s a casual errand, Sarah. Leaving your husband’s home to run off to business meetings everywhere. Have you forgotten the conversation we had already? Or your family’s desperate pleas yesterday?”

Her voice rose with cultured fury, each word a velvet-wrapped blade. She set her fork down with deliberate force. “This is exactly the restlessness I warned you about. Always pushing yourself to do things you are not meant to do.”

“I did not push myself. She reached out to me on her own,” I replied carefully, my voice staying gentle. “Just this one meeting. Carla seemed open to partnering, and it could benefit the foundation. I thought about it this morning, it might be a good step.”

Adrian, who had been cutting his quail with studied focus, looked up with mild surprise. He feigned ignorance beautifully, lifting his eyebrow. “A meeting in three days? Sarah, I wasn’t aware she'll pick interest in you. Carla Ruiz?”

Eleanor didn’t let him off easily. She turned her gaze on him like a spotlight. “Adrian, darling, are you hearing this? Your wife is scheduling independent business appointments now. After everything, her family begged me not to terminate the contract. And here she is, going for business meetings everywhere.”

Eleanor leaned forward, her pearls catching the chandelier light. “This cannot continue. You are a Moretti wife, Sarah. And you are not supposed to be the one meeting people when Adrian is here. What will people say? If you start ‘going for business meetings everywhere,’ the rumors will write themselves. Restless bride. Disloyal. Perhaps even questioning the stability of Adrian’s upcoming expansions.”

I kept my eyes on my plate for a moment, pushing a piece of vegetable around. ‘I’m not trying to be disloyal. I just want to contribute something real to the family. The art therapy idea will really go a long way for Moretti's business. It could help people. And Carla has the network for it.”

Adrian finally set his knife down, still playing the detached observer. “Mother, let’s not turn dinner into an interrogation. Sarah, if this is about feeling useful, there are plenty of foundation tasks here at the estate. No need for external commitments that might send the wrong message.”

Eleanor wasn’t finished. She waved a hand dismissively. “Useful? This isn’t usefulness, it’s rebellion using an innocent face. Three days from now? Absolutely not. You will cancel it. Your place is here, supporting Adrian, managing the household image, preparing for the next board event. Not playing entrepreneur with hedge fund women who probably cheered your little independence speech.”

The tension thickened. I felt tears prickling but blinked them away. “Please. It’s just one meeting. I’ll be professional, and will be back before you know it. I won't say anything to ruin the Moretti business or reputation. I promise…”

Adrian took a slow sip of wine, then finally shifted. The ignorance melted away as strategic calculation entered his eyes. He leaned back, looking between us with a thoughtful expression

“Actually,” he said smoothly, “this might align better than it seems. I’ve been developing plans for a new venture. A private equity arm focused on cultural and wellness investments, art funds, therapy-linked initiatives, that sort of thing. Launching in the next quarter, quietly. Carla Ruiz would be an exceptional partner. Her hedge fund has the capital, the connections, and the social impact angle investors love right now.”

Eleanor paused, her anger shifting to intrigue. “You never mentioned this new arm, darling.”

“It was early stages,” Adrian replied modestly, but his gaze flicked to me with clear intent. “Sarah’s gallery background and her... enthusiasm for art therapy could actually be useful here. If she meets with Carla in three days and builds that goodwill, it positions us as a forward-thinking family unit. Sarah as my supportive emissary, and my wife, not some independent operator. It smooths the partnership. Win for the Moretti name.”

The pivot was masterful. Eleanor studied him for a long moment, then turned her assessing eyes on me. The dining room fell quiet except for the distant tick of the hall clock. I held my breath, the quail growing cold on my plate.

Finally, Eleanor exhaled. “If it serves Adrian’s business interests, then the meeting may proceed. Three days from now. But Sarah…” her voice hardened again “This is not freedom for you to do anything you like. This is a contribution to the family and Moretti business. One hint of personal nonsense, one whisper that suggests you’re prioritizing your old life over this family, and the contract terms will be revisited. Your father will hear from me directly. Understood?”

“I nodded quickly, relief flooding through me mixed with a hollow ache. “Understood. I’ll represent the family well. Professional only.”

Adrian reached over and squeezed my hand across the table. “Good. Text me after the meeting. This could be significant for the new fund. See, Mother? Sarah’s connections have value when properly directed.”

The rest of dinner continued with forced civility. Eleanor shifted topics to upcoming galas and seating charts, but her occasional glances at me carried warning. Adrian discussed merger details, occasionally praising how “teamwork” would make the cultural investment arm successful. I contributed little, my mind drifting to the meeting with Carla Ruiz.

Later, as we retired upstairs, Adrian closed the bedroom door behind us. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room bathed in soft lamplight. He loosened his shirt, watching me as I removed my earrings while facing the mirror.

“You handled that well tonight,” he said mildly. “This meeting with Carla, it’s smart timing for the new venture. Keep her on our side.”

I met his eyes in the mirror. “Is that why you finally supported it? Because it benefits your business?”

He shrugged. “It benefits us, Sarah. The family. You wanted the meeting. I found a way to make it work without unnecessary conflict. That’s partnership.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said softly, climbing into bed beside him.

The three days ahead suddenly felt both too short and dangerously long.

If I want to be seen, then I have to make a move by myself without hiding under the shadow of being a Moretti.