My Contract Husband

Chapter 3 : The blackmailer

The envelope was waiting on my doorstep.

No name. No address. Just my name written in black ink: _Emma Johnson_.

My hands shook as I picked it up. It was thick. Heavy. Like it had secrets inside.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be at the Carter penthouse, pretending to be the perfect wife for tonight’s charity gala. Alexander’s driver had called 30 minutes ago.

"Madam, Mr. Carter is waiting downstairs."

But I couldn’t go. Not with this in my hands.

I slid the key into my tiny apartment door and locked it behind me. The whole place smelled like cheap detergent and fear.

I tore the envelope open.

Inside was a single photo.

Me. Standing in Alexander’s lawyer’s office 3 days ago. Signing the marriage contract. My signature was clear. Alexander’s was next to mine. And at the bottom, in bold letters: *THIS MARRIAGE IS A BUSINESS TRANSACTION ONLY.*

My stomach dropped.

Under the photo was a note.

> *_$100,000. 48 hours.

> Or I send this to every news outlet in New York.

> Or I send it to Grandma Carter.

> Your choice, Mrs. Carter.

> Don’t call the police. I’m watching.__

No signature. Just a number at the bottom.

I sank to the floor. The tile was cold against my knees.

$100,000. Where was I supposed to get that? I took this contract marriage for $5 million because my mom needed surgery. I had $200 in my bank account right now.

"s**t. s**t. Shit."

My phone buzzed.

*Alexander:* _Where are you? The car has been waiting 20 minutes. Grandma is asking for you._

I stared at the message. Then at the photo. Then at the note.

I couldn’t tell him. The contract was clear. Rule #1: No involving each other’s problems. This was my problem.

And if Grandma found out the marriage was fake, Alexander would lose the company. He would hate me.

I had to handle this alone.

My phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

I almost didn’t answer. But what if it was about my mom?

"Hello?" My voice came out weak.

A man laughed on the other end. Low. Amused.

"Did you get my gift, Mrs. Carter?"

Ice ran down my spine. "Who is this?"

"Someone who knows you’re a fraud." Papers rustled. "Cute apartment. The yellow curtains suit you. Very... poor."

My eyes flew to the window. The yellow curtains. He could see me?

I yanked them shut. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would break my ribs.

"What do you want?" I whispered.

"I told you. $100,000. In cash. 48 hours starts now." He paused. "Oh, and congratulations on the baby."

The world stopped.

The air left my lungs.

"What—what are you talking about?"

"Please. The morning sickness? The vitamins in your bag? I’m good at my job, Emma." He said my name like he owned it. "You’re pregnant. 6 weeks. And Alexander Carter doesn’t know."

Tears burned my eyes. I hadn’t even told myself yet. Not properly. The test was in my bathroom trash, wrapped in 3 plastic bags.

"How—"

"That’s not important. What’s important is: does Alexander want a baby with a woman he paid to marry? Does Grandma want her great-grandchild to be born from a lie?" He clicked his tongue. "$100,000. Or I tell them both. And the internet."

The call cut off.

I dropped the phone. It clattered on the floor.

Pregnant. Blackmailed. Trapped.

I pressed both hands to my stomach. It was still flat. But there was life in there. My life. My mom’s grandchild.

And I had 48 hours to find $100,000 or lose everything.

A knock on the door made me scream.

"Emma?" It was Alexander’s voice. Deep. Annoyed. "Open the door. Now."

I scrambled up. Wiped my face. Hid the photo and note under my mattress.

When I opened the door, he was standing there in a black tuxedo. He looked like sin and money and everything I wasn’t supposed to want.

His jaw was tight. "I’ve been waiting."

"I’m sorry, I—"

He stepped inside without asking. His eyes scanned the tiny apartment. The single bed. The hot plate. The stack of medical bills on the table with _PAST DUE_ stamped in red.

His expression didn’t change. But something flickered in his eyes.

"Is this where you live?" he asked quietly.

I nodded. I couldn’t speak.

Alexander walked to the window. He pulled the curtain back an inch and looked outside. Then he let it fall.

"Get your things," he said. "We’re leaving."

"Alexander, I can’t—"

"Emma." He turned to me. For the first time since we signed the contract, he looked at me like I was a person. Not a contract. "We have a gala to attend. You are my wife. Act like it."

I wanted to tell him. About the blackmailer. About the baby. About how scared I was.

But the contract was on the line. His grandmother was on the line.

So I lied.

"Okay," I said, grabbing my purse. "Let’s go."

The whole ride to the gala was silent. Alexander stared out the window. I stared at my hands.

Halfway there, my phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

A text message.

> __Clock’s ticking, Mrs. Carter. 47 hours 59 minutes.

> And by the way... I know about the gala tonight.

> Smile for the cameras. You look beautiful when you lie.__

I shoved the phone back in my bag before Alexander could see.

We pulled up to the hotel. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted.

Alexander got out first. Then he turned and held out his hand for me.

This was part of the deal. Appear in public. Look happy.

I put my hand in his. His skin was warm. His grip was firm.

"Smile," he murmured, so low only I could hear.

I did.

The cameras loved it. Mr. and Mrs. Carter, the golden couple.

Inside, the ballroom was full of people in diamonds and lies. Grandma Carter was in a wheelchair by the stage, oxygen tank beside her. She waved when she saw us.

Alexander led me to her.

"There’s my boy," Grandma said, eyes sharp despite her age. Then she looked at me. "And there’s my granddaughter-in-law. You look pale, dear."

"I’m fine, Grandma," I said, my voice steady. A lie.

Alexander’s hand came to the small of my back. Possessive. Protective. It felt real.

"She’s just tired," Alexander said smoothly. "Long week."

Grandma nodded, satisfied. Then she grabbed my hand. Her skin was paper thin.

"Take care of him for me, Emma," she whispered. "He’s cold, but he has a good heart. Under all that ice."

I nodded, tears threatening again.

That’s when I saw him.

Across the room. By the bar.

A man in a black suit. Sunglasses, even though it was night. He was looking straight at me. And he was smiling.

He raised his glass to me.

My blood went cold.

The blackmailer was here.

In the same room as me. As Alexander. As Grandma.

And I had no idea who he was.

Alexander followed my gaze. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I said too quickly. "Just... someone I thought I knew."

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. "Emma."

"I’m fine," I lied again.

But I wasn’t fine.

I was pregnant. I was being blackmailed. And the man who could destroy my life was drinking champagne 20 feet away.

The music started. A waltz.

Alexander held out his hand. "Dance with me."

It wasn’t a question.

I took his hand. He pulled me onto the dance floor. His arm went around my waist.

We moved together. Perfect. Like we’d been doing this for years.

"You’re shaking," he said quietly.

"I’m cold."

"You’re lying."

I looked up at him. His eyes were dark. Searching mine.

For a second, I almost told him. Almost broke Rule #1.

Then the blackmailer lifted his phone. Pointed it at us.

And took a picture.

My heart stopped.

"Alexander," I breathed. "We need to—"

"Shh." His hand tightened on my back. "Dance."

So we danced. While a stranger photographed us. While a timer counted down in my head. While a baby I hadn’t planned for grew inside me.

The song ended. People clapped.

Alexander leaned down. His lips brushed my ear.

"After this, we’re going home," he said. "And you’re going to tell me what’s going on."

It wasn’t a request.

I nodded. Because what else could I do?

As we walked off the dance floor, I felt my phone buzz one last time.

> __46 hours 58 minutes.

> Nice dance, Mrs. Carter.

> See you soon._*

The gala lights were bright. But all I could see was darkness.