My Contract Husband

Chapter 4 : The Confrontation that went wrong

The ride home from the gala was the longest 15 minutes of my life.

Alexander didn’t speak. Not one word.

He just stared out the window, his jaw ticking like he was counting how many ways he wanted to murder me.

Me? I was busy dying inside.

Blackmailer. Pregnancy. $100,000. 46 hours left.

And now Alexander wanted "answers".

We stepped into the penthouse and the door clicked shut behind us. Too loud.

"Talk," Alexander said. He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and threw it on the couch. "Now."

I clutched my purse. My phone buzzed in it. Probably the blackmailer again.

"About what?" I played dumb. Bad idea.

Alexander turned to me. Slow. Like a predator.

"About why you were shaking all night. About why you looked like you saw a ghost. About why there’s a man in a black suit taking pictures of my wife at my gala."

My mouth went dry. "You saw him too?"

"I see everything, Emma." He took one step closer. "Start talking."

Okay. Deep breath. I could do this. I just had to pick one truth. Baby or blackmail.

I opened my mouth. "I—"

My stomach chose that exact moment to growl.

Loud. Embarrassing. Like a dying lion.

Alexander blinked. "Are you hungry?"

"I... I didn’t eat at the gala."

Because I was too busy being blackmailed and pregnant and terrified.

He stared at me for 3 seconds. Then sighed and walked to the kitchen.

"Sit down."

"But—"

"Sit. Down. Emma."

I sat. On the $50,000 couch. In my $2,000 gala dress. Feeling like the biggest fraud in New York.

Two minutes later, Alexander came back with a plate. Pasta. Garlic bread. And a glass of water.

He set it in front of me. "Eat."

I stared at him. "You... cooked?"

"I ordered it," he said dryly. "I’m a CEO, not a chef."

I picked up the fork. My hands were still shaking. The first bite almost made me cry. It was that good. Or maybe I was just that hungry.

Alexander sat across from me. Watching.

"You’re going to eat, and then you’re going to tell me what’s going on. And I’m not asking again."

I nodded, mouth full of pasta. This was not how I imagined "the confrontation" going.

Halfway through the plate, my phone buzzed again.

I jumped. Pasta almost flew out of my mouth.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. "Who is it?"

"No one," I said, too fast. I reached for my bag.

Alexander was faster. He plucked the bag from my hands before I could blink.

"Hey!"

He pulled out my phone. Glanced at the screen.

Unknown number.

He unlocked it.

"How did you—" I started.

"I’m your husband," he said simply. "On paper. I have rights."

That was a lie and we both knew it. But I was too scared to argue.

He opened the message.

> *_46 hours 30 minutes.

> Hope dinner was good.

> Don’t forget about me, Mrs. Carter.__

Alexander read it. Once. Twice.

His face went blank. The scary kind of blank.

"Who sent this?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

"I don’t know," I whispered. Which was technically true. I didn’t know his name.

Alexander put the phone down. "Emma. Last chance. Tell me the truth, or I start calling people to find out myself."

The pasta turned to stone in my stomach.

If he called people, they’d find the contract. Grandma would find out. The company...

I broke.

"Someone’s blackmailing me!" The words came out in a rush. "They have a photo of us signing the contract. They want $100,000 in 48 hours or they’ll tell everyone it’s fake!"

There. I said it.

Alexander didn’t move. "Continue."

"That’s it. They called me. They texted me. They were at the gala tonight taking pictures. I don’t know who it is!"

I expected yelling. Anger. Maybe him throwing me out.

Instead, Alexander leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"For f**k’s sake."

"What?"

"You’re being blackmailed," he said slowly, "and your first instinct was to lie to me?"

"The contract says—"

"I don’t care what the contract says right now." He stood up and started pacing. "Rule #1 was stupid. My lawyer was stupid. I was stupid."

I blinked. "You’re not mad?"

"I’m furious," he snapped. "But not at you. At whoever thinks they can threaten my wife."

My wife.

He said it like he meant it.

Before I could process that, my phone buzzed again.

Alexander picked it up. Read it. Then his eyes went wide.

"What?" I asked.

He turned the phone to me.

> __46 hours 28 minutes.

> Cute. You told him.

> New deal: $200,000.

> Or I send the photo to Grandma tonight.

> Your choice._*

"s**t," I breathed.

Alexander took the phone from me and dialed a number.

"Marcus? I need security footage from the gala. Now. And trace this number."

He hung up and looked at me.

"Okay. New plan. We’re not paying them."

"But the deadline—"

"Emma." He knelt in front of me. Actually knelt. "Listen to me. No one is hurting you. No one is hurting our family. Understand?"

Our family.

My heart did something stupid and fluttery.

I nodded.

He stood up. "Now, about the other thing."

My blood froze. "What other thing?"

"The baby."

I choked on air. "How—how do you know?"

"Because I’m not blind." He gestured to my plate. "You only ate half. You’ve been nauseous all week. And I saw the test wrapper in your bathroom trash when I came to your apartment earlier."

He’d been to my apartment? Before the gala?

"You went through my trash?"

"I was worried," he said simply. "Don’t change the subject. Is it mine?"

The question hung in the air.

I should lie. I should say no. It would be easier.

But I was tired of lying.

"Yes," I whispered. "It’s yours."

Alexander was quiet for a long time. Then he did something I didn’t expect.

He laughed.

Not a mean laugh. A shocked, disbelieving laugh.

"You’re pregnant," he said. "With my baby. And you were being blackmailed. And you thought you had to handle it alone."

When he put it like that, I sounded dumb.

"Yes," I said again.

He stood up and pulled me to my feet. Then he did something even crazier.

He hugged me.

Not a contract hug. Not a fake hug. A real one. His arms were strong and warm and he smelled like expensive cologne and pasta.

"We’re going to fix this," he murmured into my hair. "Together. Okay?"

I nodded against his chest. For the first time in 3 days, I felt safe.

That’s when his phone rang.

Marcus.

Alexander answered on speaker. "What did you find?"

"Boss, we got the guy," Marcus said. "Security footage from the gala. Black suit, sunglasses. He was in the bathroom 10 minutes before the blackmail text came in. But there’s a problem."

"What problem?"

"The guy... he’s not a stranger."

My stomach dropped.

"He’s your cousin," Marcus said. "Daniel Carter."

The world tilted.

Daniel. Alexander’s cousin. The one who was supposed to inherit the company if Alexander didn’t get married.

The one who smiled at Grandma at the gala.

The blackmailer was family.

Alexander’s face went cold. Colder than I’d ever seen it.

"Send me his address," he said quietly. "Now."

He hung up and looked at me.

"Change of plans. We’re not waiting 48 hours."

"What are we doing?"

Alexander’s jaw tightened. "We’re going to pay Daniel a visit. And he’s going to regret ever touching my wife."

He held out his hand.

For the second time tonight, I took it.

But this time, we weren’t going to a gala.

We were going to war