Return of the Contract Wife (Billionaire Contract Wife)

Congratulations, Mrs Hale You’re pregnant. The words didn’t land gently. They didn’t float or drift or soften before reaching me. They crashed straight into my chest, knocking the breath out of my lungs. What? My mouth fell open, but no sound came out. My tongue felt heavy, useless, like it didn’t belong to me anymore. The room suddenly felt too bright, the white walls pressing in on me, the faint scent of antiseptic turning sour in my nose. “Are you not happy?” the doctor asked cautiously, her voice softer now, careful, like she was approaching a frightened animal. “Yes,” I stammered. The word came out wrong. Too fast. Too thin. It didn’t sound like happiness at all. It sounded like panic dressed up as agreement. I was confused. Completely, utterly confused. My heart was racing, my thoughts colliding into one another, nothing making sense anymore. The world I had walked into this hospital with was not the world I was walking out with. I felt her hand close around mine. Warm. Steady. Real. “I’ve been taking drugs,” I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’ve been taking the pills. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant.” My voice dropped into a whisper at the end, like if I spoke too loudly the truth might shatter what little control I had left. She squeezed my hand gently. “Sometimes pills don’t work,” she said. “And how often do you take them?” I lifted my free hand to my head, fingers pressing against my temple as if I could physically hold my thoughts in place. How often? The question echoed painfully. Everything has been confusing lately. Days bleeding into nights. Schedules slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t remember if I always took them regularly. I couldn’t remember if I missed one, or two, or more. I couldn’t remember anything clearly anymore. She patted my shoulder, her touch kind, almost motherly. “Take things easy on yourself,” she said as she stood and walked out of the room. Things easy on myself. I scoffed, a hollow, bitter sound escaping my throat once the door clicked shut. If only it were that easy. Especially on my husband’s side. Actually… my contract husband. Mr. Hale. The Hale family. Just thinking the name made my heart pound violently against my ribcage. I could hear it in my ears as I walked out of the hospital, as I got into my car, as I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my fingers ached. I couldn’t concentrate while driving home. The traffic lights blurred. The sounds of the city faded into nothing but distant noise. All I could hear was the doctor’s voice repeating over and over again in my head. You’re pregnant. Two years ago. The memory came uninvited, sharp and clear. The day we got married, the atmosphere had been cold despite the expensive decorations, the elegant guests, the flashing cameras. It wasn’t a wedding—it was a transaction. When we were finally alone, he didn’t waste time pretending otherwise. He threw the contract right in front of me. “No falling in love,” he said flatly. I swallowed back then, my hands shaking as I turned the pages. “And no child.” That was the third clause in the contract. I remembered it vividly. Crystal clear. My chest tightened as I sat alone in the car, parked on the side of the road because my hands were trembling too much to keep driving. I was shivering, though the air-conditioning was off. Everything felt slow inside the car, like time itself had decided to drag just to torture me. When I finally got home, the estate loomed before me—large, silent, intimidating. I drove into the garage and parked the car, sitting there for a few seconds longer than necessary, gathering strength I wasn’t sure I had. Stepping inside the estate, the quiet hit me hard. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. Just empty. I stared around the house, the furniture pristine, untouched, like a showroom no one actually lived in. The silence echoed loudly in my ears. I felt exhausted to my bones. I was so tired. So tired. I walked into the bathroom and stared at my reflection. My face looked like a ghost that had just woken up from a long, restless sleep. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Haunted. I forced myself to move. I quickly prepared some meal, though my hands shook the entire time. I was tired and sleepy, but hunger gnawed at my stomach, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in my body anymore. After eating, I rushed to take my bath. Warm water cascaded over my skin, but it didn’t calm me. I stood by the bathroom window afterward, staring down at my flat stomach. This stomach contained a life now. The thought was terrifying. And miraculous. I placed my hand there, my palm trembling slightly. “There’s a life inside me,” I whispered to myself, as if saying it out loud would make it real. I was going to tell him. I decided. No matter how afraid I was, no matter what the contract said, I would tell him. I will make sure to keep this child. The decision settled deep in my chest, firm and unyielding. I walked out of the bathroom with renewed resolve. After eating again—forcing myself to take a few more bites—I went to the living room and sat on the couch, waiting for him. The clock ticked loudly on the wall, each second stretching longer than the last. I waited. And waited. At some point, exhaustion claimed me. I slept off. By 12 midnight, a knock on the door jolted me awake. My heart leapt into my throat as I scrambled to my feet. I quickly tied my robe around myself and rushed to the door. When I opened it, my heart sank. There he was. All battered up. Drunk. His assistant stood beside him, holding him upright as best as he could. Together, we carried him inside. His weight felt heavier than usual, or maybe it was the weight of everything else crushing me at the same time. “He went for a business party,” his assistant explained apologetically. “That’s the reason.” I nodded numbly as he left. I stared at my husband. Unbuttoning his shirt. Removing his shoes. My hands moved automatically, like I’d done this a thousand times before. That’s when I noticed his phone light up in his pocket. I wasn’t supposed to look. I knew that. But curiosity—or maybe pain—forced my hand. I took the phone out. The message was still glowing on the screen. Hey darling. When are you coming back? The name at the top burned into my eyes. Isabella. My breath hitched. Isabella was my stepsister. So they were still seeing each other. After so many years. I felt something inside me c***k. I climbed onto the bed, tears spilling freely now, my chest aching with sobs I could no longer hold back. I cried badly, my body shaking as I curled in on myself. My hand drifted back to my stomach. “I promise you,” I whispered through tears. “I will always love you.” I closed my eyes, holding onto that promise like it was the only thing keeping me afloat. “And nothing will happen to you.”