CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH THE COLD BILLIONAIRE BOSS

CHAPTER FOUR— THE OLIVE BRANCH

Everything dissolved into darkness.

I didn’t know how long I drifted before my eyes finally opened. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, silver and cold, casting long shadows across the unfamiliar room.

I shifted—and froze.

A man lay curled up like a fur ball beside me, his entire body tense as though he were fighting some invisible pain. His breathing was harsh, uneven. For a moment, concern pushed through my fear, and I leaned slightly toward him.

His eyes suddenly snapped open.

Red. Bloodshot. Wild.

I stumbled backward, choking on a gasp, and slipped off the bed. My legs trembled as I tiptoed out of the room and closed the door as quietly as I possibly could.

The hallway outside was dark—only the faint glow of moonlight spilled across the long corridor. I forced myself to breathe softly as I hurried forward, heart pounding, praying no one would hear me.

But the mansion was enormous… endless, almost labyrinth-like. Within twenty minutes, I realized I had walked in circles more than once.

I turned another corner—and nearly collided with the maids who had dressed me earlier. They didn’t see me, so I pressed myself against the wall backing them to me and listened.

“Dinah, there’s really been no sound at all,” one whispered nervously. “Shouldn’t we check?”

Dinah.

So that was her name. I stored it in my mind immediately.

Dinah scoffed sharply. “Are you looking to die young? If you approach the young master’s room, who will take care of your sick parents?”

“But I’m worried that—”

“It’s not your place to show concern. Prep the ingredients for tomorrow’s meal.”

Dinah stepped into the corridor. Her gaze brushed past me without recognition, but her words sent a chill through me.

Even the servants were forbidden from approaching the young master’s room.

Why?

She was getting closer. I didn’t have time to hide properly. My eyes caught a door to my left, and I slipped inside, closing it gently behind me.

I exhaled shakily— looked up,

Then froze again.

Someone was in the room.

A sinfully handsome man stood a few steps away, watching me with unreadable coldness. He was strikingly handsome, dangerously so—sharp features, a tired edge beneath dark circles, and slightly damp hair that clung to his forehead.

He wore nothing but a grey towel around his waist.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

A sudden knock on the door—urgent but restrained—cut me off.

My stomach dropped. They had found me.

I turned to him immediately, panic rising in my throat.

“Please,” I whispered, voice trembling, “help me. I don’t want this marriage, I really don’t. He’s frightening and I—I was sold into it. Please, please help me.”

The knocking continued, each knock sharper than the last.

The man studied me with a slight tilt of his head, as though assessing me from the inside out.

“Save you?”

His tone was deep and lazy, but there was nothing soft beneath it.

“Yes.. Yes,” I said quickly. “I was forced into this. I don’t even understand how I ended up here. Just hide me, please.”

His expression darkened. My brief spark of hope flickered.

Without a word, he pressed a button.

The door opened.

“I don’t see any reason to help you,” he said almost too calmly.

Dinah stepped in immediately, ready to drag me back—but desperation forced courage into my bones.

“You suffer from insomnia, don’t you?” I blurted out. “And severe migraines. I can treat them. I swear I can.”

The man paused.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the first real shift in his expression.

He was listening.

I pressed on. “I have the perfect cure. Just give me a chance.”

A thin, amused smile tugged at his lips. “Can you really do that?”

“I can,” I said firmly, even if my hands still trembled.

He waved the servants away. “Leave us.”

Dinah hesitated, but one cold glance from him sent her out immediately. The door closed.

“You may proceed,” he said, sitting down with an air of quiet authority.

I swallowed and stepped closer. My grandmother and mother had been gifted healers, and while I wasn’t at their level, I had learned a few things. I did a simple acupuncture routine and massaged his scalp gently.

He exhaled, tension finally easing from his shoulders.

“Sir,” I said softly, “if I cure you completely… can you let me go?”

He shot me a sideways glance. “You don’t hold any bargaining power against me.”

But he didn’t say no.

That tiny spark gave me hope.

When I finished, I stepped back. “Your condition is severe. I’ll need medicinal herbs. I can go to the pharmacy tomorrow—it’s already too late now.”

I planned to escape, of course.

But he must have sensed it.

He tossed me a pen and a sheet of A4 paper. “Write everything you need here.”

I hesitated. “I could just—”

“If you keep attempting to persuade me,” he said in a low warning, “I’ll call those maids back.”

I swallowed my protest and wrote down a list of Chinese herbs. He took the paper, glanced at it once, then placed a call.

“Steve. Get the owner of the top Chinese medicine store to deliver these tomorrow morning.”

He ended the call, tossed his phone aside, and leaned back as if the matter was settled.

I was still reeling when he looked at me again.

“That’s not the end of the treatment… is it?”