A Wife For Him Hearts Under Contract

Seductive Look

Irene gasped, her heart slamming against her ribs as she stared without blinking at Mr Blackwood.

Sir I did not get what you said she finally manage to blurt out after the shock.

But Mr. Blackwood barely spared her a glance as he straightened his cufflinks, his voice calm and unyielding. "I said we leave now. Pack your things."

Her fingers trembled around the phone in her grasp. "But I—I can't just leave like that. My sons—Ethan, Elias—I promised I'd pick them up early today. I told them we'd get ice cream!" Her voice cracked, the weight of her broken promise sinking deep into her chest.

Mr. Blackwood remained indifferent. "Then find someone else to pick them up."

His words were a punch to her stomach. Find someone else? Did he think it was that simple?

Panic clawed up her throat as she scrambled to think of a solution. Levi. Maybe Levi could help. Her thoughts were in chaos as she turned, ready to call—but the soft click of the door closing made her freeze.

He was already gone.

Irene's breath came in uneven gasps as she rushed out, her heart hammering in her ears. The hallway felt suffocating, her emotions twisting between frustration, guilt, and helplessness.

By the time she reached the elevators, Mr. Blackwood was stepping inside with his friends, their low murmurs filling the space.

Her feet faltered.

The last time she had entered his elevator, she'd made a fool of herself. She wasn't about to repeat that mistake.

Mr. Blackwood leaned against the polished metal wall, his sharp gaze flickering to her hesitation. His lips curled slightly, almost in amusement.

"Are you getting in, or do you expect me to press the button from here?"

Irene stiffened. A few staff members were watching, pretending to be busy but clearly intrigued. Heat crawled up her neck.

Swallowing her pride, she forced herself to step inside and pressed the elevator button for it to close.

As she watched the elevator door close she quickly pulled out her phone, fingers shaking as she typed a message to Levi:

"Emergency. Please pick up Ethan and Elias. I owe you."

As soon as it sent, she turned off the phone and stuffed it back into her pocket, pressing her lips together tightly.

Mr. Blackwood watched her but said nothing.

The silence was suffocating.

Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth, but carrying an air of finality. "Before we leave, there's a stop we need to make."

Irene frowned, glancing at him. "A stop?"

But he did not give her a reply as he stepped out of the elevator and entered his car Irene following after him.

Irene's brows knitted together as she stepped out of the car, staring at the lavish storefront before her.

"Why are we here sir?" she asked hesitantly knowing fully well that she wasn't someone that was to be found near a*****e like this one.

Mr. Blackwood adjusted his sleeves, giving her an unreadable glance. "You need something presentable he replied with a frown."

And at his reply Irene's stomach twisted. She glanced down at herself. Sure, she wasn’t dressed like the rich, polished people around here, but…

"You think I look that bad sir?" she muttered more to herself than him.

But he heard her anyways and his response was

annoyingly blunt. "I think you look like a mess."

Immediately heat flared in her cheeks. The urge to snap back burned on her tongue, but before she could think much on it, an elegantly dressed sales assistant appeared.

"Mr. Blackwood," the woman greeted smoothly, her eyes flicking to Irene with a mixture of curiosity and judgment. "How can we assist you today?"

"Take care of her he replied and was already walking toward the seating area, completely unbothered.

The next thirty minutes were pure torture.

The assistants threw outfit after outfit at her, each one more extravagant than the last. She felt like a doll being dressed up, shuffled from one mirror to another.

"This one’s nice," one of the assistants cooed, adjusting a tight red dress on Irene’s frame.

Irene winced. "It’s a little… much, don’t you think?"

From the couch, Mr. Blackwood barely lifted his head. "No."

She groaned internally. Of course, he'd say that.

The assistants brought more options, but nothing felt right. That was until she saw it—a sleek black dress hanging on the rack. Simple. Elegant. Perfect.

Slipping into it, she turned to the mirror. The V-line cut was daring but not excessive, hugging her in all the right places.

She stepped out, expecting another disinterested response from Mr. Blackwood.

Instead, she was met with silence.

His eyes were on her.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just a glance.

It was a slow, measured look—one that traveled from her collarbone down the curve of her waist, pausing briefly at the slit that revealed just enough of her thigh.

Irene swallowed hard.

His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something heavy. Something seductive.

And his look alone gave her the chills that made her whole body feel like it was on fire.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away.

Then, finally, he exhaled and said, "We’ll take this one."

********

Irene sat stiffly in her first-class seat, her hands locked tightly in her lap.

The boutique incident still lingered in her mind. The way Mr. Blackwood had looked at her. The way her heart had reacted.

No. It was nothing. Just a look.

Still, she couldn't shake the nerves creeping up her spine. The air between them felt… charged.

She shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of her skirt riding up. Instinctively, she reached down to adjust it, remembering what the man had told her earlier.

"Mr. Blackwood doesn’t like women in short skirts."

She sighed. Great.

Just as she moved to stand and fix it properly, the plane jolted.

And before she could catch herself—

She fell.

Straight onto his lap.

A stunned silence followed.

Irene’s breath hitched as she found herself sprawled against his chest, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His scent surrounded her—rich, crisp, intoxicating.

She tilted her head up—and met his gaze.

Their faces were too close. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist.

Time stretched.

Then, like a spark snapping, she jolted upright, stumbling back into her seat.

Her face burned. "I-I’m so sorry!"

He didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

Irene squeezed her eyes shut, mortified beyond belief. She dared to sneak a glance at him, only to find that his gaze hadn’t moved.

There was something about the way he looked at her.

Something that made her pulse race.

And the worst part?

She had no idea why.