The CEO's Forbidden Contract: 30 Days To Seduce Me

Chapter 3: The First Night

The penthouse was not a home. It was a sky with walls.

Seventy-third floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, Manhattan spread below like a field of diamonds. White marble floors, a fireplace already lit, a black grand piano no one touched, a kitchen where a chef waited silently.

Sophia squeezed my arm gently. "The east suite is yours. Come."

The east suite was bigger than my entire apartment in Queens. King bed with white sheets, windows facing Central Park, a dressing room already full. Dresses, jeans, sweaters, coats, all in my size, tags still on. Shoes lined like soldiers.

"How did he know my size?" I whispered.

"Mr. Blackwell notices everything. He noticed last night at The Plaza."

I touched a soft cashmere sweater. My throat tightened. "I cannot take all this."

"You already signed. Rule One says you live here. If you are going to be seen with him, you must look like you belong with him. Editors, press, his family- they will look."

She left me alone. I sat on the bed.

I walked to the window. Central Park was dark below, a black hole in a sea of lights. Somewhere down there was Queens, my tiny apartment with a broken heater, my mother in a white hospital bed. Up here, the world was silent, perfect, unreal.

"Do you ever get lonely up here?" I asked.

"Every night," he said, without hesitation. "The penthouse was my mother's dream. She wanted me to have family here. Now it is just me and a piano I cannot play."

"Do you play?"

"No. She did. Clara. She played when she was stressed. After she died, I kept the piano but never touched it."

I turned. He stood by the fireplace, profile sharp against the flames, lonely in a way that matched my own loneliness for months caring for mother alone.

"You do not have to be alone," I said softly.

He looked at me, eyes intense. "That is what Vanessa said before she left. She said she could fix me. She could not. She said I am broken, incapable of love. That is why she left me at the altar. In front of three hundred people."

"She left you at the altar?"

"Yes. Said she realized I would never love her. That I only love work. That I am Ghost CEO even in bed."

The bitterness in his voice made my chest hurt. I wanted to cross the room and hug him, but Rule Three and fear held me back.

"I do not think you are broken," I whispered. "I think you are just used to being alone."

He stared at me for a long time, breathing heavier. "You say that on Day One. Let us see what you say on Day Thirty."

Phone buzzed.

MANHATTAN GENERAL HOSPITAL: PAYMENT RECEIVED $47,000. TREATMENT WILL CONTINUE AS SCHEDULED. THANK YOU.

I broke. I covered my mouth and cried, shoulders shaking, relief pouring out after months of fear. My mother would live. Treatment would continue. Because of a man I barely knew.

A soft knock. Adrian stood in the doorway, suit jacket off, white shirt sleeves rolled to elbows, forearms strong. He did not enter.

"You got a message."

"Yes." I wiped my eyes quickly, embarrassed. "Thank you. You paid before I even agreed."

"I keep my word, just Emma." He leaned against the frame, watching me. "Are you crying because you are happy or because you hate me for buying you?"

"Both."

That made him smile. Real smile, small, softening sharp jaw. "Honest. I like honest."

"Why all these clothes? You did not have to."

"Because yesterday you walked into The Plaza in a second-hand dress, worried about your mother dying, checking your phone every thirty seconds, and you still looked at me like I was a man, not a bank account. Most women see my name. You saw me. You deserve to wear things that make you feel seen."

I stood, heart pounding. "I saw a lonely man at the top of the tower."

Something flickered in his gray eyes. He stepped into the room, close enough that I smelled his cologne, dark and clean, expensive. "Do not try to fix me, Emma. That is not in the contract."

"I am not trying to fix you. I am trying to survive thirty days without breaking Rule Three."

"Rule Three," he repeated. "You will not fall in love with me."

"Exactly."

"Good. Because I am terrible to live with. I work eighteen hours. I do not like noise in the morning. I do not share my bathroom. I do not like being touched without permission. And I do not sleep well."

"Noted. I do not like being called a good girl by a man who is technically my landlord."

He laughed, surprised, a low sound that did something to my stomach. "Landlord. I have been called worse by better women."

My stomach growled, loud in the quiet suite. I froze, mortified. He glanced at my waist, amused.

"Come. Marco made dinner. You have not eaten since yesterday. Sophia told me."

"You have people reporting on me?"

"I have people noticing you. Difference."

The kitchen island was white marble, with two stools. We sat too close. Marco served grilled salmon, asparagus, wild rice, and berries. Simple, perfect.

"Do you always have a chef?"

"No. Usually I eat at my desk. I told him to come because you need to eat."

We ate in silence; it was not awkward, just heavy. I tried not to stare at how his hands held the fork, large and controlled, how his throat moved when he drank water. He tried not to stare at my mouth.

After dinner, Marco disappeared. Sophia disappeared. It was just us, city lights below, fireplace crackling.

Adrian poured two glasses of water and handed me one. "We need to talk about sleeping arrangements."

"Sleeping? You said the east suite is mine."

"It is. For tonight."

"What does that mean?"

He set the glass down and turned to me. His face was serious again, Ghost CEO gone, just a man. "My ex-fiancée Vanessa will tell the press you are my charity case. She will tell the board I hired a poor girl for PR. If we sleep in separate wings on the first night, we lose. They will know it is fake."

"So what do you want?"

"I want you to move into the master suite tomorrow. With me."

My breath caught. "Same room? Same bed?"

"Same bed. Rule Four protects you. No intimacy without mutual consent. I will not touch you unless you ask me to. But we must appear real. And I must... I have not slept through the night in six months. Since Mother died. Since Vanessa left me at the altar, saying I cannot love. My therapist says I should not sleep alone."

He said it so quietly, so honestly, my chest ached. This billionaire who owned half of Manhattan was asking me not to leave him alone at night.

"Adrian"

"Do not answer now. Tonight you sleep here. East suite. Tomorrow you decide. But tonight"

He stepped closer. Too close. Heat radiating from his chest, his white shirt pulling taut across his shoulders as he breathed. I could see faint stubble on his jaw, silver flecks in his gray eyes, the fullness of his lower lip I had stared at in his office.

"You are staring again, just Emma," he whispered.

"You make it hard not to," I whispered back.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. My lips parted. The air between us changed, charged, heavy. He lifted his hand, hesitated like before, then tucked hair behind my ear, knuckles brushing cheek, warm, slow.

"Do not," he murmured, but his eyes stayed on my mouth. "Do not look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you could save me."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "What if I can?"

For a second, I thought he would kiss me. He leaned down, inches away, breath warm against my lips, his own breathing unsteady. I could feel how much he wanted to, how hard he was trying not to. His hand slid from my cheek to my jaw, holding me gently, possessive.

"Do not fall for me," he whispered, voice rough, almost pained. "Rule Three exists to protect you, not me. Men like me ruin girls like you without trying."

"Then why hire me to make you fall?"

"Because you are the only woman who looked at me at The Plaza and did not see money. You saw a man. I want to know if a man like me can still be loved."

My eyes filled. "That is the saddest thing anyone ever said to me."

He closed his eyes, jaw tight, like my words hurt. When he opened them, they were darker, stormy.

"Go to sleep, just Emma. Lock your door. Tonight you are safe in the east suite."

He stepped back, letting cold air rush between us. My heart raced. I wanted to stay. I wanted to run. Both felt dangerous. I missed his warmth instantly.

"And tomorrow?" I asked, voice small.

He looked at me from the doorway, hands in pockets, tall and lonely in his own penthouse.

My pulse was loud in my ears. "Tomorrow, you will share my bed."