THE CEO'S ONE YEAR BRIDE

Regrets.

Chapter Two: Regrets

**Hannah's POV**

I stepped out of Vanessa’s house, the morning air feeling heavy and oppressive. As I reached for my car door, a sudden gust of wind sent a rolled-up newspaper flying across the driveway. It struck me squarely in the face with a sharp *thwack* before landing on the pavement.

"Ow!" I winced, rubbing my nose. I glanced around the quiet street, searching for whoever had thrown it, but the neighborhood was deserted.

With a sigh of annoyance, I picked up the paper and unfurled it. My heart stopped. The headline was printed in bold, unapologetic ink:

**"THE FALLEN SOCIALITE: Wealthy Heiress Hannah Anderson Edwin’s Slutty Sextape Leaks at High-Society Gala."**

Right beneath the headline was a high-resolution still from the video—a frame of me, naked and breathless, caught in a moment of raw passion on the giant projector screen. I hissed, a mixture of rage and nausea churning in my stomach. *Do they have to make a spectacle of everything?*

"Who even reads the newspaper anyway?" I muttered to myself, trying to convince myself that the print media was obsolete.

But the moment I unlocked my phone, the illusion shattered. My screen beamed with a relentless barrage of notifications. Bloggers were dissecting every second of the footage; netizens were dragging my name through the dirt in the comments; and worst of all, the video had already been clipped into memes on i********: and t****k. I was the internet's favorite joke, a punchline for millions of strangers.

I groaned in frustration, leaning against my car. This had the fingerprints of Melissa Aidelin all over it. That b***h would burn the world down just to ensure my name was dragged through the mud. If I hated her before, that hatred had now solidified into something lethal.

I dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring, her voice sounding far too relaxed.

"I have never seen anyone as desperate for attention as you are," I barked into the phone, my voice sounding like a rabid dog. "Tell me, what do you possibly gain from spreading my nudes across the entire internet? Are you freaking insane?"

"Oh. It's you again," she replied, her tone dripping with a calm, calculated cruelty. "Actually, I thought I was doing you a favor by putting your *nudes* online." She stressed the word, savoring it. "Consider it a gift. Who knows? You might be the first person from your poverty-stricken lineage to actually be famous on the internet."

She cackled, a sharp, grating sound that made me want to reach through the phone and rip her throat out.

"I don't care how you did it, but you will take it down! Now!" I yelled.

She chuckled lightly. "Are you really angry? Don't you know that porn generates more revenue than alcohol these days? You're practically a star, Hannah! There's no need to submit a resume; I've already handled the promotion for you. Once the industry sees this, they'll be begging to take you in. You should be thanking me."

She hissed a final goodbye and cut the call.

I stood there, trembling. I had to fix this. My parents had already cast me out, and the social ruins I was standing in were deepening by the second. I jumped into my car and zoomed off, the engine roaring as I raced toward Ethan's office.

I didn't knock. I didn't wait for an assistant. I barged into his office, forgetting for a moment that he was my boss.

He was standing by the window, a glass of vintage wine in his hand. His dyed silver hair was styled to perfection, a few rebellious strands hanging over his eyelids. The moment I saw him, I felt a surge of immediate regret for coming in such a state. He looked devastatingly handsome—perfect in a way that felt predatory. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing glowing, tanned skin that made my mouth go dry.

Despite the chaos of my life, my body betrayed me. I felt a sudden, visceral craving for the things we had done in the dark—the heat, the friction, the way he took control.

"Why did you barge in like that?" he asked. He set the wine glass on the mahogany table and began walking toward me, his stride slow and confident.

I felt my tongue tie. I had come here to scream, to beg, to demand help—but staring at his face caused a total memory wipe.

"I... I..." I stammered.

He reached me and, without a word, wrapped his large, possessive arms around my waist. He drew me flush against him, the scent of expensive cologne and red wine enveloping me. I whimpered, my hands instinctively landing on his heavy biceps, which felt like granite beneath the fabric of his tight shirt.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. He pressed me firmly against his chest, his lips finding the sensitive curve of my neck.

My knees buckled. I staggered, but his grip only tightened, holding me upright as he continued to mark my skin. I was floating, the world outside the office disappearing.

"Easy there," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You can have me anytime you want, whenever you want."

As he spoke, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of my skirt, his hand sliding upward to rub my c******s with a practiced, agonizing precision. I was already wet, the friction sending sparks through my nerves. He moaned in satisfaction, feeling my arousal, before abruptly pulling his hand away.

"That's not why I'm here," I gasped, the memory of my ruined reputation slamming back into me. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my waist remained iron-clad.

"You mean you don't want me?" he asked, tilting his head and giving me puppy-dog eyes that I knew were entirely fake.

It hit me then: he wasn't invested in my pain. He wasn't worried about my life. He just wanted the s*x. I pushed against his chest with all my might, and this time, he let me go.

"My nudes are out," I revealed, my voice trembling.

He didn't even flinch. He turned his back on me and headed toward his desk, not sparing me a second glance.

"That's not my problem," he said with a casual shrug. "I specifically told you not to record us, but as usual, you don't listen."

I stared at him in disbelief. "So you're blaming me? I came to you for help, and this is how you treat me?"

He laughed—a short, cold sound.

"Why are you laughing?" I demanded, confused and heartbroken.

"You're just so cute," he said, looking at me with an amused expression. "I've always told you: your pathetic husband doesn't deserve your beauty. If you accept me, I'll take care of you. I'll give you whatever your heart desires. Just stay pretty and let me f**k you however I want."

He was unimaginably rich, and for a moment, the offer felt like a lifeline. But I didn't want to be a kept woman. I was still caught in the wreckage of my marriage, and despite everything, I thought I still loved Leon.

Ethan reached into his drawer and handed me a piece of paper.

"What is this?" I asked, scanning the text.

"A contract for a one-year marriage," he explained. "My family has been badgering me to find a wife. I've decided you're the perfect candidate for a temporary arrangement. You do as I please, and you let me use your body for one year. After that, if you behave yourself, who knows? I might actually marry you for real."

"So... you want me to sign a contract to be your professional s*x toy for a year?" I asked, my voice flat.

He smirked. "If you agree, I will use my resources to scrub those videos from the internet. I'll make the news disappear."

The offer was intoxicating. It was a deal with the devil, but I was already in hell. However, the thought of Leon still flickered in my mind.

"I'm busy now," Ethan said, dismissing me. "Take the contract home. When you're ready to stop being a public joke, sign it and come back to me."

I nodded slowly, turning to leave. As I passed him, he reached out and squeezed my right breast firmly. I moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet office.

"Make sure you keep this body intact," he whispered into my ear, his voice dark and hungry. "I like it raw."

He finally let me go, and as I walked out, my body was screaming for him. I realized with a terrifying clarity that I didn't want Leon. I wanted the man who had just bought my soul.

***

When I arrived back at Vanessa's, I found a man in a sharp charcoal suit standing in the doorway. It was Leon's lawyer, Mr. Evans. Vanessa was beside him, her face pale and her expression haunted.

"What's wrong, Vanessa? And why are you here, Mr. Evans?" I asked.

Vanessa shifted her weight from foot to foot, unable to look me in the eye.

"Miss Edwin... or should I say, Miss Anderson," Mr. Evans said, his voice devoid of emotion. He pulled a thick legal document from his briefcase. "Your husband, Mr. Edwin, has filed for divorce."

"What?" The word escaped me as a whisper. I looked at them, waiting for a joke, a mistake, anything. But there was only silence.

In that moment, I remembered the contract in my bag. I remembered Ethan's smirk and Leon's look of disgust at the gala. The last string connecting me to my old life snapped. I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

"Give me a pen," I said, holding out my palm.

Vanessa's expression shifted from pity to absolute shock. She had expected a breakdown, but I was finished with breaking. If Leon was throwing me away, I was more than happy to be discarded.

Mr. Evans handed me the pen. I signed the papers with a steady hand, the ink bleeding into the page like a seal on a coffin. I handed the documents back to him.

"Alright, ladies. I'll take my leave," he said, departing as quickly as he had arrived.

Vanessa looked at me, a small, knowing smirk appearing on her face. "Tell me everything. What happened at the office with Ethan?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but I was interrupted by the loud, authoritative honk of a car horn at the gate.

I turned and saw a fleet of black luxury SUVs—Ethan's convoy—waiting for me.

My heart skipped a beat. The deal was made.