RUTHLESS CEO'S CONTRACT WIFE

Chapter 2

Li Jingting POV

“She refused to sleep in the master bedroom,” the head maid says over the phone, voice trembling like she’s announcing a death.

I laugh, lean back in the leather chair, and swirl the whiskey in my glass. “Drag her in. Chain the door if you have to.”

“Sir, she locked herself in the guest wing and threatened to jump from the balcony if anyone touches the knob.”

“Then break the damn door down. She’s my wife, not a house guest.”I end the call, toss the phone on the desk, and stare at the paused security feed on my monitor. Su Ran sits on the edge of a narrow guest bed in one of my old shirts, knees drawn to her chest, hair still wet from the shower she took to scrub me off her skin. She looks small. Breakable. Mine.I press the intercom. “Send two guards up. Tell them no marks on her face. Everything else is fair game.”

“Yes, sir,” the butler answers.Five minutes later the feed shows the door splintering under a single kick. She bolts upright, eyes wide, but the guards already have her arms. She screams once, sharp and furious, then bites one on the wrist hard enough to draw blood. He curses, slaps her, and she spits in his face. I zoom in. Her lip splits. Perfect.They drag her down the hallway kicking and cursing my name like a prayer. She lands in the master bedroom doorway, hair wild, shirt torn at the shoulder, chest heaving.

“Get out,” she snarls at the guards.

They look at me on the monitor. I nod. They leave and close the door behind them.She turns the full force of her glare on the camera in the corner. “I know you’re watching, you sick bastard.”

I pick up the bedroom phone. “Enjoying the show, wife?”

“I will sleep in the hallway before I share a bed with you again.”

“Then sleep on the floor. The bed is mine and so are you.”She grabs the antique vase off the dresser and hurls it at the camera. Porcelain explodes, the feed goes black. I laugh out loud, finish the whiskey, and head upstairs.I open the bedroom door without knocking. She’s standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched, blood on her lip, ready to fight.

“Get over here,” I say.

“Make me.”

I cross the room in three strides, grab her by the throat, and slam her back against the wall. She claws my wrist, nails drawing blood. I squeeze until her eyes water. “You’re sleeping in this bed tonight. You can be conscious or unconscious. Pick fast.”She spits blood in my face. I wipe it off, lick my thumb, and smile. “Conscious it is.”

I throw her on the bed. She scrambles for the other side. I catch her ankle, drag her back, pin her wrists above her head. “Stop making everything difficult.”

“You r***d me last night and you think I’m going to make anything easy?”

“Call it what you want. You’re still here.”She bucks hard. I press my full weight down until she can’t move. “Listen carefully. You sleep in this bed every night for the next three years. You wake up in this bed. You get f****d in this bed. You give me a child in this bed. Understood?”

“I will never give you anything.”

“You already did. Your name. Your body. Your future. Keep the rest if it makes you feel better.”She goes still under me, eyes burning. “One day I’ll watch you die screaming.”

“Book the tickets. I’ll save you a front-row seat.” I release her wrists, roll off, and start unbuttoning my shirt. “Shower’s through there. You have five minutes before I drag you in with me.”She sits up slowly, wipes the blood from her lip. “I hope you choke on your own blood.”

“Keep wishing.” I strip off the shirt, toss it on the chair. “Four minutes.”

She stays on the bed, arms wrapped around herself.

“Three.”She stands, walks to the bathroom, slams the door hard enough to rattle the frame. Water turns on. I sit on the edge of the bed and wait.Ten minutes later she comes out in one of my black shirts, hair dripping, face scrubbed clean of last night’s makeup. She looks seventeen again. I hate how much I like it.

“Get in,” I say, pulling back the covers.

She climbs in on the far edge, as far from me as possible, back turned.

I turn off the light, slide in behind her. She tenses when the mattress dips.

“Relax. I’m not f*****g you again tonight. You’re still swollen.”

“How considerate,” she mutters into the pillow.

“Tomorrow I won’t be.”Silence stretches. I listen to her breathe, fast and angry. After twenty minutes it slows. She thinks I’m asleep. She whispers into the dark, “I will kill you for this.”

I answer against her neck, “I know. Sweet dreams, wife.”She flinches but doesn’t move again.Morning comes. I wake up hard against her back, arm locked around her waist. She’s awake too, rigid.

“Morning,” I say, grinding once just to feel her shudder.

“Get off me.”

“Eventually.” I roll her onto her back, pin her wrists again. “Pill first.”

I reach for the nightstand, pop the blister pack, put the tiny white tablet on her tongue myself. She swallows dry, eyes locked on mine the whole time.

“Good girl.”I kiss her forehead, get out of bed, and head for the shower. When I come back she’s exactly where I left her, staring at the ceiling.

“Breakfast in twenty. Wear the navy dress.”

“I’m not your doll.”

“You’re whatever I say you are.”I leave the room. The door locks behind me with a click. She screams once on the other side, pure rage. I smile all the way to the office.At noon my assistant knocks. “Mrs. Li is refusing lunch, sir. She threw the tray at the maid.”

“Starve her until dinner. She’ll learn.”

“Yes, sir.”At six I walk into the dining room. She’s already seated, navy dress perfect, hands folded, face blank. The table is set for two.

“Progress,” I say, taking my seat.

She doesn’t answer.

I pour wine. “Eat.”

She picks up the fork, stabs a piece of fish, chews slowly.

Halfway through the meal she looks up. “When do I see my mother?”

“When you earn it.”

“How?”

“Behave for thirty consecutive days. No biting, no throwing things, no suicide threats.”

She sets the fork down neatly. “Define behave.”

“You smile when I touch you. You come when I call. You sleep naked.”

Her eyes go dead. “I’ll starve first.”

“Then your mother starves with you.”She stands, chair scraping loud. “Enjoy your dinner.”

She walks out. I let her go.That night the bedroom door is unlocked when I return. She’s on the far edge again, same position, same silence. I strip, slide in behind her. This time she doesn’t flinch when my arm goes around her waist. Progress.Two weeks of this exact war. Every morning I give her the pill. Every night she sleeps rigid in my arms. Every day she finds new ways to bleed the staff dry with her tongue. I watch it all on camera and jerk off to her hate more than once.On day fifteen I come home early. The guards are in the hallway, one holding a bloody nose.

“She bit me, sir.”

I walk into the bedroom. She’s standing on the balcony railing, barefoot, wind whipping the silk nightgown around her legs.

I stop in the doorway. “Get down.”

“Make me.”

I cross the room in four strides, grab her around the waist, haul her back inside. She fights like a wildcat, nails raking my neck, knee almost connecting. I throw her on the bed, straddle her, pin her wrists.

“You jump, your mother dies tonight.”

“Then let me jump.”

“Get this through your head. You die, she dies. You suffer, she suffers. You obey, she lives. Choose.”She goes limp, tears finally spilling. “I choose her.”

“Then get in the f*****g bed and stop wasting my time.”She crawls under the covers without another word. I lock the balcony doors, pocket the key, and lie down behind her. My hand rests on her stomach, right where my child will grow whether she likes it or not. She doesn’t move away.At 3 a.m. she whispers into the dark, “I still hate you.”

“I know,” I answer against her hair. “Keep hating. It’s the only thing you have left that’s yours.”She doesn’t answer. Her breathing evens out eventually. I stay awake and listen to it, counting every breath like a victory.